Sorry, Dear Carrot!

I have no idea what all sorts of POVs and terrains this otherwise innocent research in Deep Ecology in Green Studies is taking me to😂

Setting the proverbial carrot and stick apart, I thought carrots were crunchy, juicy vegetables and didn't mind snacking on them, snatching one from the crate while my home minister is busy slicing one by one on a cutting board, mostly on autopilot, multitasking. Now I need to think twice before I stretch my hand for one quite habitually😜🏃🏽‍♂️🙏.

And this morning, I heard my wife chopping something. It is an easy guess to know as nothing else but carrot; my hand vicariously went down in defence of something so valuable. At a time of sensing danger, the quickest mode switch happens in favour of self-preservation; that is true for any animal, even plants too in their own ways, as famously as touch-me-not, and man is no exception.

That reminds me of an anecdote a doctor friend of mine once recounted from his student life. He was in an anatomy practical session; the cadaver was ready, covered, apparently a new one for the fresh batch. The professor entered the room assuming his busy ways and roles and asked to remove the covering sheet. He grabbed a surgical blade and cut off its cock (penile shaft). Everyone around set a few steps back quickly and instinctively held their package, bending down in self-protection, including the girls, with shuddering cries. Even after years, it pains somewhere every time he revisits this incident, probably for me too after listening to this story. Fear of losing the big card can cost us dear; therefore, vicariously reaching out for self-assurance.

In fact, every soundbite from the kitchen tells us something; the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board, downing across a veg, is a signature tune that we will have a homecooked meal today. The pace it hits tells us what is being victimised; the quick rhythm of onion slicing, slower frequency of carrot slicing and neither slow nor fast tuk tuk of cucumber slicing all have their own messages…here it is me now, and no, no, it is my turn to go ground, or we will have a salad along for the lunch. The metallic cooking sounds herald that mealtime is not far. A former colleague I shared my office with once told me he wouldn’t like a tea without hearing the chatter of the teaspoon with the glass as a title music for a television program…think of szhoo szhoo of DD news if you are a Gen Y. It perfects his craving and timing for a tea as the bell salivates Pavlova’s dog.

The given page shot is from page 231 of Garden Plots: The Canadian Women Writers and Their Literary Gardens by Shelly Boyd, and this poem is by Lorna Crozier, the gardener poet who wrote the poem "Carrots" as part of her "The Sex Lives of Vegetables" series in the book The Garden Going On Without Us.