After a long vacation, Riya was finally returning to Delhi from Kolkata. But this time, she wasn’t alone, her cousin brother, Arka, was accompanying her. At Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport, Riya’s aunt handed her some money with teary eyes and said, “Come again, dear. I’m giving you this money, get something to eat for both of you. But don’t go stuffing yourself with that junk food under your brother’s influence.”
After checking in and passing the security check, Arka said, “Come on, let’s put Mom’s money to good use.” Saying this, he started walking toward the row of restaurants.
Riya hesitated and said, “But Auntie told us not to eat junk food, right?”
“Oh, forget that! Mom isn’t here to see. And what else can you get at an airport besides junk food? Boiled potatoes and rice? You can eat that at home. Right now, a burger is calling my name.” Saying this, Arka ordered two burgers, French fries, and cold drinks from a fast-food counter. Then he said, “Eat up! There’s still a long time before the flight takes off. You didn’t eat anything before leaving home, did you?”
Arka took the food tray to a table and sat down. Taking a big bite of his chicken burger, he noticed that Riya was sitting silently, uninterested in the food. Concerned, he asked, “What’s wrong? Not eating? Look, no one here is going to serve you healthy boiled potatoes and rice. If you don’t want it, just know that someone like me, who eats everything, is sitting right here.”
“I’ve spent a long time in Kolkata. I guess I’m feeling a little emotional. But I did learn a lot from you this time.”
“No sentiment, please! Now dig in. You look like you’re about to cry. And trust me, tears mixed with cold drinks won’t taste great.” Arka closed his eyes and continued munching on his burger and fries.
At the four-seater table where Arka and Riya were sitting, one chair remained empty. In another chair sat an elderly Sikh gentleman, intently reading the fine print on his large packet of potato chips.
Seeing Riya glance in that direction, Arka joked, “Looks like he’s also searching for healthy food, just like you…”
Before Arka could finish, the elderly man spoke up in perfect Bengali, “Absolutely right. Every packet has a health story written on it. But the food you brought, well, nothing is written on those. And I doubt the kids at the counter could tell you anything about it either.”
Hearing the Sikh gentleman speak fluent Bengali, Arka felt quite embarrassed. Riya turned away, trying to suppress her laughter. Her ever-so-smart brother had put himself in an awkward situation with his misplaced words. She felt delighted inside and tried to tell him with her eyes, Go on, talk more nonsense. Serves you right!
Seeing Arka looking embarrassed, the elderly gentleman smiled and spoke, “What’s the matter, young man? Are you feeling awkward? My family has lived in Kolkata for four generations. I didn’t mind at all. You see, there’s still a long wait for the Delhi flight. And I have a lot of dietary restrictions, hypertension, diabetes, you name it! Even if I wanted to, I can’t eat much. So, I’ll just nibble on these few chips until I reach Delhi. Then at home, I’ll have my usual roti-sabzi. My wife is also there now, practically living in a nursing home. What else can be done? Anyway, I was just checking how much ‘strength’ this chips packet promises to give me.”
Feeling a little relieved by the Sardarji’s friendly tone, Arka said, “Sorry for the comment, sir. But this is nice, you’re heading to Delhi too! We are as well…”
“Waheguru! That’s great! I keep traveling between Delhi and Kolkata. I have homes in both places. So, which part of Delhi…”
Arka pointed at Riya and said, “Well, here’s the true Dilliwali. You should ask her.”
Riya and the elderly man continued chatting, exchanging details about where they lived.
Suddenly, Arka pointed at the chips packet and asked, “When you said the packet mentions ‘strength,’ did you mean the energy levels written on it? I always thought that was just a marketing trick by companies to sell their products. Never really took it seriously. So, I guess I should start paying attention?”
Smiling slightly, the elderly Sardarji said, “It’s a very important matter. The food we buy from the market and cook at home isn’t packaged, so no one bothers about its energy content. But every food contains protein, carbohydrates, and fats, everyone knows that. These three components provide energy to our bodies. The energy remains hidden in the food. Just eating it doesn’t instantly give us strength! The food first reaches the stomach, gets digested, and breaks down into simpler forms. Then, through the intestines, it spreads to every cell in the body. In the presence of oxygen, proteins and carbohydrates are burned within the cells, and that’s how we get energy.”
Arka realized that the elderly man was explaining digestion from the very basics, as described in school science textbooks. To shorten the discussion, he said, “I think this whole concept of printing energy values on packets is quite new in our country. Maybe it’s something imported from abroad.”
Hearing this, the Sardarji smiled and said, “You’re absolutely right. In developed countries like Europe and America, packaged food has been sold for a long time. As people there became more modern, they also became more health conscious. That’s when food companies started competing to mention how much energy their packaged foods provide. Why should our country lag behind? Initially, multinational companies introduced packaged foods to the Indian market. Gradually, Indian companies followed the same path. Today, the demand for packaged food in India is huge. From rice and lentils to butter, ghee, and even sugar, everything is now sold in packets. So, if there were no details on the packets, why would people buy them?”
Pointing to the chips packet, the Sardarji continued, “But the amount of energy hidden in packaged food has to be measured scientifically in a lab. To do this, the food is burned inside a special device to determine its energy content. This device is called a Bomb Calorimeter. The process is a bit complex, but it’s not difficult to understand.”
Riya spoke up, “I know about calorimeters. They’re used to measure energy. If any substance is placed inside and burned in the presence of oxygen, the heat released warms up the water inside the calorimeter. By measuring the temperature difference, we can calculate how much thermal energy is present.”
“Very good, girl! Very intelligent indeed! Which class are you in?”
The Sardarji was pleased to learn about Riya’s studies and encouraged her like a grandfather, urging her to pursue higher education.
Trying to change the topic, Arka said, “The plane is about to take off. At least don’t drop your physics bomb here.” But he couldn’t resist asking the Sardarji another question “Do companies always use a bomb calorimeter to test the energy content of food?”
“No, not always. Instead, they use a formula ‘Four Four Nine’ formula,” the Sardarji explained.
Another math formula? Oh boy, even at the airport, numbers wouldn’t leave him alone, Arka thought.
The elderly man seemed to read Arka’s mind. “It’s a very simple method. One gram of protein provides four calories of energy. You smart people already know that the unit of energy is joules. Burning one gram of carbohydrates also gives four joules, but burning one gram of fat gives nine joules. That’s why, before packaging food, companies test in their laboratories to estimate the grams of protein, carbohydrates, and fat present.
For example, if a packet of chicken nuggets contains 11 grams of protein, 25 grams of carbohydrates, and 5 grams of fat, then the total energy would be:
(11 × 4) + (25 × 4) + (5 × 9) = 189 calories.
However, this is an approximate calculation, so the company might label it as 190 or 200 calories.”
“But if all this energy isn’t burned properly, it can be a problem. The excess energy gets stored as fat,” Arka commented.
“And that’s how we end up with a belly, just like mine! You’re absolutely right,” the Sardarji said with a chuckle.
The three of them laughed together.
Riya added, “If we exercise, we’ll burn calories, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Exactly! That’s why I walk four kilometers every morning. You two are young. A little household work and some sports will keep your energy levels balanced and your body fit.”
The Sardarji checked his smartwatch. Just then, the boarding announcement echoed over the speakers. The three of them got up. Since the Sardarji was on the same flight to Delhi, Riya had already found out that he lived not too far from their place. So, Arka and Riya received an invitation to his home.
Switching to Hindi, the Sardarji said to Riya, “You must visit our home, beti. You’ll get to eat sarson da saag, makki di roti, and butter chicken. Will you come?”
Riya smiled. “Oh, absolutely, Uncle! And do you see my brother here? He’s a number one foodie. If I don’t take him, he’ll make my life miserable. Let’s go together.”
Hearing "butter chicken," Arka grinned and said, “Of course, Praji! And you’re a great storyteller. I’ll definitely come over for a good chat someday.”
The Sardarji patted Arka on the back as they all made their way inside the plane.
(To be continued...)
