Meals Without Meat

Our final voyage took us to Kandla, on the Gulf of Kutch, in western India. The air reminded me of the times we’d spent in Karachi between voyages, except that here the cows roamed freely. On our way into town on the first day, the taxi driver stopped to buy fried crispy breads and fruit. I fondly imagined that these were to welcome us to India but was dismayed when he fed them to the cow that was blocking the road. Smoke rose from food stalls dotted around the pavements; people were sleeping on the streets, with whole families in torn fabric tents. There were pots balanced over small wooden fires, around which children ran, naked, dirty and untroubled. Our taxi driver was taking us to have dinner with the ship chandler’s family, and I was told they had a daughter my age.