William Hanson, a British etiquette coach, recently posted a video claiming the ‘correct’ way to eat a banana is with a fork and knife. Yes, really. No peeling it like a normal person – just slice off both ends, score the peel, and eat it delicately, as if it is a royal dessert.
Naturally, the internet peeled into laughter. One user said he peels a banana like he’s defusing a bomb. Another quipped, ‘Try this in a school canteen – you’ll be pelted with grapes!’
Dare to try this with a chegodi!
Imagine applying this cutlery logic to our Indian snacks. Take chegodi, for instance, a proud, crunchy South Indian deep-fried ring of rebellion. It is not a soft, submissive banana. Chegodi can break a spoon and a few molars if you are not careful. Try cutting it with a knife, and either the knife bends or the chegodi catapults across the room and hits the TV.
This brings to mind a comedy scene from ANR’s film Aaradhana. A ‘London-returned’ Relangi, brimming with foreign airs, attempts to eat a chegodi served by his wife Girija – with fork and knife, of course. Every time he tries, the indignant snack flies off the plate. The best part? Each airborne chegodi lands near his father-in-law, Tikkavarapu Ramana Reddy, who cheerfully picks it up and gobbles it without fuss.
Murukku and jantikalu aren’t far behind.
Murukku, that tight, spiral fortress of flour, fights back. A fork stuck in a murukku looks like a car tyre lodged in a pothole. Attempting finesse with a knife? Forget it. You need a power drill, not cutlery. And jantikalu may look fragile, but don’t be fooled – poke them with a fork and you will learn why some call them the coiled spring of snacks. Honestly, if snacks had an army, chegodi would be the commander, murukku its deputy, and jantikalu the elite special forces.
What about North Indian snacks?
Try this Western etiquette stunt with North Indian snacks like mathri or pakoda and you will be ostracised faster than someone putting pineapple on chole bhature. Pakodas are made to be dunked in chutney and devoured with joy – not stabbed like steak.
An etiquette guide India never asked for
Imagine a British-style etiquette book tailored for us: Chapter 1: How to eat banana bajji with grace. Place the bajji on a plate: Stare at it politely. Ignore all forks. Pick it up with your hand and eat it while it’s still hot, blowing on it if needed. Elegance is optional. Burns are real. Chapter 2: Chutney manners: Do not sip chutney with a spoon. That is not soup. Use idli, dosa, or fingers – whichever is faster.
In India, eating with your hands isn’t a sign of poor manners. It is muscle memory, tradition, and intimacy. It connects us to food in a way no silverware can. And as for the snacks, they have no patience for forks. They are too crunchy, too complex, and frankly, too full of character to bother with fine dining tools.
So next time someone tells you to eat a banana with a fork and knife, quietly hand them a plate of chegodi – and a knife. Then sit back and enjoy the show. But keep a Band-Aid handy. Because in India, snacks aren’t just crunchy. They are character-building.
