YOUR GRANDMOTHER KNEW EVERYTHING
How the Hindu Calendar Hid a Nutritional Masterclass All Along
Every April, without fail, my grandmother would appear at breakfast with a small steel plate.
On it: a green paste, slightly bitter, smelling of earth and something astringent.
“Neem,” she’d say, with the authority of someone who needed no further explanation. “Eat. The season is changing.”
I was twelve. I did not want to eat it.
I ate it anyway.