There is a peculiar kind of helplessness that comes with trying to feed two people over 75, both diabetic, both opinionated, and both convinced that they know what is best for them. Except that their ideas of what they should eat couldn't be more different.
A mother who eats what she loves
My mother is the more indulgent one, a certified non-compliant patient. In fact, her doctor has written it on the prescription. She has had diabetes for the last few years. Thankfully, the disease affected her very late in life; otherwise, it would have been more than a serious issue. Her heart health has been a problem for decades. In her late 40s or maybe early 50s, she was diagnosed with a very peculiar heart condition, Cardiac hypertrophy, which is the thickening of the heart muscle (myocardium) and enlargement of heart muscle cells due to chronic stress, increased workload, or genetic factors. In her case, it was undiagnosed high blood pressure.
She is managing it fine, as doctors say that as long as her arteries are healthy, she will be fine. Healthy arteries would mean low-oil, low-fat, low-carb food. But she has managed the condition and kept it from getting between her and the foods she loves. Her favourites include kulfi, ice cream, matris, and namkeen. She also has sugar in her tea. She doesn't particularly care for vegetables, fruits or anything that looks remotely nutritious. She likes eating, but only on her own terms. And those terms rarely include what a nutritionist would recommend.
A father who is afraid of his food
My father, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He is so particular about his diet that eating has almost become an exercise in restraint. He has had gout for decades and has spent nearly 40 years eating chicken, a blasphemy for the mutton-loving Kashmiri genes. He has grown so sick of chicken that he now says he cannot stand it. He loves mutton but stays away from it, convinced that it will send his blood sugar soaring. Every meal comes with a calculation, a restriction or a reason why something cannot be eaten.
Yet his excessive caution brings its own worries. He is losing muscle mass, and the threat of sarcopenia – the age-related loss of muscle strength and mass – is becoming increasingly real. At an age when maintaining muscle is critical to mobility, independence, and preventing falls, eating too little or avoiding important sources of protein can have consequences.
One kitchen, two sets of rules
Again, coming back to my mother. She has gallstones and her heart condition that makes surgery extremely difficult. Her health concerns are complicated, her food preferences even more so. Convincing her to eat something nutritious is a daily negotiation.
Caught between these two extremes is their daughter-yes I, who spends an unreasonable amount of time wondering what they can eat. And on rare occasions when they live with me, what do I cook?
Even vegetables come with specifications. My father likes them slightly crunchy. My mother prefers hers soft, almost mushy. One wants one thing, the other wants something else. A meal that satisfies both is less a culinary achievement and more a diplomatic victory.
What surprises me most is how strong their food opinions have become after 70, irrespective of dietary recommendations. Every ingredient comes with a history, a medical restriction, a personal preference, or an outright refusal. Food is no longer simply about hunger or taste. It is about diabetes, gout, heart disease, digestion, fear, and, sometimes, (please don’t kill me) sheer stubbornness.
When food becomes more than nutrition
As a daughter, you want to protect them. You want them to eat well, stay strong, manage their blood sugar, and enjoy their food. In this series, we at Raising India talk about resisting that extra helping of sweets, but as a daughter of aging parents, I face a peculiar dilemma: I want them to reach out for it sometimes. Because you also realize that at this age, food is one of the few everyday pleasures they still control completely.
Perhaps the real challenge of caring for aging parents is balancing what they should eat, what they can eat, and what they actually want to eat.
Because between a mother's kulfi and a father's fear of eating too much, the person trying to put dinner on the table often ends up with the biggest appetite for answers.
And yes, please don’t get swayed; I’ll still be screaming when I find my mother gobbling down that scoop of malai and, in another millisecond, refusing to eat that second helping of protein because her tummy is `too full.