Ramadan has just begun, and I’ve noticed an increase in non-Muslims saying they are participating. Whenever I ask any of them what their rationale is for subjecting themselves to a full month of fasting, they say it’s about showcasing their willpower, establishing solidarity with their Muslim friends or attempting to lose weight.
As a general statement, I feel like, when most people want to engender a change in their lives, one of the first things they do is switch up their diet. This, in an oblique way, represents the premise of committing oneself to Ramadan — it’s a period of spiritual growth and change. You’re essentially restraining yourself materialistically and this, in turn, will hasten your growth as a human. Our diets serve as a cornerstone of our lifestyles. If you have a well-balanced diet, all else follows.
I made the mature decision to turn vegetarian when I was in kindergarten. I don’t remember precisely why I chose to be a vegetarian. I like animals, but I don’t recall having a strong moral compass as a child. My hypothesis is that I went vegetarian because I was searching for identity. I never ate meat in my Indian household, primarily because my parents never cooked it. Whenever I’d go to a birthday party, McDonald’s or anywhere outside the sanctuary of my house, I’d feel social pressure to eat meat, which I didn’t appreciate. It was like I had to carry myself differently whenever I interacted with the outside world. I’ve always felt slightly disconnected from my Indian culture as a second-generation immigrant living in America, so I figured the least I could do was go vegetarian.
I still remember the trouble I faced upon my switch to vegetarianism. A vegetarian diet wasn’t all that normalized 13 years ago. According to Vegetarian Resource Group, only 3.4% of the American public self-identified as a vegan or vegetarian in 2009, as compared to 6% in 2022. My parents enrolled me in an after-school daycare, and during snack time, while my friends were eating cheeseburgers and hotdogs, I would eat a bun with ketchup. It was bad. I think I’ve been primed to do Ramadan simply by the amount of food trauma I endured as a child.
Thirteen years later, I have completely internalized my vegetarian diet. It’s an intrinsic part of my identity, completely baked into who I am. I find this to be funny — a large component of my identity is centered around the insignificant fact that I choose not to eat animals, to put it in reductionist terms.
Despite some of the rough eating accommodations, I’ve never regretted my decision. I understand the hotly debated question of whether it’s morally consistent to support animal rights while eating meat, but as a vegetarian, I’ve never had to worry about that. I can claim that I support animal rights without any burden of cognitive dissonance. That being said, I don’t necessarily take a hard line on moral vegetarianism — I’m a vegetarian out of habit at this point.
However, two years ago, I noticed how repetitive my diet became. I consumed a lot of dairy, which wasn’t a nutritional problem, but it grew very tiresome. Paneer Butter Masala, an Indian dish consisting of cottage cheese in a creamy tomato and cashew sauce, became my comfort food. It got to a point where that dish was the only thing I’d order whenever eating out at an Indian restaurant, to my parents’ consternation: “That’s so boring,” they’d argue.
To this end, I decided to go vegan indefinitely. I figured the transition wouldn’t be horrible. After all, I had already completed the hardest step — cutting out meat — and I desperately needed to diversify my diet. I made this choice at the onset of the pandemic, right after Beyond Meat, one of the largest companies in the plant-based meat substitute industry, went public. I felt like public sentiment surrounding veganism had shifted, in part because of the increasing number of professional athletes starting to champion a vegan diet, including Kyrie Irving, Shaquille O’Neal and Chris Paul.
I revealed my plans to my parents, who weren’t initially on board — probably because they’d have to do some extra work to accommodate my dietary restrictions — but eventually they came around. One result of my veganism is how cognizant I’ve become of the ingredients that go into my food. To ensure that I didn’t accidentally consume dairy, I would read the ingredients list, and I was surprised to learn what did and didn’t contain dairy. I learned that effectively all pastries contain eggs or milk, so I eliminated those from my diet. However, I also learned that Oreos are somehow vegan, despite often being complementary to a glass of warm milk, so I’d always stock up on those. I realized how blissfully unaware I was of what went into my food previously. This scared me — I literally had no idea what I was putting in my body.
There are other perks to veganism. It’s a great conversation starter; I’d not-so-subtly slip in the fact that I was vegan and people would inquire about my decision. The world needed to know what I was going through, and the approval I gained was shamelessly validating. I could trauma-bond with fellow vegans, which was always fun.
However, I really disliked the diet itself. My initial reason for converting to veganism was to diversify what I ate. However, whatever I didn’t eat in dairy, I’d compensate for it with a plant-based version of dairy. For instance, instead of cream cheese, I’d use a vegan cream cheese, which tasted substantially worse. I was living the same lifestyle, consuming roughly the same number of calories, but no longer enjoying my food. I became very detached from food, which upset me. Food is a cultural bridge, one of the many pleasures of life, and I was completely missing out on that. Eating as a whole became a burden for me.
The struggles would pile on, and I ended up relapsing back to vegetarianism a year into going vegan when my grandmother came into town — Paneer Butter Masala was her specialty and I couldn’t resist. However, I didn’t feel bad about it; I had tried a different diet, and it wasn’t for me. That’s just how life is.
For the majority of my life, I viewed veganism as a fringe culture. People would often mistake me for a vegan (because they weren’t informed about the difference between vegetarianism and veganism), which made me more and more curious. A year removed from dairy products has taught me the nuances of an entirely new lifestyle from a primary position, and I’m better for it. I tried dishes I never would’ve tried otherwise. Even though I’m no longer vegan, I’ll always have that experience.
I’m still a vegetarian, though. Nowadays, I can easily identify a vegetarian in the dining hall with a quick glance at their plate. A few morsels of tofu or tempeh can unintentionally reveal a myriad of shared experiences between me and this individual, which is powerful. But to have shared experiences, you must first have experiences. For me, that came in the form of converting to vegetarianism 13 years ago and testing out veganism for a year. I encourage you to broaden your horizons, leave your comfort zone and adventure into something new and unknown — you may learn something new.
Rohit Ramaswamy is an Opinion Columnist from Florida. He writes about lifestyle advice, and enjoys playing chess and watching basketball. He can be reached at rohitra@umich.edu.