Srinagar, Oct. 16 -- I was standing in my kitchen, holding a tomato from a supermarket. It was perfect. A flawless, red orb, identical to the one next to it in the bag. It had no smell, no blemish, no trace of its origin. It felt less like a fruit and more like a prop, a piece of food-themed geometry. In its sterile perfection, I felt a sudden, profound sense of loneliness not for myself, but for it. I didn't know who had nurtured it, where it had grown, or what the soil there felt like. It had no story, and because of that, the act of feeding it to my family felt like an anonymous transaction, devoid of context and care. This, I have come to believe, is the quiet ache that World Food Day invites us to address: not merely the hunger of an...