For this feast, Rushdie actually hints at it, in the last stanza of Midnight's Children, Part 1, "Tick Tock Tick Tock," which reads, "I can tell you with certainty that in order to comprehend a single life, you must swallow the whole world." In other words, it's a premeditated feast that feeds on the world for the purpose of soaking it in the gastric juices of language, molding it into a multitude of living, breathing, slender beings, and, incidentally, putting its own stamp on the labels of the classics that will inevitably descend upon it.
After that key-like phrase that opens the door to understanding throughout the novel, Rushdie goes on to write:
And there are fishermen, and Catherine of Braganza's royal family, and Mumbadevi's coconut rice; a statue of Shiva and a hill at Methwold; a swimming pool shaped like British India and a two-story hill; hair parted in the middle and a nose passed down from Bergerac; a clock tower that refuses to properly chime; a clock tower and a tiny circular alcove; an Englishman who loves Indian satire and who has seduced the wife of an accordion player. The budgerigar, the ceiling fan, the Times of India, these are the baggage I brought into the world ...... So, will you still be surprised that I weigh heavily? The blue Jesus permeated me; Mary's despair, Josef's revolutionary fervor, Alice Pereira's capriciousness ...... it all made me too.