Rasa: Volume 01 by Whetstone Magazine

I N D I A / S R I L A N KA / B A N G L A D E S H / N E PA L

R ASA

ORIGIN FORAGING

VOL 01

SUMMER 2022

RASA M A G A Z I N E

EDITORIAL TEAM founder / Stephen Satterfield editor in chief / Vidya Balachander art director / Alexandra Bowman photo director / Lyric Lewin copy editor / Emily Vizzo consulting copy editor / Layla Schlack business development / Nidhi Verma

CONTACT @whetstonemagazine whetstonemagazine@gmail.com whetstonemedia.co vidya@whetstonemagazine.com

SUBSCRIP TION For subscription information visit whetstonemagazine.com/shop

Rasa is a

Media Publication Printed in Canada

PHOTOGRAPHY

Vikas Munipalle

WELCOME TO RASA VOL. 1

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that I have been moulded by the world of magazines. Many years ago, deeply dissatisfied with a television job, I ran into the warm embrace of the written word. It was my first job at a city magazine based in Mumbai, India. If television had drained me, print had the opposite effect. The thrill of seeking a story, travelling across the city to research it and seeing it come to life on a page— fuelled by long nights of reading proofs and mishmash ‘Mexican’ food à la Mumbai—replenished me deeply. Since that early dalliance, I have worked in other mediums, but magazines remain close to my heart. The deliberate permanence of the printed page flies in the face of the fleeting nature of words on a screen. It is an act of remembering. It was nearly one year ago that we began to dream this magazine into existence. At its heart, we wanted to be true to the ethos of food in South Asia – in all its bewildering beauty and fractured complexity. Personally, I was driven by a desire to tell stories from our part of the world, without having to translate from our multiple vernaculars or justifying why one story is representative of a whole region. Guided by Whetstone, which has paved the way, Rasa is driven by our passion for authenticity, and the desire to honour all origins – even though I am acutely aware that it will entail recognising (and hopefully, overcoming) the gatekeeping that controls access to how our civilisations are ordered and perceived. Rasa means many things, but we were drawn to the word because it signifies something deeper than essence. As our piece on rasam describes with precision and expansiveness, rasa means ‘quintessence’— the fundamental quality that makes a food—or an emotion—what it is. Even though our stories in this inaugural issue span a whole spectrum, from the importance of milk tea in Sri Lanka to pitha in Bangladesh, and from the sombre heft of funeral foods to the sunny promise of ripe palm fruit, I’d like to think that we have captured this quintessence with as much honesty as possible. Rasa wouldn’t have been possible without a globally dispersed team with an aligned vision of excellence. I am deeply grateful for every member of this small yet power-packed cohort, and I am exceedingly proud of what we have created. I hope you enjoy these pages, and I look forward to your feedback! — Vidya Balachander

CONTENTS

28 41

07 The Essential Taste of Rasam 1 7 How Did Anchovies Become Beloved to the Gurkhas? 23 Pride, Place and Pitha 31 In Life And Death, A Fervour For Fish 37 A Hankering For Tal 4 5 The Unassuming Heft of Murmura 5 5 Kaanji, Chirota and Other Memories 67 In Search of Sargassum 75 Mourning Milk Powder 8 3 Momos Beyond Borders 87 Meher Varma’s Bad Table Manners 3

CONTRIBUTORS FRON T COVER ARTIST

D ina B egum

Na zly Ahmed Emli Bendixen Emli is a South Korean/Danish photographer based in the southwest of England. An adoptee, she grew up in the Danish countryside and works primarily with people in natural environments. Emli is particularly interested in working on projects that support the liberation of marginalised people. —page 37—

Nazly is a photo-hobbyist with a keen interest in street photography who loves to capture everyday life in Sri Lanka. Caught in between daily commutes and chasing sunsets in Colombo, Nazly is forever fascinated by the colour and vibrance the city has to offer and never fails to document them on camera. —page 75—

BACK COVER ARTIST

Rebecca D'costa Rebecca D'Costa is a photographer based out of India. Goa is home most of the year, but she loves being on the move. Her specialty lies in storytelling for brands and documentary photography. Becky says that she draws power from photographing people. Music is her superpower and dogs are her kryptonite. —page 67—

Dina Begum is a cookbook author and writer who is passionate about championing the recipes and food culture of Bangladesh. She is a member of the Guild of Food Writers and her debut cookbook The Brick Lane Cookbook celebrates the diverse food culture of London’s iconic Brick Lane. Her recipes/ writing have been featured in The Telegraph, The Independent, Culture Trip, Huffington Post, Metro and Daily Star (Bangladesh), among others. Dina has hosted popular Bangladeshi pop ups to showcase home cooking favourites, and been mentioned on Eater London and Eventbrite as one of their hottest supper clubs in London. She has also presented a programme at The Museum of Food and Drink (MOFAD) on immigrant foodways and hosted a supperclub at Archestratus in New York. You can read more of her work on dinabegum.co.uk. She is on Twitter and Instagram @dinasfoodstory —page 23—

Suhail Bhat

Priyadarshini Chatterjee

Suhail Bhat is a Srinagar-based journalist who has covered Kashmir for the past six years. He has written about politics, human rights, and the environment, attempting to highlight different nuances of the region’s ongoing political crisis. His work has appeared in a number of notable Indian news outlets, including First Post and News Click. —page 83—

Priyadarshini Chatterjee is an independent food and culture writer based in Kolkata, India. Her work has appeared in a number of leading print and digital publications like Conde Nast Traveller, Mint Lounge, Scroll.in, The Hindu Business Line, The Lonely Planet India, and others. When she is not writing about food, she is cooking up a storm. —page 31—

CONTRIBUTORS

Z ilka Joseph Zahara Dawoodbhoy Ishita Dasgupta Ishita Dasgupta is based in Bristol. She writes about food and culture, migration & identity. —page 37—

Zahara Dawoodbhoy is a freelance writer and journalist, who enjoys writing about a diverse range of topics, from environmental science to reproductive justice. She worked as a writer for Roar Media, a Sri Lankan digital media platform, and has been published on Scroll.in. She also enjoys doing academic research with a focus on the social sciences, and has worked with many NGOs in Sri Lanka, including the Family Planning Association and the Asia Foundation. —page 75—

Vikas Munipalle Vikas Munipalle is a professional photographer and cinematographer based in Mumbai. After graduating with a Bachelors degree in Mass Media, he joined Time Out magazine as photographer. A few years later he decided to venture out on his own and started freelancing. Since then, his photographs have appeared in publications such as Lonely Planet, BBC Good Food, The New York Times, Rolling Stone and Vogue and he has also worked for clients like Moët & Chandon, Marks and Spencer and Godrej Properties. He has covered several genres of photography, which includes food and beverage, interiors, portraits, travel and products. —page 45—

Sameer Mushtaq Sameer Mushtaq is a freelance photo and video journalist based in Kashmir, Besides covering stories from various parts of India, he has covered the Kashmir conflict for many national and international publications. His work has been published in Al Jazeera English, DW Global, South China Morning Post, Mongabay India, Independent Urdu, BBC, TRT World etc. —page 83—

Zilka Joseph was born in Mumbai, and lived in Kolkata. Her work is influenced by Indian and Western cultures, and her Bene Israel roots. She has been nominated for PEN, Pushcart, and Best of the Net awards, has participated in literary festivals and readings, and been featured on NPR/Michigan Radio, and podcasts like Rattlecast and Culturico. Her work has appeared in journals like Poetry, Poetry Daily, Kenyon Review Online, Michigan Quarterly Review, Rattle, Asia Literary Review, and in anthologies such as 101 Jewish Poems for the Third Millennium, The Kali Project, RESPECT: An Anthology of Detroit Music Poetry. Sharp Blue Search of Flame, her book of poems, was a Foreword Indies Book Award finalist. Her third chapbook Sparrows and Dust won a Best Indie Book Award and was a Notable Asian American Poetry Book (Lantern Review). In Our Beautiful Bones, her new book, has been nominated for a PEN and Pushcart prize. She was awarded a Zell Fellowship, the Michael R. Gutterman award, and the Elsie Choy Lee Scholarship from the University of Michigan. She teaches creative writing workshops in Ann Arbor, Michigan, is a manuscript coach, and a mentor to her students. Read more on her website zilkajoseph.com —page 55—

CONTRIBUTORS

Joanna L obo

Prashanta K hanal Prashanta Khanal is the author of the cookbook Timmur: Stories and Flavours from Nepal, which explores the diversity of Nepali food cultures and its history. He runs the Nepali food blog Gundruk, and writes occasionally in The Kathmandu Post and The Record. Besides his passions for food, he also works on sustainable cities, urban mobility and climate change. Khanal’s blog can be found at thegundruk.com —page 17—

Joanna Lobo is an independent journalist based in Mumbai, India. She enjoys writing about food, her Goan heritage, and things that make her happy. When not contributing to leading Indian and international newspapers and magazines, she coowns a food publication But First, Food. —page 67—

Shirin Mehrotra Shirin Mehrotra is a food writeranthropologist currently based in New Delhi. Her writing intersects between food, culture and anthropology with a special focus on cities and their foodscapes. —page 45—

Deepa S. Reddy

Priyanka Pandit Priyanka is an illustrator and artist based in Stockholm, Sweden. While she's not drawing, she loves to travel in search of beautiful color palettes. You can find her work at priyankadraws.com or follow her on Instagram at @pdrawstoo —page 31—

Deepa S. Reddy is a cultural anthropologist with the University of HoustonClear Lake. She has researched and/ or published on topics ranging from women's activism and political Hinduism to caste-race-ethnicity and bioethics, blood donation, and air quality and environmental governance. Her book, Religious Identity and Political Destiny, was published in 2006. She has also consulted for a user-experience research and design company, Human Factors International, and led the “Discovery” vertical for Caterpillar's Construction Industries CX team. In 2019, she convened Shalikuta: an ethnobotanical project dedicated to the documentation of the nutraceutical properties of Indian heritage rice varieties. She blogs about food, local ingredients and culinarycultural practices on Paticheri. You can read her blog at paticheri.com —page 7—

Meghdeep Sarkar Meghdeep Sarkar is a digital illustrator and designer, crafting and conceptualizing visuals that convey a story. He has worked on multiple global projects for tech companies/startups, fintech corporations, editorials, and small businesses. Meghdeep is a trained artist and is passionate about improving emotional connections through art. When not working, he enjoys coffee, conversations, and watching food shows. —page 55—

An Essential Taste of Rasam At once a humble dish that can be conjured out of pantr y basics and a sophisticated creation that showca ses the ra sa— or quintessence —of its star ingredients, rasam effortlessly straddles the ever yday and the exalted.

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHY

Deepa S. Reddy

Dedicated to all those who shared recipes, insights, tips,

Such a preparation is both familiar in principle and

elaborations, stories, enthusiasms, fathers and mothers,

unusual for its use of tender mango leaves, which are both

grandmothers and grandfathers with me in all our endless

seasonal and rarely used in cookery except perhaps as a

conversations about this most beloved dish called rasam.

cleansing tea. For me, however, tender mango leaves were a way to make a familiar dish unusual enough to push the question: what is a rasam anyway? What makes it so beloved, so special?

It all started with maavilai rasam—an infusion of tender mango leaves melded with the stock from cooking toor dal, only so lightly soured and spiced that the delicate vegetal scent of mango leaves remained distinct, turning a familiar olfactory experience into a gustatory one. A sizzling tempering laid on top of the froth that inevitably rises on a good rasam, everything perfectly timed lest a rolling boil destroy the effect.

The word “rasam” refers to a category of light, soupy preparations served either with a soft, mashable rice as rasam-saadam (the Tamil term of endearment is “rasanjaam”) or as a stand-alone hot drink. In the classic south Indian meal, rasam is the penultimate course. It comes after the thicker, heavier sambars, meat or other gravies and vegetables, and before the concluding, cooling curd rice and pickle. It is a fiery, intense interlude and a

R ASA wholly contextual response to what that stage of eating is

unusual, and all between); technique (do you use your

thought to require: an awakening of senses from inevitable

hands or a knife to prep tomatoes? A stone or mixie jar

first-course-induced stupor and an all-important aid to

for ground pastes that some rasams need?); preferences

digestion, which must now proceed apace.

(what’s all this “debris” floating in a rasam—shouldn’t it be clear?); the use of spices (a pre-made rasam powder, the

And yet, rasam is not just one thing but a vast array of

mel podi or spices freshly ground to finish, or any spice mix

preparations typically associated with southern Indian

at all beyond the customary black pepper and jeera/cumin);

cuisine. Variants in the form of Karnataka-Konkan saar, the

cooking vessels (clayware or the classic eeya chombu or

Andhra/Telangana chaaru, Gujarati osaman, Maharashtrian

tin vessel for its unique flavour?) and some fairly staunch

amti, Bangla tok/tauk and Axomiya tenga take us much

views about methods, flavour combinations, and in short,

further into other regional interpretations by turning the

what makes a rasam a rasam. Everyone had a perspective,

dish thicker, eliminating or specifically highlighting sour

a bank of recipes, and a set of family practices.

tastes and so on. The Sanskrit “rasa,” after all, which means “juice” but refers at once to taste, effect and aesthetics, is

Rasam was community, rasam was identity, rasam was

a wide idea hardly limited to South India. It’s familiar, if not

home, rasam was “emotion.” The #rasamseries, therefore,

always deeply understood, a bit like the dish itself.

delivered me into a hundred kitchens I had never known, and all the (mostly feminine) tutelage I’d never had. It was

Intent on exploring the category further, I began gingerly

both joyous and overwhelming. I needed a way to assemble

documenting my rasams during endless Covid lockdowns

the gush of little details and find the story that connected

via my blog’s Instagram handle @paticheri using the

them all.

hashtag #rasamseries. I say gingerly, because I have learned to make and love rasams not via watchful maternal

Rasam at the Confluence

tutelage in some bustling, smoky Indian kitchen, having lost

of Great and Little

both my grandmothers by the time of my birth and having

Scholars speak of the “great” and the “little” traditions as a

grown up with a mother who cared more about her books

heuristic of sorts to understand the development of cultural

than anything in the kitchen. I simply hadn’t the pedigree of

ideas and practices. The great traditions are generally the

those doyennes of Tamil cuisine: Chandra Padmanabhan,

cross-regional or pan-national ones; in the Indian context,

Chitra Viswanathan (ChitVish), or Usha Prabhakaran, whose

they are classical, Vedic, conceptual. The little traditions

Rasam Digest has been much anticipated in all the papers

are their regional counterparts: folk, Puranic, material.

for some time now.

The two streams feed into one another, and from their confluence emerge well-near all our cultural traditions. So

I came to rasams as a novice, having spent many of my

the epic Mahabharata exists as grand narrative but gathers

college and graduate school years befuddled by how tricky

much by way of folk insight and is re-told in local idioms

it was to nail a dish everyone claimed was so simple. My path

or re-interpreted in vernacular performances. Likewise, the

to rasam was via conversations over innumerable meals at

iconography of tertiary village goddesses often associates

which excellent rasams were served, my husband’s frequent

them with Shiva or Vishnu, inserting local belief systems

remarks about his grandmother’s signature chaarus, a

into wider ideologies. Muharram rituals have similarly

million failed rasams, some cookbook instruction, scholarly

found “fractal” expression among the multitude of Shi'a

curiosity and a whole lot of determination.

communities in Mumbai, as Reza Masoudi Nejad writes in New Diversities. And as Robert J. Miller writes in his paper

As it happened, my documentation of this very ordinary,

Button, Button…Great Tradition, Little Tradition, Whose

everyday

interest,

Tradition?, “elements of great traditions and reactions

reflection and recipe-sharing, particularly with Archana

to them” [emphasis added] both appear in Mahar and

(@thethiruvarurgirl) whose grandmother, mother, aunts

Chamar (Dalit) practices." Examples spanning region and

and others suddenly became like my own missing

community are countless, but in each, whether from

extended kin. It wasn’t long before we, along with Ranjini of

consonance or contestation, the local and the pan-regional

@leftofwrite, opened #rasamseries to contributions, which

meld and are mutually constituting.

preparation

sparked

considerable

came flooding in. Suddenly, we were in the midst of an

enthusiastic conversation about any number of elements

Rasam, it struck me, was another instance of the conjoining

of rasam-making. These included ingredients (typical,

of “great” and “little.” Conceptually, it is a refined theory

R ASA

"The Sanskrit 'rasa,' after all, which means 'juice' but refers at once to taste, effect and aesthetics, is a wide idea hardly limited to South India. It’s familiar, if not always deeply understood, a bit like the dish itself."

R ASA a mirror to what the linguist and folklorist A.K. Ramanujan once called an “Indian way of thinking.” The Rasavada, or the Path of Rasa Our most common contemporary translation of “rasam” to mean “juice” derives first from Rg Vedic literature, where rasa is just that: a sap, specifically that of the plant which produces soma, elixir of the Gods. The word “ras” is also closely associated with that other Sanskrit word, “saar,” which denotes both essence and value, the strength of a thing, its inner constituent nature—not just essence, but quintessence. Quintessence, however, can be of anything. So, says G.B. Mohan Thampi in “Rasa” as Aesthetic Experience, interpretations

rasa

range

bewilderingly

“from

the alcoholic soma-juice to the Metaphysical Absolute—the Brahman,” and can include "sap, juice, water, liquor, milk, nectar, poison, mercury, taste, savor, prime or finest part of anything, flavor, relish, love, desire, beauty.” The idea is so large that it lacks specificity. The particular notion of rasa as taste or relishing enters via Bharatamuni’s seminal text on dramaturgy, the Natyashastra (200BCE-200CE). Bharatamuni postulates that there are eight fundamental emotional states (sthāyibhāva) contained in each of us as latent impressions (vacana), which we will have gathered over multiple births. We become conscious of these in the right life situations (vibhava), and as a consequence of physical effects (anubhava) and other transitory mental states (vyabhichari bhava). In other words, the union of these three conditions—life situations, physical effects, and mental states—evokes the corresponding sthāyibhāva and expresses it as rasa: aesthetic experience, relish, delight. Bharatamuni’s

explication

tellingly

grounded

gustation: just as the cook combines various herbs and condiments to evoke inherent tastes and produce rasa, so of aesthetics and taste that is translated, interpreted, and materialised into a familiar, everyday dish. Through it, formal Ayurvedic insight becomes everyday Ayurveda. No other category of Indian cuisine exemplifies this convergence quite so remarkably. While sambars and biryanis, chutneys and khichdis are each specific ingredient assemblages or simply creative mélanges, rasams, saarus and chaarus explicitly promise distillations of taste in the quest for aesthetic experience and bodily well-being. In this, the common, everyday rasam holds up something of

also do performers evoke emotions in their audiences and produce enjoyment. The rasas of the performing arts are thus quite literally the ‘tastes of theatre’ (or nātyarasa). In this interpretation, the idea of rasa becomes not just “juice” or “extract” but also the savouring of these things. Still other layers of meaning accrue via what scholars will know as the “rasa debate” of CE 9-10, and several further conceptual refinements. In these commentaries, synthesised and summarised by the Kashmiri aesthetician, Abhinavagupta, rasa is intensification, mimicry of an

R ASA inward state, or its dramatic revelation. No longer is there the explicit analogy of performance to cookery, but the two remain tied. Culinary offerings, like theatrical performances, concentrate our perception of the many latent impressions acquired over multiple births. Think of the way we can experience fear intimately in drama, or the fundamental quality of a tomato in a saar. It is almost a kind of remembering or process of coming-into-consciousness of something already known. Rasa therefore does not occur in ordinary life any more than taste exists in the natural world. It needs to be invoked and drawn out so that it can be recognised. The intimacy of fear in a drama, or the rawness of green tamarind in a chaaru are each “ahaa!” moments of recognition, remembrance and comprehension. In this sense, rasa is also knowledge. The Caraka Samhita, a 100CE compendium on Ayurveda, is in fact precise on this point: rasa is that specific “knowledge perceived through rasanā indriya [roughly: gustatory senses] located at jihvā (the tongue).” In this reckoning, rasa is the knowledge, taste is the resulting experience. The Caraka Samhita itself adds an elaborate classification of the various rasas that can be received on the human tongue or produced during stages of digestion. Madhura, amla, lavana, katu, titka, kashaya: sweet, sour, salt, pungent, bitter, astringent. These six essential tastes, called shadrasas or arusuvai in Tamil, are correlated to the doshas or “energies” dominating physiological function. Rasa in the Caraka Samhita thus explicitly guides nutrition and therapy. Likewise, says Suśruta—the main author of the sixth century

BCE

medical

and

surgical

treatise

Suśruta

Samhita—the ideal diet is comprised of six rasas, which are the definitive guide to the nourishment of the body. These six rasas work through diets to determine the strength, immunity, complexion and the physical health of a living system. And although rasam as a dish promises a distilled, singular essence, all six tastes are present and essential to the expression of this essence. Put it all together, and the task of the person preparing a common rasam for an everyday meal, then, is nothing short of momentous. The cook must be something of a polymath—aesthetician, performer, and experiencescripter with the task of ensuring that a certain essential knowledge is clearly stated, perhaps intensified, certainly concentrated, or as it takes to land precisely on the tongue

R ASA

R ASA such that the eater’s memories of lost lives are awakened

lighter and thinner like many Konkan saarus or thelivu/

into consciousness of rasa. The uniqueness of rasam is not

clear rasams of Tamil cuisine. Richer rasams are common

just that it is tasty, but that it is in this manner precise.

at festivals. At catered wedding meals, guests are more

Any other accompanying perceptions would be anurasa, or

prone to see the more typically watery rasams as signs

sequels. Were there ever a dish that seamlessly united both

of cost-cutting. Cooking time is variable but long. For the

grand theory and humble practice in the Indian repertoire,

famous Andhra ulava chaaru, horsegram can be cooked on

it would have to be the rasam.

hot coals overnight. Bone broths take hours, while dals can be simmered for a half hour or more on a stovetop.

In the Theatre of the Rasam Yet, for all its conceptual complexity, the rasam can be

Next, there must be some specifically selected vegetable,

among the simplest and quickest of Indian dishes to

leafy green, fruit, spice or even flower which becomes the

prepare. Stories are told of sudden guests arriving late

eponymous hero of the resulting rasam. You could have

in the evening, needing food, and brilliant rasams being

tomato, thoothuvalai keerai (purple fruited pea eggplant

conjured out of a bare minimum of ingredients: tamarind

or Solanum trilobatum leaves], lemon, pepper or murungai

water, spices, tempering. Kottu rasam, made with barely

poo (Moringa oleifera flower) rasam. Vedic “rasa” is a juice,

anything but tamarind and tempering, is a foil for an empty

after all, whose distinctive taste, enjoyment, and nourishing

larder. Leftover puli kuzhambu (a richer, spicy tamarind

properties this dish must deliver. Rasams will thus always

gravy) or coconut chutney can be magically transformed

have a protagonist.

into a suddenly plentiful rasam. In examples such as these, the art of the rasam is not only aesthetics and taste, but

Each has a taste that becomes the aesthetic centrepiece

managing the household economy. The art of the rasam is

and a value: pepper’s heat for a cold, wood apple (Limonia

fluid, and literally so.

acidissima) sourness for liver detoxing. Often, this star enters with the slow-cooked stock, but it can also steal the

Rasam typically requires five basic elements: a stock, a star

show as a final entrant as citrus invariably does, adding a

ingredient, a souring agent, a powdered spice mix, and a

vitamin C boost. Or as watermelon juice does in Chennai’s

whole spice tempering. From these five arise a beguiling

celebrity wedding chef Mountbatten Mani Iyer’s novelty

array of possible variations. Let’s consider each in turn and

watermelon rasam.

the gathering pace with which they are each assembled, finishing with a tempering flourish (in Tamil, thalippu). You prepare a stock first, unhurriedly. This is the foundational taste onto which other flavours are layered. It is usually dal or lentil-based and must be done slowly. Meat-based stocks are less common, likely owing to cost and the time required for preparation. But they are used to make Chettinadu chicken and crab rasams, the Telangana bokkala rasam or bone broth that holds Ayurvedic authority as an immunity booster, or the famous Mulligatawny that was for so long the signature “Indian soup” of restaurants abroad, derived from the Tamil milagu-thani or pepper water. Starchy stocks prepared from water used to wash rice or with potato add flavour but are also end-ofpay-period rasams, resorted to when dal and lentil rations run low. Many will say that the stock is the prime nutrient source of rasam. Leave it out, and you get a sattu illaada rasam: rasam without strength. Depending on the constitution of the stock, rasams can be thicker like the Andhra chaarus,

R ASA

" The spices splutter and pop vigorously. The dried flowers brown, releasing fragrance. Smoke alarms are liable to go into paroxysms; kitchen windows are best left ajar. B ut flavours are at their peak."

Souring agents introduce another wide range of variations,

sometimes using the vegetable, fruit, or leafy green to

and can play double roles as protagonists themselves (or be

double as a souring agent or combine with another. For

left out entirely as with some saars). Tamarind is favoured

instance, pineapple rasams use a little tamarind, tomato

in the south, kokum distinguishes the Konkan coast and

rasams are made both with tamarind and without, but

beyond, and curd and citrus use feature throughout. Many

tender green tamarind or citrus tastes stand entirely on

have a perception of rasam as being a sour preparation,

their own.

but really sourness is only one of the six tastes that any

rasam must effectively combine. Rasam is one of those

By the time a souring agent like tamarind is added, too, the

rare dishes that sets itself an objective: highlight one taste

clock is on, the time for slowness past. As soon as the raw

in relation to five others. You’ll pick the appropriate one,

tastes of tamarind or tomato dissipate, things must happen

R ASA in quick succession. Turmeric is already in the stock or is

The spices splutter and pop vigorously. The dried flowers

added now. Some jaggery goes in for a touch of sweetness.

brown, releasing fragrance. Smoke alarms are liable to go

If a premade rasa podi or spice mix is to be used, it’s added

into paroxysms; kitchen windows are best left ajar. But

now. Rasam powders will typically introduce anywhere

flavours are at their peak. Before the rasam’s characteristic

from five to 15 or more spices, depending on regional and

froth can break from its initial simmer, you pour this

household preferences, each in quotidian quantity but

perfectly crafted finishing oil over in a sizzling flourish

specific proportion.

as distinctive and anticipated as the dish itself. “Srrrrr” is the sound of that moment, say some; Gujaratis go cham!

Complex podis can be substituted for more minimalist

It lasts but a second but extends in redolence. Enjoyment

combinations of freshly roasted-crushed spices. Together,

truly begins from this moment of private climax. It is the

these spices are the rasam protagonist’s comrades and

first taste of rasam, as it were. Switch off the flame. Throw

confidantes; they draw out its true qualities and hold

a garnish in (usually fresh coriander stems and leaves) or

these in store. They usually also introduce digestive or

squeeze in some lemon juice, maybe add some reserved

therapeutic properties of their own. A rasam with a specific

fresh ground spices (the “mel podi” or “powder on top”).

combination of garlic, cumin, and black pepper serves as

Rasam is ready for the table.

treatment for common colds, a marunthu “medicine rasam” or thippili (long pepper) rasam perks taste buds that have

Time resumes its normal pace as the kitchen fills with

been numbed by fevers, and jeera (cumin) rasams help

invitations to a meal that must, for all that smoke and

in convalescence. The spices in a rasam podi, ingested in

aroma, be close to ready. The rest happens at the table,

miniscule quantities over years, act as lifelong therapies.

and although eating is the culmination, tempering is the

Rasams are thus both nutritive and curative by nature.

dramatic climax.

If you can forget about the rasam when the stock is

Dregs: The Final Delight

being prepared, all your attention must be at the stove

At the bottom of the eeya chombu or other cooking pot,

once the powders are going in. Things happen fast from

after the meal is eaten and done, lies the settled dal mixed

here. Controlling the boil "or rather preventing it" is

with tempering spices, bits of tomato or other ingredient,

key to capturing the right flavours, sufficiently cooked,

often some of the whole pulses that did not soften and

appropriately fresh. So also it is only certain vessels that

dissolve into the water that became the stock for rasam.

are used to make rasams: the eeya chombu or tin vessel,

These are “dregs”, but they are their own delight. Rasavandi

for instance, is a Tamil favourite as it is reputed to give

becomes a delicious accompaniment to curd-rice or even

rasams a refined je ne sais quoi excellence. Stone vessels

dosas and idlis at a later meal. It is one last relish.

or others that hold heat too intensely after leaving the fire are unsuited to rasam preparation. The choice of cooking

“Indian doctrines are of one mind about the fact that…

pot is thus not incidental and can be an element of taste.

the path to sensual refinement passes through an

At this point, the dal content in the rasam has produced a

Intercultural Approach to a World Aesthetics.

intensification of feeling,” writes Grazia Marchianò in An froth and the rasam is starting to rise as though it might spill over, an effect enhanced by the generally smaller-mouthed

Rasam is that point of intensification on that path to

vessels that are typically used. Now the appointed time for

sensual refinement, but it also opens others: the precision

the tempering to get layered on is fast approaching. There

and pleasure of tempering, the lingering scents on fingers

must be fat as a conveyor of taste. The use of coconut oil

used to mash soft rice to absorb and slurp rasam, the

distinguishes many Kerala rasams. Tamil Nadu uses more

rasavandi.

sesame oil, and ghee is common everywhere, to those who can afford it. You choose, bring the fat almost to

Like that, these closing words settled at the bottom of a

smoking point, and drop in, in swift succession, whole or

tall container of (hopefully thelivu/clear) words about

only roughly crushed spices—a broken dry red chilli, cumin

rasam are equally dregs—but with any luck, also their own

and mustard seeds, maybe some crushed black pepper

special delight.

and garlic, asafoetida/hing and curry leaves. Dried flowers like neem or night-blooming jasmine can add distinctive floral tones.

How Did Anchovies Become Beloved to the Gurkhas? The popularity of the saltwater fish in landlocked Nepal tells an important stor y about the innovation of the Gurkha kitchen—and the untold human cost of British imperialism.

TEXT

Prashanta Khanal

PHOTOGRAPHY

Getty Images

"My mother adds dried anchovies to many

Singaporean Gurkha soldier. In the cantonment,

Nepali recipes, from achaars and curries to

her mother would often make Nepali dishes

soups. We adore anchovies,” Trisha Rai said. I

cooked with dried anchovies.

met Trisha and her mother Yamini Rai in their restaurant, Yellow Pomelo (which has now been

The first taste of anchovy that Trisha remembers

sold), located in the southern part of the capital

is a bitter gourd achaar that her mother made,

Kathmandu. Every time I craved Southeast Asian

topped with crisp, deep-fried anchovies. Bitter

flavours, I used to visit the restaurant.

gourd achaar is a piquant relish made of bitter gourds using roasted sesame seed or philinge

Trisha Rai, now in her mid-30s, was born

(Niger

and brought up in Singapore, in the Gurkha

fenugreek seeds and mustard oil. It is a popular

Cantonment

dish from the foothills of the Himalayas, the

called

Mount

Vernon

Camp,

where her father Kamal Prasad Rai served as a

seed

powder),

chillies,

lemon

juice,

home of the Gurkhas.

R ASA

Trisha’s family has a generational history of joining the

In 2005, Trisha and her family returned to Nepal. Like

Gurkhas. In the late 1930s, Trisha’s grandfather was

many other Gurkha families, they brought anchovies back

recruited by the British, and deployed in World War II in

with them.

Malaya. In 1980, her father—who was born in Malaysia

(then Malaya) in 1959—joined the Singapore Gurkha

In a landlocked country where the nearest sea, the Bay

regiment. Trisha’s mother was also born to a British Gurkha

of Bengal, lies several hundred kilometres away across

soldier in the late ‘60s, in Hong Kong. Thus, the family has

the border, the curious presence of anchovies in Nepal’s

held a culture of eating anchovies for generations.

cuisine owes a debt of gratitude to the Gurkhas.

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*** Even though the British Empire never colonised Nepal, it left a heavy imprint of exploitation on the country. The recruitment of young Nepali men in the British Armed

guerrilla war in the dense tropical jungles of the Malay peninsula. Between 1963 and 1966, they fought along the Malaysian-Indonesian borders on Borneo Island against pro-independence fighters, in what is known as the

Forces has a history that goes back 200 years.

“Indonesian Confrontation.”

During the 1814–1816 Anglo-Nepalese war, Nepali soldiers

In 1971, after the wave of independence in the Malay

fought bravely against the British East India Company’s army. The war ended with the Sugauli Treaty of 1815, through which Nepal lost one-third of its land and was coerced to allow British residency in Kathmandu. Although not mentioned in the treaty, the company also negotiated to recruit Nepali young men into its armed forces. Thus began the use of Nepali men as mercenaries by

peninsula, the British moved Gurkha regiments to Hong Kong—Britain’s last colony in Asia—where they helped to contain the immigrants thronging from mainland China. In 1997, after China annexed Hong Kong, they moved the Gurkhas back to the U.K. Even to this day, Singapore and Brunei recruit Gurkhas into

British imperialists.

their armed forces. Selected by the British Army with the

These young men mainly came from four hill-based

annually through recruiting centres in Nepal.

purview of the respective governments, they are chosen

communities, whom the British considered martial races: Magar and Gurung from western Nepal, and Rai and

***

Limbu from the east. Even today, many men from these

“Anchovies have always been part of our diet, and their

communities continue to join the British Army and the

absence in our kitchen is stranger than their presence,”

Singapore Police Force, following their forefathers’ legacy

says writer and translator Muna Gurung. She runs a

and aspiring for a better future.

homemade pickle business called ĀMĀKO with her mother, Bhimi Gurung. Like Trisha, Muna was born in Singapore

Gurkhas have served in every war the British Empire has

to a Gurkha father. The family returned to Nepal after

fought all over the world, from Europe, Africa and South

her father retired in 1994, as Gurkhas are not entitled to

America to Central Asia. From late 1914 until 1918, the

Singaporean citizenship or residency.

British colonial empire deployed Gurkhas in Europe during World War I. During World War II, Gurkhas waged heavy

While deployed in Southeast Asia, the Gurkhas and their

battles against the imperial Japanese Army in former

families were introduced to inexpensive and abundantly

Burma, a main theatre of the war in Asia. They also fought

available anchovies. In the region, salt-cured, dried

outside Asia.

anchovies, which are locally called ikan bilis, are an integral part of the local cuisine.

In Southeast Asia, Gurkha deployment dates back as early as 1828, when the British East India Company recruited men

Gurkha families call dried anchovies bhure machha—

from Nepal’s hills to serve as soldiers, guards, miners and

bhure means small, and machha is fish in Nepali. They

farmers in its Burmese colony. In 1876, Gurkhas came to

are also called Bruneiko or Singaporeko macha, indicating

Malaya as a part of a British-Indian contingent to respond

the places they came from. It was customary for Gurkhas

to the murder of a British resident.

recruited in the Malay peninsula, colloquially called Malaya lahure in Nepal, to bring back gifts of dried anchovies to

The Gurkha connection to Malaya was cemented in 1947.

their families and friends while visiting the country on

After British colonial rule in India ended, Gurkha regiments

holiday.

were split between the British and Indian armies. The British moved the regiments under their employ to colonies in the

(Lahure is a term used for men employed in a foreign army.

Malay peninsula to protect their interests in the region.

The word comes from Lahore, in modern-day Pakistan, where Nepali men used to serve in the army of the Sikh

From 1948 to 1960, during the Cold War, Gurkhas

Empire ruled by Maharaja Ranjit Singh, before the kingdom

engaged in the “Malayan Emergency,” a long and costly

was annexed by the British East India Company.)

R ASA In Gurkha homes, anchovies became a customary part of the hospitality extended to visitors. For instance, my

"Unlike other seafood, dried anchovies easily made their way into Gurkha kitchens, including those in Nepal, because they were easy to transport across the seas."

neighbour would give me a packet of dried anchovies every time her husband came to visit from Brunei. She would serve guests crisp fried anchovies or a spicy achaar made of anchovies cooked with tomatoes, along with a glass of alcohol. Alcohol is an indispensable part of culinary customs of many Indigenous hill communities in Nepal, including the Gurkhas. Not surprisingly, anchovies pair well with it. In both Trisha’s and Muna’s homes, the other common dish prepared with anchovies is aloo-dum—a spicy dish made of boiled potatoes in a spice-laden gravy, which is popular in eastern Nepal and in adjacent Darjeeling. When fiddlehead ferns are in season, they are also stir-fried with

For Gurkhas deployed in Southeast Asia and their families

anchovies and eaten with rice.

who accompanied them, dried anchovies were one of the few foods that seemed not as foreign. They looked familiar,

Thanks to their versatility, anchovies have gained popularity

and probably reminded them of small, dried river fish

among a larger section of Nepalis. Today, it is common for

called sidra that they ate back home.

grocery stores and supermarkets to stock anchovies on their shelves. Once a foreign ingredient, they have become

When not occupied in back-breaking farming or engaged

a prized delicacy.

in social ceremonies and duties, Nepal’s ethnic hill communities,

the

Magar,

Gurung,

Rai

and

Limbu,

occasionally climb down to rivers and streams for fishing. In the nutrient-deficient rivers cascading rapidly through rugged Himalayan valleys, river fish are not as abundant as anchovies in the open sea. They are an occasional treat in the Nepali hills. When the catch is more than they can consume fresh, they preserve the fish by smoke-drying them over firewood to make sidra. “Dried anchovies were very popular within the Gurkha community in Brunei,” remembered Tim I Gurung, a former Gurkha soldier in Brunei and author of Ayo Gorkhali: The True Story of the Gurkhas, published in 2021. “We used to bring dried anchovies back home to Nepal and gift them to friends and relatives.” Unlike other seafood, dried anchovies easily made their way into Gurkha kitchens, including those in Nepal, because they were easy to transport across the seas. Trisha also recounted her early memories of seeing her mother packing dried anchovies along with kerupuk udang (or prawn crackers) and lungis (or colourful sarongs) to send back home. While sukuti (smoke-dried meat) and gundruk (dried, fermented mustard greens) were taken overseas from Nepal, dried anchovies made their way back.

*** The popularity of anchovies in Nepali cuisine at large also allows us to reframe some popular narratives about the Gurkha community—or at least look at them through a different lens. I would wager that if there is one thing that the world knows about Nepal besides its mountains, it is probably the Gurkhas and their legendary fierceness. But this narrative overlooks and minimises the cost that the Gurkhas have had to bear for it. During World War I, approximately 200,000 Nepali men are believed to have served the British Indian Army. As Alaka Atreya Chudal notes in his paper "What Can a Song Do to You? A Life Story of a Gurkha Prisoner in World War I," one out of 10 Gurkhas from the Himalayan foothills recruited during the war never made it back home, although official British records maintain that 6,168 Gurkhas in total were killed—a much smaller number. Letters and diaries written by the Gurkhas who fought in World War I and were captured as prisoners of war by the Germans paint haunting pictures of hunger, pain and suffering in the wet, cold trenches of Europe. Many

R ASA

of the diaries and letters sent by Gurkhas were censored

From World War II until 1994, Gurkhas were on average paid

and never reached their families. They are displayed at

10 times less than their British counterparts. Even to this

the British Museum Library in London. They portray the

day, veteran Gurkhas don’t earn an equal pension for doing

soldiers yearning for home and to see their loved ones, and

the same job, a continuation of a discriminatory colonial

regretting joining the war.

legacy. It was only in 2009, after years of legal struggle, that the British allowed Gurkhas to settle in the UK.

Again, in World War II, over 250,000 Gurkhas fought alongside the British. More than 33,000 men never

As recently as in July 2021, British Gurkha veterans staged a

returned.

hunger strike in London demanding equal pensions.

The British government sent many Gurkhas who survived

It's important to acknowledge the history of the Gurkhas

these wars back home empty-handed, without pensions or

beyond the single story of their bravery and loyalty. Their

severance pay. Many of those who were sent back were

humane stories are often not told or recognised.

forced to live in poverty or engage in low-paying jobs as watchmen in India. The Gurkha families who lost their

As Muna Gurung says, anchovies offer us an unlikely

loved ones received no compensation.

glimpse of the community’s ability to adapt and persevere.

“The way the British treated the Gurkhas in the aftermath

“Anchovies tell stories of where we had been,” she says.

of the First and Second World War was not only cruel and

“They signify the creativity and resilience of Gurkha women

inhumane but also a disgrace,” writes Tim I Gurung in his

like my mother—how they embraced something that [was]

book, “[They] were always taken for granted and exploited.”

new to them and made it their own. In this process, they made their culinary culture so much richer.”

P r i d e , P l ac e an d P i th a Fo r B a n g l a d e s h i s t h e w o r l d o v e r, t h e r i c e - b a s e d dishes called pitha offer a tangible and tactile c o n n e c t i o n t o t h e i r c u l i n a r y h e r i t a ge .

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHY

Dina Begum

The gastronomic map of Bangladesh is laden with

importance throughout life, in places such as Sylhet, there

many delights. However, few are more treasured than the

is a tradition of distributing chaler ruti pitha or flatbreads

rice-based sweets and savouries collectively called pitha. A

made of rice, along with a coconut and banana halwa

practice that spans hundreds of years, pitha is made with

called Allah rohom shinni, to mark death anniversaries and

unique regional inflections across Bangladesh. While it is

request blessings both in times of grief and good fortune.

impossible to put a number to the varieties of pitha, my guess is that it could stretch into the hundreds. They range

Pitha making is a culinary tradition rooted in rural

from crêpes and fried and steamed cakes, to steamed

Bangladesh. It holds a special place in people’s lives and

dumplings and milk-based puddings.

livelihoods. Bangladesh is an agrarian country with rice at the heart of its production. The consumption of pitha

Woven into the social fabric of Bangladeshi culture,

organically derives from this.

pitha-making facilitates a way for generations to interact, socialise and honour time. The tradition justifies the

Nabanna, which is drawn from the Bangla words naba (or

popular Bengali adage, “baro mashe tero parbon” (or 13

new) and anna (grain or food), is the winter rice harvest,

festivals in 12 months), which not only describes the food

which takes place in late autumn. It heralds a season of

culture of Bangladesh but also the place of food in social

festivals, fairs and general pitha mania. The season typically

interactions and celebrations.

begins in late autumn, lasts throughout the winter months and then gently segues into Boishakh or the Bangladeshi

The best known varieties of pitha are patishapta pitha (sweet,

stuffed

crêpes),

puli

pitha

pastries with a sweet filling), chitoi pitha (savoury rice

While the core ingredient for pitha is rice, wheat flour,

crumpets), bhapa pitha (steamed coconut and jaggery

semolina, lentils and potatoes are also included in doughs

cakes) and handesh or teler pitha (fried cakes made of

and batters. Coconut is used widely in sweet pithas, and

molasses and rice flour). From staples on the everyday

date molasses is the sweetener of choice. Savoury pithas

meal table to snacks to socialise with; and from foods that

include noonta (salty) or jhal (hot) versions, where chillies

are shared during times of grief to elaborate delicacies

and other spices are used along with vegetables in the

proudly presented during wedding festivities, pithas play

dough or batter.

many roles in Bangladeshi society. As testament to their

summer in April.

(crescent-shaped

R ASA While Nabanna provided the perfect pretext to prepare

Some pitha are enjoyed in different ways over a period of

pitha, the cold winters—especially in the pre-refrigeration

time. For instance, choi pitha, also known as mera pitha,

era—offered an ideal solution for preserving rice-based

are small steamed dumplings made with toasted ground

dishes. In the winter, the usual rice-focused meals eaten

rice. Smooth on the outside and grainy inside, choi pitha

two to three times a day are replaced by pitha such as

makes for a delicious snack when dipped into ghee or gur

flatbreads and dumplings. Stored properly, certain pitha

(date molasses). In the days after they are made, they are

can keep for up to a week and are a great example of slow

often reheated on a griddle with a little char, and eaten for

food, made as a community using local produce.

lunch accompanied by a meat stew. When sliced and fried with turmeric, onions and chillies, choi pitha transforms into a hearty breakfast.

*** Roger Gwynn, a writer and teacher who volunteered and travelled extensively around the country pre- and postindependence in 1971, recalls seeing pitha being made both in homes and by the roadside. “It always fascinated me to see endless variations. Different areas had different traditions of pitha making,” he said. He went on to describe a particular variety that he enjoyed eating. “The most decorative ones I saw were ‘phul pitha’ from Dhaka district. [Fine] flower designs like filigree work were cut into the pastry, which was then deep fried and sprinkled with sugar.” With the onset of winter, the demand for pitha makes it a viable income stream for the poor. It is a common sight to see people stop on their way to or after work to indulge in a piping hot pitha. By the side of the roads, you will see makeshift stalls fashioned out of vegetable carts, tea tables and steel drums. Popular options include steamed or pan-cooked varieties such as chitoi pitha, served with accompaniments such as bhortas made of vegetables, chillies or spicy dried fish. Or jhal pitha, savoury fried cakes made with an egg-based batter. The more intricate varieties are usually reserved for the home kitchen. Making pitha is often a communal event. Growing up, my cousins and I used to help my mother and aunt ahead of special occasions. We would form an assembly line over tea, snacks and chat. While someone made the dough or batter, someone else prepared the filling, and others took turns to cook the pitha or to place them on trays for the next stage. In this way, pitha became the fulcrum of social interactions and community building. This method also facilitates the transmission of the technical finesse required to make them. When my mother, Sultana

R ASA Begum, and I last made pitha together, she recalled her

be fried until crisp, emerging from the hot oil, aromatic

experience of learning the techniques from her mother

and irresistible.

and grandmother. Her eyes misted over with emotion. There are no shortcuts for pithas such as these, which are “I had such fun making pitha with everyone—the moments

made in particular stages that require attention to detail

we spent together, socialising, laughing and chatting as

and antaaz or intuition, a skill that is gradually built upon

we made and ate them,” she said. “I’ll always treasure

with experience. The cook needs to know when to add

those family memories. My cousins, friends and I used to

more flour, and how to work fast with the hot dough while

have pitha-making contests to see who could make the

keeping an eagle eye to ensure that the dough is kneaded

best ones. It was a lovely way to spend time, especially

well before it has cooled too much.

in winter!” At its most basic, pitha can take the form of a simple rice When we prepare handesh or teler pitha at home, it is

flour flatbread for scooping up curries. Or rustic banana

always under my mother’s watchful eye. This seemingly

and molasses fritters, made by dropping spoonfuls of

simple fried cake is deceptively difficult to master. Made

thick batter into hot oil. Savoury jhal pitha are made in a

with rice flour and molasses, which is rested for several

similar fashion with a rice batter, but with added spices

hours, this pitha requires painstaking effort. The batter for

such as turmeric, onion and ginger. Then there’s bhapa

a single pitha is carefully poured to form concave rounds,

pitha, which epitomises the sweet variety of pitha. A dome-

which disappear in hot oil and rise with a frill around the

shaped confection made of granules of damp ground rice,

edges like macarons. Slightly crisp around the edges, a

layered with shredded coconut, bhapa pitha holds a dollop

little chewy and steeped in the flavour of date molasses,

of patali gur (or jaggery) in its heart.

occasionally with a whisper of spice such as fennel, handesh requires a practised hand. My mother often teaches her

However, no pitha is as mesmerising as a plate of intricately

technique to family and friends.

handcrafted nokshi pitha. The most ornate forms of nokshi pitha require years of practice to perfect and are

“Not everyone knows how to get the batter right,” she says.

seen as a form of edible art. Smooth pieces of cooked rice

“It needs to be demonstrated in person to get a feel for

dough are hand-decorated with raised cuts using date

the consistency and you can only become better through

palm thorns, although toothpicks or knives are more

practice. When I teach a person how to make handesh, I

common nowadays.

feel like I’m passing on something special. Now they can make these pitha for their family and friends to enjoy.”

It is said that women who make nokshi pitha imprint their thoughts and feelings into them, drawing from scenes

Every year, about a week or so before Eid, our family

of nature. Popular patterns include paisley shapes, betel

conversations turn to pitha making. This is when classic

leaves, peacocks, fish, birds and flowers such as lotuses.

varieties are made to perfection and new recipes are

Many patterns incorporate folklore and spiritual motifs

experimented with. The selection always includes nunor

such as mandalas. This art form mirrors nokshi kantha,

bora or nun gora—savoury fried pastries popular in the

where similar patterns and motifs are embroidered onto

Sylhet region of Bangladesh.

bedding, tablecloths and clothing.

I remember watching my mother’s hands work meticulously,

Once decorated, the pitha are fried and then dipped in

kneading large bowlfuls of sturdy dough made of rice flour,

sugar or date molasses syrup. A photo of my mother’s

occasionally stained yellow with turmeric or flecked green

syrup-soaked nokshi pitha is pinned on my Twitter page. It

with coriander. The zing of ginger would hang in the air.

has been widely shared and garners curiosity among those who see it.

Just moments earlier, she would have scraped off the steaming rice dough from the pot and gathered it together

Food editor and recipe developer Anikah Shaokat has

on the work surface. She would then sprinkle a thin layer of

grown up eating all kinds of pitha. However, she learned

rice flour, roll the dough into large rounds and cut shapes

how to make them only after moving to New York in her

with cookie cutters. The edges would be frilled, scalloped

late teens.

and shaped into stars and hearts. These shapes would then

R ASA

"Pitha making is an expression of love, imbued with memories of cooking them on clay wood-fired stoves in the winter with loved ones, especially grandmothers, mothers and aunts."

“Since there isn’t a lot of written and recorded literature

Academy as they have a large open space. The Ministry of

on our Bangladeshi cooking, I mostly taught myself to

Cultural Affairs was slow to come on board but now they

make pitha from YouTube videos,” Shaokat said. “Pithas

are enthusiastic in supporting it. They see the value of the

are such an intrinsic part of our culture. I think it’s one of

festival as it helps to promote the culture of Bangladesh.

the few elements that separates us from the larger South

Now, it takes place in all eight [regions] of Bangladesh.

Asian culinary narrative. The world has a bad habit of

In the future, we hope to take the festival to all the

bucketing us all under one Indo-Pak umbrella, but I think

districts too.”

pithas are one of the few things we can distinctly claim as Bengali/Bangladeshi.”

The purpose of these festivals, according to Ferdous Akhter Lily, a coordinator of a pitha utsab in the Mohammadpur

Chef and food writer Amirah Islam reiterates this common

suburb in Dhaka, is to help people learn about pitha.

refrain among Bangladeshis.

Certain types of local rice are difficult or even impossible to find outside of Bangladesh. The Mohammadpur

“I’d say pitha making is very much a Bangali art,” Islam

festival showcases 14 stalls, named after 14 of the most

said. “I don’t know of any other South Asian culture that

popular local rice varieties. At these fairs, people indulge

[makes pithas]. Especially in the celebratory manner that

their curiosity about new and interesting flavours and try

we make them. The closest thing to pitha to my knowledge

sought-after regional specialities.

are mooncakes.” For instance, in Bikrampur, Dhaka, bibikhana is a treasured

***

pitha. Perhaps the closest in form and flavour to a cake,

The nationwide ardour for pitha is apparent from the fact

this is one of my favourite types of pitha. The batter is

that there are pitha festivals organised across the country.

made using eggs and fat, and then steamed or baked. Hate

Every year in January or February, the Jatiya Pitha Utsab

kata shemai pitha mimics vermicelli or shemai. Rice dough

Udjapan Parishad (Committee for National Pitha Festivals)

is painstakingly hand-turned into thin, squat noodles ready

hosts a 10 to 12-day national pitha festival called Jatiya

to be simmered in molasses and milk sauce.

Pitha Utsab in association with the Shilpakala Academy, the country’s preeminent cultural centre in Dhaka. Festivals

Chita or sprinkled pitha is made by using the fingers

such as these have grown over the years and present

to sprinkle batter on a hot pan to form lattice shapes.

the opportunity to taste various pitha, including regional

A particular version of this pitha from Noakhali in the

varieties that are difficult to access outside the home. They

Chittagong region uses coconut and molasses in the

attract people from around the country.

batter. Chunga pitha is an unusual pitha found in the Sylhet region, where glutinous rice known as binni chal is

I spoke to Khondoker Shah Alam, the General Secretary of

wrapped in banana leaves and stuffed into young bamboo

Jatiya Pitha Utsab Udjapan Parishad. He shared that the

sticks, before being cooked on a fire. The smoky rice can be

first festival in 2008 was a small affair, which he organised

both sweet or savoury.

in his coffee shop in Dhaka. The

public

response

pitha

festivals

has

been

“We did this without government support and it was a great

overwhelming. Khondoker Shah Alam has watched the

success,” said Alam. “Later, we partnered with Shilpakala

crowds grow, year upon year.

R ASA

“In Dhaka, we have over 10,000 people attending daily,

Nur-E Gulshan Rahman, co-founder of Korai Kitchen, a

from all over Bangladesh,” Alam said. “People are losing

Bangladeshi restaurant she runs with her daughter in New

touch with their food traditions, and these festivals help

Jersey, echoes this sentiment.

reintroduce people to pitha, especially those who live in cities and do not have access to them. Over 200 pitha are

“Eating the hot pitha was such a wonderful memory,” she

presented as part of Jatiya Pitha Utsab in Dhaka and families

said. “My mother, grandmother and the cooks would make

share these delicacies with the younger generations.”

all sorts of pitha together. Every day there would be a different variety, all winter long. Doodh pitha, patishapta

Pitha festivals are also extremely popular among the

pitha, bhapa pitha, thel pitha. I drew on those memories

Bangladeshi diaspora in the U.K., Europe and North

to make pitha for my own children. Because it is so time-

America, recreating the atmosphere of those in Bangladesh,

consuming, I think it represents an appreciation of the

with music, dance and dozens of pitha stalls.

artistic, of things done by hand, with careful attention to detail. It’s like poetry in food.”

Pitha also serves as an important aspect of social, religious and cultural customs, featuring in Eid celebrations, Pujo

My mother shares a similar nostalgia about pitha made in

festivals and weddings. Wedding dala selections (or

Bangladesh, with high-quality local ingredients.

platters) are incomplete without an array of the prettiest pitha. Pitha making is an expression of love, imbued with

“The rice outside of Bangladesh is not fresh, so you’ll never

memories of cooking them on clay wood-fired stoves in the

get the same results as you’d get when making them in the

winter with loved ones, especially grandmothers, mothers

village,” she said. “I prefer to grind rice at home instead

and aunts. There is a strong association between pitha and

of using ready-ground rice flour and use fresh coconut

the country itself, conjuring images of verdant green fields

instead of dessicated. I miss the fresh, hand-ground rice

and coconut trees.

from our paddy fields, the coconut from our trees and the

new date molasses when it was in season. The flavour and fragrance over there is like nothing you’ve imagined!” When I ask her what kind of pithas she loved to make in Bangladesh, she tells me about taaler pitha, made from the pulp of ripe palm fruits, which grow in abundance in Bangladesh. (Read all about tal fruit on page 38). “You can easily make 15 to 20 types of pitha from the pulplike juice of tal,” she said. “It’s a good natural sweetener and different [in flavour] from date molasses.”

*** In my own experience, the best pithas can indeed be found in rural areas, particularly where rice is grown. Families who own or work in paddy fields have ready access to fresh rice, which translates to pitha made the traditional way. However, industralisation has changed the processes— and sometimes, even the ingredients—involved in making pitha. With a decrease in the availability of skilled tappers, who often move to the cities to pursue other occupations, the traditional methods of tapping date tree sap for molasses are in danger of being forgotten. There’s also

R ASA a greater risk of products being adulterated in the wider

his voice. “Pitha are present everywhere, even at ministerial

market, with sugar being mixed with date molasses, and

events and high society weddings. And we are working

pesticides found in rice.

with pitha makers so that they can export unprocessed pithas with a one to two-month shelf life. This is not to

Among Bangladeshis, pitha is so beloved that it has been

promote business—I am not a businessman, I am a cultural

proposed for inclusion on the UNESCO Intangible Cultural

activist. This is so others can enjoy and appreciate one of

Heritage of Humanity (ICH) list, which honours “a practice,

our traditions.”

representation, expression, knowledge, or skill considered by UNESCO to be part of a place’s cultural heritage.”

Despite some accommodations made to suit modern convenience, people are keen to preserve what they see

Dr. Dilruba Sharmin from Dhaka University says that to

as part of their cultural identity. As Rahman says: “Pitha

safeguard this know-how, pitha festivals such as Nabanna

making requires collaboration, an attention to detail,

Utsab, and intricate varieties of pitha such as nokshi pitha

and patience, and I think these are important skills to

and jamai pitha must be protected. While the large regional

pass down.”

and national pitha festivals promote and celebrate the art of pitha, Dr. Sharmin suggests creating specialised

While it is not always practical to spend hours making

departments at educational and cultural institutions, with

pitha on a regular basis, I believe this tradition can be

support from UNESCO and other experts. In her opinion,

incorporated into holiday traditions and weekends as an

this would also improve Bangladesh’s tourism industry and

enjoyable and leisurely project. Just as we bring out cookie

contribute to its development.

cutters for Christmas and gather for family feasts, learning and practising pitha making in a communal setting could

Bangladeshi

families

have

traditionally

been

multi-

be a way to nurture skills and foster memories.

generational and extended families often lived together. This family structure has changed in recent years with the

Like everyone I have spoken with for this piece, the

rise of nuclear families and people choosing to live alone

knowledge of pitha making reinforces my Bangladeshi

for work and educational opportunities. As a result, pitha

identity. It offers an avenue to introduce others to my food

are being made at home and by hand less frequently,

heritage and celebrate it. It honours my bond with both

because they can be time-consuming. Many simply do not

my grandmothers who have passed, yet continue to live

know or have the opportunity to learn to make them, as

on in my memories as I think of making and eating pitha

this is an intergenerational skill passed down through oral

with them, while listening to stories of courageous queens,

instruction or observation.

tigers and magicians. Each variety of pitha I now make holds a special memory, linked to a particular person or moment

In recent years, the demand from busy Bangladeshis

in my life. For me, this tactile quality of preserving my

in Bangladesh and from the Bangladeshi diaspora has

childhood memories strengthens my cultural connections.

contributed to a rise in pre-prepared, frozen pitha popping up in grocery stores. Compared to a decade or so ago, where

As my mother makes pitha with my niece, I ask her how

I would spot two or three varieties of frozen pitha, I now

it feels to be able to pass down her skills and she beams.

see over a dozen types, made by different manufacturers, available in London. On the other hand, homemade pitha

“I take great pride in having taught my children to make

microbusinesses run by Bangladeshi women are reclaiming

pitha and my first grandchild is now getting involved,

this important part of their heritage. Handmade pitha can

which is a proud moment for me as I can leave a

now be ordered online or via social media.

legacy behind for them to share,” she says. “Hopefully the coming generations will stop pitha from disappearing.

In Bangladesh, this is a burgeoning business, with pitha

I’m looking forward to teaching my granddaughter more

companies and food delivery services delivering pitha for

as she grows older. It’s a great expression of love and I

special events or personal consumption.

hope this love spreads to more people who can learn and enjoy pitha.”

“There is a pitha revival going on and people are enjoying pitha even in fast food places now,” Alam said, with pride in

In L i fe A n d D e a th , A Fe r vo u r Fo r Fi sh T h e B e n ga l i c u s t o m o f M a t s y a m u k h i — o r t h e symbolic re turn to fi sh- e at ing after b ere avemen t— is one among a complex web of cultural and religious customs in the Indian subcontinent that h e l p c o m m u n i t i e s n av i ga t e t h e l a n d s c a p e o f l o s s .

TEXT

Priyadarshini Chatterjee

ILLUSTRATIONS

Priyanka Pandit

It’s been years but it feels like yesterday,

Most of all, perhaps strangely so, I remember

even if the memories only flash by in

the food. There were trays heaped with

discordant spurts. The white shamiyana on

batter-fried topshe (mango fish) and stacks

the terrace, the sudden rush of guests at lunch

of paturi; thick paves of bhetki (barramundi)

time, stray bursts of laughter, a dramatic

slathered with a rich marinade of mustard,

spat in the cooks’ tent, my sister singing my

wrapped in banana leaves and cooked on a

grandmother’s favourite shyama sangeet (a

griddle; unctuous steaks of catla drenched in

genre of devotional songs) to a rapt audience

chilli-red gravy, ladled onto mounds of long-

of great aunts and uncles, in the living

grained rice; and doi parshe, whole mullets,

room downstairs…

fried and stewed in a yoghurt and poppy-seed sauce, of which everyone sang praises.

R ASA All afternoon, my aunt stood in one corner, swivelling her

The ceremony, I learnt, was the symbolic release from

eyes around the gathering, signalling the servers every

the strict rules of abstinence that circumscribe the period

now and then to bring out another round of this or that.

of asauch or pollution arising from death. The concept of asauch is premised in the notions of ritual purity and

“More rice here,” she hollered, every time she saw an almost

impurity that underpin the complex fractal of Hindu beliefs

empty sal leaf platter, while my father and uncle took turns

and caste dynamics. In Bengal, this means the end of

drifting from one table to another, imploring guests to eat

the period of strict vegetarianism when fish, the region’s

well. Any awkwardness around the eating, considering

cherished staple, is verboten. The return to “fish-eating”

the solemnity of the occasion, was quickly mitigated by

is, in fact, the highlight of the ceremony, also known as

the assurance that it was all for the satisfaction of my

Matsyamukhi, which loosely translates to “putting fish in

grandmother’s recently departed soul.

the mouth.”

At the far end of the terrace, propped up on a table lined

In his 1931 essay, The Cultural Significance of Fish in Bengal,

with a pristine white cloth, stood a framed photograph of

anthropologist Tarak Chandra Das writes,

my paternal grandmother, my Thamma, half-hidden by fat garlands of rajanigandha (or tuberose) and wraithlike

“On this day, which falls on the first ceremonially

tendrils of sandalwood-scented smoke from burning

suitable day after the Sraddha ceremony, all the

incense sticks. The afternoon's feast, flush with fishy

relatives especially the agnates, sit together at a feast

excess, was the culmination of her obsequial rites riddled

when fish is served, for the first time to the observers

with myriad rules, rituals and sacraments that followed her

of the taboos. The nearest agnate belonging to the

death 13 days prior.

superior grade of agnatic kinship, and preferably older in age, puts a piece of fish from his own plate on that of

That morning, the funeral priest had dropped by to anoint

the chief mourner and this ends the period of taboos

every member of the family with a dab of turmeric and

for all concerned. Thus, fish here serves as an emblem

mustard oil to mark Niyam Bhango, which literally means

of all the taboos taken together and the partaking of it

“breaking of rules” in Bengali. He too was sent home with

removes all other taboos automatically.”

what my uncle dubbed as a respectable dakshina (or honorarium) and a whole catla fish, massive in size. That

Das also points out that the practice is “dissociated from

was the custom.

Brahmanical rituals” (and the associated insistence on vegetarianism) and observed as a “social custom.” On the

“Now we can eat everything,” a cousin winked at me, making

day of the Shraddha, which is centred on sacred rites and

no effort to hide his rapacious enthusiasm for returning to

rituals, a strictly vegetarian meal cooked without alliums is

the pleasures of life.

the mandate. The fish-laden feast follows after. The custom, however, is not so much sanctioned by religion as it is predicated in the community’s cultural ethos. In

" The return to 'fish- eating' is, in fact, the highlight of the ceremony, also known as Matsyamukhi, which loosely translates to 'putting fish in the mouth.'"

Bengal, a region rich in fluvial resources, fish is not only a prime source of sustenance, but also a cultural touchstone of immense sentimental and symbolic significance. Fish is ubiquitous in the region’s cultural expressions. It is traced into ornate motifs of alpana, a form of folk art drawn on floors and thresholds in Bengali homes during auspicious ceremonies. It is also immortalised in verse and lore as a veritable metaphor for Bengaliness. During weddings, after it has been beautifully embellished to resemble a bride, fish is sent to the bride’s home as a symbol of impending prosperity. It is also offered to the

R ASA

"For communities across India and the subcontinent, the sharing of food—by way of opulent feasts or charitable feeding—has been central to the rituals of mourning and, all importantly, moving on."

gods and is even coveted by Bengal’s native ghosts. In the

The Parsis, a small community descended from Persian

Bengali imagination, fish represents plenty and fertility,

Zoroastrians who arrived on the subcontinent to escape

transformation and regeneration. It only seems apt that

religious persecution, abstain from meat during their three-

a morsel of fish should translate to the symbolic return

day mourning period, following a death in the family. On

to life.

the fourth day, the end of the mourning phase is marked by a meal shared between friends and family, comprising

As in Bengal, in the Mithila region of northern India,

dhansak—among the best known Parsi preparations

comprising fertile alluvial plains crisscrossed by numerous

outside the community.

rivers, fish is passionately cherished. Among some sections of Maithili people, serving fish and rice is mandatory at

Dhansak is a spirited, slow-cooked preparation made

the end of funeral rites. A similar post-funerary tradition

of assorted lentils, a medley of vegetables and mutton,

of commensal eating of fish also exists in riverine Assam.

flavoured with a complex blend of spices called dhansak no

Here, it is “called matsya sparsha (touching fish) and cooked

masalo. Always served with Parsi brown rice and mutton

soul [sole fish] is offered on that day to the departed soul,”

kavabs, dhansak may be served in restaurants and appear

writes scholar and folklorist, BK Barua, in his essay "Fish-

on Sunday lunch tables in Parsi homes, but it is never on

lore of Assam."

the menu at joyous occasions.

Such traditions are perhaps rooted in the bereaved

The Kodavas of Coorg, in southern India, observe Madha

person’s sense of identity as part of a community yoked by

on the 11th day after bereavement. This culminates in a

common beliefs and rituals, whether religious or cultural,

feast that celebrates the life of the deceased, where all

which often shape the experience of bereavement. Food

kinds of meat, especially pork—the mainstay of Coorgi

and shared culinary rituals, both literally and symbolically,

cuisine—and alcohol is served.

offer a sense of solidity, familiarity and structure in the face of the elusive tenor of grief. Food, as succour and

“A must on this day is the paruppu payasam, a sweet dish

nourishment for the grief-ravaged body, a tactile tether in

made with moong dal, jaggery and coconut milk,” said

the face of the abstract, or a connection to lost loved ones,

Radhica Muthappa, a culinary entrepreneur from the

is crucial to mourning itself.

region. Pudding, symbolic of joyous occasions, perhaps denotes renewal.

*** For communities across India and the subcontinent, the

Author Thressi John Kottukappally tells me about the

sharing of food—by way of opulent feasts or charitable

funeral traditions of the Syrian Christians native to the

feeding—has been central to the rituals of mourning and,

Kottayam region of Kerala. During the traditional post-

all importantly, moving on. The food served at these tables

funeral memorial service organised on the 30th or 41stday

often reflects cultural intricacies, regional affiliations and

of a death, Kottukappally tells me, platters of rice balls and

religious stipulations, which perhaps reinforce the sense

a bowl of cumin seeds are laid out.

of community within which the bereaved seek comfort and support.

“At the end of the service, it is mandatory that everyone in the congregation eats a few cumin seeds,” she said.

R ASA orthodox traditions of ritualistic food that seek validation in antiquity.

“Across the pond in Sri L anka, visitors dressed in white deliver food to the mourners and the monks. The Buddhist ceremony, Daane, involves eating parupu (dal), kiri bath (rice and coconut milk) and gotu kola sambol,” writes Shylashri Shankar, in her book Turmeric Nation: A Passage Through India’s Tastes."

“The typical menu at a Tamil Brahmin funeral comprises simply seasoned curries made with vegetables like raw bananas, banana stem, string beans, broad beans, bitter gourd, etc., a simple rasam made with tamarind, ginger, pepper and curry leaves, plump vadas, etc.,” Venkataraman says. Besides, there’s a tradition of offering a set of five sweets and

savouries

called

bakshanam.

Appalam

(papad),

perhaps because of its association with joyous feasts, is avoided. “But most importantly the menu features at least a few items that the deceased was particularly fond of,” Venkataraman said. “The same dishes are prepared on every death anniversary thereafter.”

*** The rice balls are served as part of a stridently non-

On the day of my grandmother’s shraddha ceremony, a

vegetarian Sadya—a traditional meal served on banana

plateful of food cooked by my mother and aunts in our family

leaves—that follows.

kitchen, was placed in front of her photograph. I helped them with the little things—fetching this and washing that.

“A binding feature of this meal is a dish made of a mix of

I performed every chore with earnest enthusiasm. After all,

curd, rice and bananas sweetened with syrup [made] of

it was the closest I was ever going to get to cooking for my

palm toddy sap—ingredients intrinsic to and representative

grandmother. However, this meal featured none of the rich

of the region’s culinary traditions—that is served at the

curries, deep-fried breads or luscious sweetmeats that the

end,” Kottukappally said.

guests were served.

“Across the pond in Sri Lanka, visitors dressed in white

Instead, there was bandha kopir chhechki—a light dish

deliver food to the mourners and the monks. The Buddhist

of cabbage and green peas stir-fried together, kanchkola

ceremony, Daane, involves eating parupu (dal), kiri bath

bhaja or sautéed raw bananas and borir jhaal or sun dried

(rice and coconut milk) and gotu kola sambol,” writes

lentil dumplings, deep-fried and cooked in a thin mustard

Shylashri Shankar, in her book Turmeric Nation: A Passage

gravy. The carefully planned menu was diabetic-friendly

Through India’s Tastes.

since my grandmother had been diabetic for years. When my cousin pointed out that the spirits weren’t likely to

Among Tamil Brahmins, the food served at funerals is

be diabetic, he was reprimanded for being “oversmart”

strictly vegetarian and panders to certain specificities.

and impudent.

“For instance, chilies are never used in the food served at

In retrospect, I wonder if the composition of this meal was

funerals. Pepper is used instead,” Chennai-based writer

intentional, or if it was a reflexive attempt at holding on

Janaki Venkataraman said. “Neither are vegetables like

to the familiar and the tangible. As Shankar writes in her

carrots, potatoes or cauliflower.”

book, “A ritual, whether it is a religious one or something you have made up, helps to restore a sense of control to

It isn't a mere coincidence that all these ingredients are

the mourner, control we have lost in the unexpectedness

not native to the subcontinent. They only arrived a few

and the suddenness of the tragedy. A ritual involving

centuries ago and are yet to be incorporated into the more

cooking returns that control to you…”

R ASA In some Adivasi cultures, the ritualised act of cooking for the deceased is woven into the formal expression of grief. For instance, in his essay, Barua writes about an old custom among the Garos, a community of hill tribes spread across parts of Northeast India. "On the morning after the cremation of a Garo man or woman, the widow, widower or a near relation of the deceased, goes to the place of cremation, with a cooking pot, some rice, freshwater prawns and an egg," he writes. "These are cooked if possible, on the embers of the funeral fire, and when the food is ready, the mourner breaks the vessel containing it and raises a loud lament.” This practice is embedded in Garo mythology where the ghost of Megam Airiipa, the first man to die, returned to his house to find his wife catching prawns. Rice represents the food of the living and the egg represents a fat pig eaten at a funeral. Hindu liturgy, on the other hand, decrees the offering of pinda—balls made of rice, sesame, jaggery and other ingredients—to the departed soul, not only as sustenance but also as a temporary body for its journey to the ancestral realm. Such cryptic rituals often explained in lofty philosophical and religious terms are, more often than not, grounded in the humble desire to connect with the deceased in the ways of the living. The practice of leaving food for the soul or making edible offerings to ancestors, or serving up the deceased’s favourite food at feasts thrown

in their honour, also underscore this sentiment. In many Bengali homes, on the day of Matsyamukhi too, a portion of the fishy spread is left out in the open for crows. This is done in the hope that the deceased soul would inhabit the body of a crow and eat the spread. I don’t remember though, if the platter of plump paturi, crisp topshe fry and the other fishy delights we savoured

"In many B engali homes, on the day of Matsyamukhi too, a portion of the fishy spread is left out in the open for crows. This is done in the hope that the deceased soul would inhabit the body of a crow and eat the spread."

that afternoon in my grandmother’s honour, had been left out for her soul on the terrace somewhere. I don’t know if my grandmother liked fish at all. I had never seen her eat fish. After her husband, my paternal grandfather, died, my grandmother, an inveterate conformist, insisted on a strictly vegetarian diet, as was the norm among upper caste Hindu widows. Our family took comfort in the fact that it was a choice she made. “What can we do? She won’t listen.” But for generations of widows in Bengal, giving up fish was not a matter of choice. While the rest of their husbands’ families purged themselves of impurity and grief with morsels of fish, for them there was no Matsyamukhi.

A H an ke r i n g Fo r Ta l Most prized for its luscious ripe fruit called tal— intensely sweet with a bitter edge —the palmyra tree is beloved for its many culinar y uses across the subcontinent. TEXT

Ishita Dasgupta

PHOTOGRAPHY

Emli Bendixen

A sudden fit of nostalgia is all I can blame for paying such

in muslin drains away some of the bitter-tasting saponin

an eye-watering price for a pair of ripe tal fruit. It was the

compounds and may be tempered further by adding

first time I had seen tal, let alone ripe tal, available here

jaggery. Thickened over a low heat, the pulp is then ready

in the U.K. Despite my reservations, I placed an order

to use. The first thing I made was taler bora or fuluri, a

online. They arrived packed in corn starch, peanuts and

sweet fritter using the pulp to bind a mixture of wheat

newspaper. I unwrapped them carefully. Deep purple,

and rice flour, grated coconut and jaggery. Best eaten hot

almost black, the rounded fruit were heavy and had a sour

and crisp.

tang, their leathery skin split in places. I made kheer next, reducing whole milk over a low heat, “Eh ma! They saw you coming,” my mother said in disbelief,

checking it regularly so it did not catch and burn. To this,

when I FaceTimed her to ask how to prepare them.

I added grated coconut, jaggery and tal, then reduced the mixture further. Whilst the kitchen filled with the caramel

Extracting the pulp took patience and effort. The cap of

fug of cooked milk, I made a paste of sweetened rice flour,

sepals was easily removed with a twist and the kernels

tal, coconut and toasted semolina, which I parcelled up in

prized apart; the skin then stripped away, leaving the

banana leaves, tied with string and steamed to make pitha.

fibrous orange mesocarp exposed. Some fruits give up

In West Bengal and Bangladesh, these pitha are filled into

their contents easily. Others need coaxing. These were the

cones made from glossy jackfruit leaves. But sadly, I had

latter kind. But after soaking them in water, massaging the

none at hand. My biggest regret was not reducing the

kernels and using a grater, almost a litre of pulp sunnier

kheer further to a thick fudge to fill patishapta (or rice flour

than Sunny D filled the bowl.

pancakes) or to dip taler luchi (deep-fried flatbreads made with maida or refined flour and ripe pulp). Even so, with

Ripe tal has a flavour similar to overripe pumpkin, with

each bite, a fevered connection to stifling humidity and the

hints of melon. At times cloyingly sweet, it has a bitter

longing for rain broke across my tongue.

edge, which for some may be too much. Hanging the pulp

R ASA

" The fruit are large, around 25 cm in diameter. They have a leather y skin that is deep purple, almost black, with an acid green ombré when unripe. It turns bright orange at each pole when ready to drop from the tree."

*** Found in coastal and semi-arid areas across South and Southeast Asia, Borassus flabellifer or the palmyra palm is a familiar sight. Shooting skywards with a burst of fanshaped leaves at its crown, it dominates the landscape. The palm is perhaps best known for its sap, used to make sugar or toddy, which gives it two of its many names. It has a multitude of uses: the leaves for thatching, basketry, and mats; the fibre from the leaf base for brushes and cordage; and the trunk wood for construction and furniture. The classical Tamil poem, Tala Vilasam, documents 801 ways in which the palm may be used,

scattered with cashew or chironji seeds and served chilled. Chef, food writer, author and broadcaster, Romy Gill, grew up in a Punjabi family within Jamshedpur, a steel township in West Bengal. She remembers seeing the avenue of palms on the edge of the town being scaled for sap and to cut down fruit. “I wasn’t keen on the texture of talsansh but liked it in sharbat or added to kheer. We would also eat it in a chutney made with raisins, fennel seeds and dried chilli. Sometimes it was sliced and flattened, dipped into a light batter made from besan, fried and eaten with rice.”

earning it the title Katpaha Tharu or Celestial Tree.

Talsansh (ice apple in Bengali) is sought after in West

It is the versatility of the fruit, however, which fascinates

jolbhora sandesh, a famous sweetmeat made from chhena

me. Each palm can bear as many as 6 to 12 bunches with up to 50 in each cluster. The fruit are large, around 25 cm in diameter. They have a leathery skin that is deep purple, almost black, with an acid green ombré when unripe. It

Bengal, and many a Bengali will tell you how it inspired the or sweetened curds produced from acidulated milk. Jolbhora sandesh is then pressed into distinctive, seed socket- shaped moulds and filled with liquid gur (jaggery) or rose water.

turns bright orange at each pole when ready to drop from the tree.

*** However, it is ripe tal that is very much prized. Harder to

Unripe tal fruit, known variously as nungu, nonku, tadgola,

find within the city and rarely exported, ripe tal does not

talsansh or ice apple, appear in summer just before the

travel well. Full of natural yeasts and with a high sugar

first mangoes of the season arrive. Street vendors are

content, it begins to ferment quickly in the heat. The skin,

found within cities and on roadsides across India, skilfully

prone to splitting at this stage also makes it liable to spoil.

cutting the woody exterior of the fruit with a billhook or

From the stories of my elders, the best ripe tal must be

machete to reveal the seed sockets inside. Translucent,

collected as soon as it falls from the tree.

with the texture of lychee, they contain a sweet cooling liquid at the centre, which has a light coconut flavour. A

For Hindus in the region, the ripening fruit coincides with

refreshing antidote to the heat.

some auspicious dates in the religious calendar. Sweets like taler bora, taler malpua and taler kheer sandesh—using

Chopped into pieces, ice apple is often added to sharbat,

thickened milk rather than chhena—are often made for

where it is usually combined with sarsaparilla and lime,

Janmashtami, the celebration of the birth of Lord Krishna.

or mixed with cold milk sweetened with pistachio or

This is followed by Tal Nabami, observed during the waxing

rose syrup. Another popular way to eat it is in payasam,

phase of the moon during the month of Bhadra, which

R ASA spans August and September on the Gregorian calendar.

Further south in Tamil Nadu, ripe toddy palm fruit or

Dedicated to the goddess Durga, this is the day when

panampazham, is often roasted over a flame. The scorched

preparations begin for Durga Puja, still a month away.

and blistered skin is pulled away and the bright orange

Traditionally, married women observe a fast and tal-based

pulp eaten straight from the fruit, like a particularly fibrous

confections are made as offerings to the goddess.

mango stone. Here and along the south coast, the pulp is also made into a fruit leather. When the weather allows,

Along the coast in Andhra Pradesh and neighbouring

the pulp is left to sun dry for a few days, spread out onto

Telangana, sweet fritters are made with ripe tal or thati

steel platters or on mats often woven with palmyra leaves.

munjalu, using rice flour. Grated coconut may or may not

Brushed with coconut oil and stored in rolls, they may be

be added along with a little cardamom powder and palm

eaten as is, or used to enhance other dishes. The pulp may

jaggery, depending on the sweetness of the pulp. Fried in

also be mixed with liquid jaggery and dried, resulting in

discs they are called thati burelu.

something sweeter, which is carefully folded into blocks resembling glycerine soap, and cut into lozenges to be

When flattened with a hole at the centre like a ring

eaten like candy.

doughnut, they become thati garelu. This batter may also be cooked in an oiled, lidded pan, over a low heat.

On her blog, Pâticheri (paticheri.com), anthropologist

The resulting cake, thati rotti, is thick and spongy with a

Deepa Reddy has chronicled the process of making

sweet, slightly charred crust. Sometimes, a batter is made

panaattu, as the fruit leather is known in Tamil. She uses

using rice rava or coarsely ground rice with the texture

the deep amber curls to make thambuli, and paani

of semolina. Mixed with scraped coconut and steamed, it

panaattu, a jammy preserve. Here, pieces of fruit leather

makes thati kudumulu or idli, imbued with the distinctive

are added to palm jaggery molasses with coconut and

flavour of the fruit, often eaten at breakfast.

parboiled rice suspended within it, flavoured with cumin

R ASA and dried red chillies. Spicy with concentrated flavours of

may also be buried in the ground and left to germinate. My

ripe pulp and a slightly bitter aftertaste, paani panaattu is

mother remembers this from her childhood: the kernels

often eaten as a sweet treat. Reddy also suggests using it

dug from the garden at her grandmother’s house in time

as an ice cream topper or as a base for chilled soda.

for Kojagari Lakshmi Puja, and the brilliant white sprouts offered as prashad.

The journey of the fruit does not end there. Split the hard kernels from the ripe fruit open and the jelly-like

Ripe tal that is damaged or split may be used for another

seed sockets are replaced by a sweet “meat” that has the

delicacy—sprouting tubers that are called gegulu or panam

crunchy texture of water chestnut and can be eaten in the

kizhangu. Buried half a metre deep in sandy soil, they are

same way as coconut. Spent kernels, their pulp extracted,

left for up to 100 days, after which they are dug up and the sprouting tubers cut away from the kernel. Steamed, boiled or roasted before eating, the fibrous outer layer is peeled away revealing a pale yellow edible part with a woody stem at its centre that must also be removed. Arranged in baskets, radiating like a sunburst, they are sold street side as a snack. In Tamil Nadu, where most of India’s palmyra grows, and where it has been recognised as the state tree since 1978, this tuber is popular. Chennai-based food writer, Apoorva Sripathi, has few fond memories of panam kizhangu, having been forced to eat them for their health-giving properties when unwell as a child. Her father Sripathi, however, loves them. But he says they are harder to find nowadays. “We’d have a seller come around on a cycle, with the roasted panam kizhangu in a cane basket on the back. It’s full of carbs, so it’s pure energy, but nourishing and filling,” Sripathi said. Having never eaten the tuber myself, the flavour seems quite difficult to describe. When pressed, he says: “It’s unique tasting really, but if I had to compare, it’s similar to the sweet potato here without its cloying sweetness. Taste can’t be described by mere words; it has to be understood by eating.” The sprouting tubers are versatile too. Ground with lentils, they are used to make thuvaiyul, a savoury chutney eaten with idli, dosa and rice. Coarsely grated, they work well in puttu, a dish usually made of steamed, ground rice and coconut. The puttu kudam—a tubular utensil—is filled with alternating layers of ground rice, coconut, and palmyra sprouts, eaten with a side of jaggery. Steamed or roasted tubers may also be dried and ground into flour called pulukodiyal and used in many ways, including sweet and savoury laddus, idli and vada. Raw tubers may also be split and left to sun dry until hard. Known as odiyal, they may be eaten as is, chipped, or

R ASA ground into flour. Sri Lanka’s Jaffna peninsula is an arc of land that stretches out towards the Palk Strait and where most of the country’s palmyra grow. Historically, this is also where most of the country’s Tamil population has lived. Palmyra plays an important part in the food landscape, and whilst it is eaten in many forms, here, odiyal flour is widely used. The best-known dish featuring odiyal flour is odiyal kool. Usually a Sunday speciality, which is also eaten during social occasions, this hot and sour broth full of seafood is thickened with odiyal flour and bulked with brown rice. The cookbook Handmade, published by Palmera, a not-forprofit organization based in Australia, shares recipes and memories from women who experienced Sri Lanka’s civil war at close quarters. It contains this description of the process of making kool: “Traditionally, the kool pot would be placed in the centre of the group. Cleaned and polished half-coconut shells (kottaangachi or thengai chirattai) would be used as bowls to drink the chowder…It is difficult to beat the ecstasy of slurping kool from a kottaangachi.”

*** In recent years, the number of palmyra palms in India has been in decline. Areas such as Palakkad in Kerala, where the trees were once synonymous with the landscape, have slowly changed in character. Some blame the decline on the ban or restriction in certain states of toddy, the naturally fermented sap that has been enjoyed as a mildly alcoholic beverage and used in cooking for centuries. It used to be a familiar sight from March until June— avenues of palm trees scaled twice a day, cuts made at the base of the flowering inflorescence, covered with earthen pots or bamboo containers. Collected in the evenings, the sap that was left to ferment during the heat of the day, was

might contribute to drought conditions have also hastened

sold by street vendors or from toddy shops. The cultivators

their removal in some areas—after which they are often

of palms could once lease out their trees for sap harvesting

sold as fuel for brick kilns.

and fruit at a good price, but rents are now low and tree climbers difficult to find. Tree climbers are getting better

Palmyra, however, thrives in deep, sandy or well-drained

paid, less risky jobs elsewhere, and are often reluctant

soils, happily surviving in areas of low rainfall. Relatively

to return.

disease-free, the tree needs little looking after, and its roots, which grow vertically into the ground, help stabilise

The lower demand in palmyra products has in turn led

the soil and prevent erosion. The roots also raise the level

to changes in land use. More can be earned by growing

of groundwater, helping with irrigation. Planted alongside

coconut, rubber, cashew or oil seeds, and palms are often

aquifers and riverbeds, they can improve water circulation

cut down to make room. Disinformation that the trees

and reduce flooding. Palmyra palms also lend themselves

to intercropping, growing well alongside cowpea, moringa,

The Palm Boards have also suggested promoting neera or

mung, Bengal gram, jujube, amla, pomegranate and guava.

pandaneera, or unfermented toddy palm sap. Collected before sunrise, it is a lightly sweet, cooling liquid with a

From the late ‘70s onward, Palm Boards were set up

trace of coconut flavour, which is said to have many health-

across several Indian states to protect the tree and spread

giving properties. Fermentation happens quickly, so pots

education about it. An area of focus for the boards has

are coated with slaked lime to prevent it. The product is

been the diversification of palm products, bringing them in

filtered or pasteurised to prolong shelf life.

line with modern tastes and appeal. For growers, however,

it is the sap that earns the tree its keep. The average tree

In conjunction with the Palm Gur Cooperative Societies

produces 150 litres of sap during tapping season, with

(a collective of manufacturers of palm jaggery), the Palm

female trees producing up to 50 percent more.

Boards also recommended increasing the production of

development of Indian cane sugar, this industry, led by rural and Adivasi communities, was further impacted. In a piece for The Economic Times, “Why Gur is Not Glamorous for Indians,” journalist Reshmi R. Dasgupta wrote: “Perhaps it will get a cachet of exclusivity when western chefs ‘discover’ jaggery.” In the U.K., panela or sugarcane jaggery originating from Central and Latin America, certainly seems to be having its moment. As people learn more about the impact of refined white sugar on health, it has fallen from its former pedestal. Many across the globe are attempting to reduce their sugar intake and seeking less-refined alternatives. Once abundant and widely used, palmyra jaggery is now however harder to find, which is reflected in its price. Currently, white sugar averages Rs 40 ( approximately $0.50) per kilo, while palmyra jaggery costs around Rs 240 ($3) per kilo. Scarcity creates exclusivity and often drives demand, but only the fair remuneration of growers and producers will safeguard the future of palmyra and its products. Thankfully, there are many trying to reverse this decline, including farmers and cultivators refusing to cut down trees and reappraising their economic and environmental value. Chennai-based volunteer group Panaigal Kodi and Madurai-based Palmyra Nation have been planting saplings with support from the state government. The Tamil Nadu Toddy Movement, which represents farmers, toddy tappers and toddy shops, is challenging the ban imposed on the centuries-old drink and lobbying for review. Palmyra also remains a key crop in the All India Coordinated Research Project (AICRP), a pan-India agricultural research project, with centres across several palmyra-growing states undertaking a variety of research. jaggery or gur. This again uses unfermented sap, a litre typically yielding between 180 to 250g of jaggery. To make gur, the sap is thickened in wide pans over wood fire. The resulting mahogany-coloured syrup is poured into moulds and set into cakes.

Shaping the geography and culture of India for millennia, the palmyra palm has also left an indelible mark on me. I feel generations of hands in mine, laboriously preparing the vivid pulp and offering up its bittersweet splendour. Aptly named, the Celestial Tree will surely survive yet.

Since the 1950s however, white sugar, which was more expensive and seen as refined in both senses of the word, gained in popularity and use. With some notable exceptions, jaggery and gur made from palm sap began to fall from favour. Already struggling under British rule following the

T h e Un a s s u m i n g H e f t o f Mu r m u ra Known a s laiya, muri, pori and by other regional names, puffed rice is a beloved ingredient across India. B elying its lightweight appearance, murmura holds its own in ever y context—from the sacred to the street

TEXT

Shirin Mehrotra

PHOTOGRAPHY

Vikas Munipalle

“Bhaiya, ek geela bhel banana….medium spicy aur

fresh coriander, boiled potato, and finely chopped pieces

extra puri.” (Brother, make a wet bhel…medium spicy and

of green mango in the summer. The ingredients are tied

add an extra puri). This used to be my standard order at

together with teekha-meetha (or spicy and sweet) chutneys.

the bhel puri stall near my workplace in Mumbai. Packed in a newspaper cone, bhel is an afterwork snack for many

The hero of bhel—and a rather humble one—is puffed rice,

Mumbaikars commuting by the local train network. It’s

which is known by a variety of names across India, including

easy to carry, non-messy if you opt for sukha or dry bhel (a

murmura or mamra in Maharashtra and Gujarat. The crisp,

version that is made without chutneys), and comes with its

extremely light, and mildly savoury snack is eaten across

own spoon in the form of a puri, a crisp, deep-fried disc of

India in various forms.

flour that doubles as a scoop of sorts. In Maharashtra, apart from the ubiquitous bhel, puffed rice Bhel is a Marathi word which loosely translates to mixture.

is also turned into bhadang. This spicy, garlicky snack is

It is the perfect moniker for a snack that is a riot of

popular in south-west Maharashtra, which is known for its

ingredients, textures and flavours. These include murmura

robust flavours and heavy use of chillies and other spices.

or puffed rice, peanuts, roasted gram, thin sev (or strings

Bhadang, the Marathi word for puffed rice, is also believed

of deep-fried gram flour), chopped onions, green chillies,

to be the root of the word bhel.

"The first mention of puffed rice in South Asia occurs in post-Rig Vedic texts (written between 1200-1000 BCE). Laja, the Sanskrit name for puffed rice, was made by slow roasting soaked and unhusked paddy in hot sand."

“Bhadang is pretty much a staple in all parts of Maharashtra,

She also tells me about another dish cooked in southwest

and each family makes it their own way with differences

and central Maharashtra, and in North Karnataka. Sushla is

in masalas and with more or [fewer] ingredients,” says

named for the sound that puffed rice makes when soaked

culinary consultant and author Saee Koranne-Khandekar.

in water. In this iteration, murmura is tossed with mustard

“Some must have peanuts, some also add roasted chana

seeds, curry leaves, green chillies, onions and coarsely

dal and coconut slivers.”

ground chana dal. As opposed to bhadang, which is a dry snack with all its crunch intact, sushla is a bit soft. In

In her book Pangat, a Feast: Food and Lore from Marathi

all these versions, puffed rice takes on the flavour of the

Kitchens, which chronicles regional cuisines and stories

more robust ingredients such as curry leaves, garlic or

from Maharashtra, Koranne-Khandekar shares a recipe

coconut slivers.

of bhadang where murmura is tossed with green chillies,

coriander, garlic, peanuts, coconut slivers and spices, and

Further down the western coast, which extends from

stored in airtight containers to be eaten for days.

Gujarat to Kerala along the Arabian Sea, the streets of

R ASA Mangalore are lined with carts selling churmuri. In this version of bhel, puffed rice is tossed with grated carrots, boiled potatoes, chopped onions, tomatoes, green chillies, boiled eggs, and lime juice. A dash of raw coconut oil adds a bit of sweetness and aroma to the snack. “Churmuri used to be my lunch during college days,” says journalist and food writer Ruth Dsouza Prabhu. But that’s not the only way puffed rice is eaten in the region. “On the beaches of Mangalore, you’ll [also] find vendors selling pachudi—puffed rice mixed with a spicy, tangy green mango pickle served in small paper cups,” she says. In North Karnataka, mandakki or girmit is sold on streets as well as made at home. This pungent dish is marked by the generous use of chillies, the sharpness of curry leaves and the sourness of tamarind. Unlike the raw coconut oil added in churmuri, the spices used in girmit are fried in coconut oil along with onions. They are then cooked with tamarind water and putani powder (a spice mix made of roasted gram, peanuts, garlic and chilli powder) to form the masala in which the puffed rice is tossed. And in the old markets of Chennai, small shops sell pori kadala or puffed rice mixed with any kind of gram or nut (such as roasted peanuts, fried gram and roasted chana), which is popular as an evening snack.

*** The first mention of puffed rice in South Asia occurs in postRig Vedic texts (written between 1200-1000 BCE). Laja, the Sanskrit name for puffed rice, was made by slow roasting soaked and unhusked paddy in hot sand. In Ayurveda, it is described as a light and easily digestible food that cures various ailments. There is mention of a saturated drink made with laja and honey, and a dish of powdered laja paired with sugarcane pieces fried in ghee, eaten with honey. The significance of puffed rice is evident by the fact that its uses extend beyond the culinary world. In the Grihya Sutras, a series of manuals detailing the ceremonies that mark each stage of an individual’s life, offering puffed rice to fire is noted as a significant ritual. The custom is based on the association of rice with prosperity and fertility. “In Tamil Nadu we offer pori urundai (laddoos made of puffed rice and jaggery) to Lord Murugan during Kartikeya

R ASA strongly associated with the festival of Diwali. In Lucknow, where my family is based, the markets are flooded with mounds of puffed rice, which is a part of prasad or sacred offerings, along with kheel (or popped rice), batasha (small discs made of sugar) and khilaune (animal-shaped toys made with sugar). Since Diwali coincides with the paddy harvest, the new crop is offered to the deities in the form of puffed or popped rice. In my home, most of the laiya and kheel purchased during Diwali turns into phodni—a tea-time snack made with puffed rice, makhana or foxnuts, peanuts and roasted gram, with an addition of colourful fryums. My mother used to add some homemade garam masala to this otherwise bland snack. On some days we would pair it with green chilli pickle or add it to a sandwich with lots of butter and ketchup. During my undergrad days living in a hostel, phodni mixed with chopped onions and tomato ketchup fuelled my friends and I during long nights of writing assignments, while also saving us from the terrible mess food. Despite its association with festivals, laiya has inevitably made its way to the streets. In Allahabad, churmura is a street-side speciality, made with nearly the similar ingredients as the Mumbai bhel puri, but with the addition of tamarind water, which adds a tongue-curling sourness to it. Further towards the north east, the tamarind water is replaced with spicy, garlic-laden chutney on the ghats (or river banks) of Varanasi.

*** While puffed rice has takers across India in the form of street food and savoury as well as sweet snacks, no other region has taken to it with as much gusto as West Bengal and Odisha. Both these states in the country’s east have a deep cultural connection to rice, since the extremely fertile soil is conducive to paddy cultivation. Puja,” said Chennai-based chef and culinary researcher, [the

Rice in its various forms, including puffed rice, formed a

penultimate day of the nine-day festival called Navratri

major portion of the diet in pre-colonial Bengal. According

when people worship their equipment and vehicles], a

to a government report published in 1940, out of the 3,600

mixture of flattened rice (or aval in Tamil), puffed rice,

calories prescribed for a healthy diet, Bengalis received

roasted gram [and] powdered jaggery is placed over a

3,500 calories just from eating rice. As Ph.D. scholar Suvajit

banana leaf and distributed.”

Halder notes in Our Food Their Food: A Historical Overview of

Rakesh

Raghunathan.

“During

Ayudha

Pooja

the Bengali platter, when British biscuits and bread started

My own memories of laiya or muri—the local name for

replacing local foods, there was opposition to the trend

puffed rice in North, East and North East India—are

from Bengal.

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In Bengal then, it was not uncommon for people to eat

On the streets of Kolkata, jhal muri attracts large crowds.

puffed rice for breakfast, snacks and even main meals.

A mashup of the words jhal, which loosely means hot in Bengali, and muri, which is the local word for puffed rice,

“My grandmother used to make muri by the tins at home.

this snack is distinguished by the addition of raw mustard

In the evening we would smash a samosa or aloo chop and

oil. Puffed rice is mixed with roasted gram, peanuts, onions

mix it with muri with some finely chopped onions and eat

and green chillies, with the mustard oil adding signature

it,” says Shweta Mohapatra who runs an Instagram account

pungency. A generous dose of lime juice is added to cut the

focused on food stories from Odisha.

sharpness of mustard oil.

Before breakfast cereals from the West became popular,

Food historian and author Pritha Sen pins down the

muri was a popular breakfast choice. Food researcher and

popularity of jhal muri on the streets of Kolkata to the

writer Shubhra Chatterjee tells me that in older times,

World Wars.

muri was often mixed with milk or yoghurt to be eaten for

breakfast. A squashed banana, aam papad (thin strips of

“The street food in Calcutta started coming up when the

candied mango) or sandesh (a Bengali sweet made with

city was burgeoning into a metropolis especially during the

milk solids) contributed a spot of sweetness to this dish.

wars,” said Sen.

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Puffed rice has acquired a certain glamour quotient in the context of street food. However, in some contexts, there is also a social stigma associated with eating it.

As she explained, Bengalis working with the British

carrying muri with them and stalls selling all sorts of snacks

administration were roped in to deal with the fallout of

to be mixed with it.

the war, and daily wage labourers were brought in for construction work around north and central Calcutta.

Muri is deeply rooted in Bankura’s social and cultural

There was a demand for quick and cheap food to feed this

life. The region is economically poor and the land isn’t

growing population, and that’s what led to the creation of

very fertile. Muri makes for a cheaper alternative for the

street food (including jhal muri) in these parts of the city.

working class when compared to rice. It is also easier to carry for the adivasis who migrate to these parts to work

Once you move beyond Kolkata, muri or puffed rice holds

on the fields during sowing and harvesting seasons. The

a larger meaning, especially in the rural parts of the region.

landowners who engage daily wage labourers on their agriculture farms keep sacks of muri for their workers.

“In West Bengal there are various varieties made from different strains of rice, which also dictates taste,” said

“The locals here consume muri in large quantities,” says

Sen. “In the rural areas of West Bengal [and Odisha],

Mitra. “For a person from Bankura, jhal muri is an urban

people simply substitute muri for rice. In fact, many rural

person’s food. The small quantity of jhal muri sold on

folk, especially those hailing from Bankura, Birbhum,

the streets and its price wouldn’t be sustainable for a

Bardhaman (located in the north and northwestern part

rural person.”

of West Bengal), etc. prefer muri to rice when pairing with vegetables or meats.”

Puffed rice has acquired a certain glamour quotient in the context of street food. Take for instance Mumbai’s bhel

Bankura is famous for Kenjakura Muri Mela, an annual

puri, which has become a big draw thanks to Hindi films. Or

puffed rice festival, which takes place on the banks of the

a London-based food cart called Jhal Muri Express that has

Dwarkeshwar River. During the magh month of the Hindu

made the snack famous. However, in some contexts, there

calendar (mid-January to mid-February), people from

is also a social stigma associated with eating it. Krishnendu

nearby villages would travel to a local temple in Kenjakura

Ray, associate professor and chair of the Department

village in Bankura to offer prayers.

of Nutrition and Food Studies at New York University, remembers eating muri as a snack or as breakfast. But

“It was a long journey and so they would carry muri with

never as a meal.

them,” said Diptajyoti Mitra, a Pune-based management consultant and former restaurateur, who grew up in

“Muri was made at homes in Odisha, but never in a Bengali

Bankura in the 1970s and ‘80s. “They soaked [the mura]

household,” said Ray, whose mother is Odiya and father

in water taken from the river, mixed it with chhachi piyaj

was Bengali. “It was seen as a bazaar commodity among the

(shallots), green chillies, tele bhaja (or deep-fried fritters),

Bengali bhadrolok (upper caste and upper class Bengalis).”

aloo dum (a gravied potato dish), ghughni (boiled and mashed white peas) or chops sold at the local shops and

According to Ray, it was acceptable to eat muri on the

eat it sitting by the banks of the river.”

streets, but it had no place in the refined cuisine of the Bengali middle class, which was taking shape during the

Over time, this became a ritual of its own and eventually

colonial period.

turned into a fair of sorts, with people going in large groups

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“Muri itself is not shameful or [seen as] contaminating of

and co-founder of Kalinga Stories, an Odisha-based food

class," explained Ray. "As long as it is retained as a snack

pop-up. “Muri mansa is loved by the royals as well as the

and maybe as breakfast. But as a meal it’s clearly a sign

common people.”

of poverty and rurality for the upwardly mobile, aspiring middle class.”

According to Krishnendu Ray, the attraction of muri mansa lies in its juxtaposition of a poor man’s food with access

***

to expensive protein and the exclusivity of courtly cuisine.

Muri’s recent claim to fame was its inclusion in the "Make In India" programme launched by the Indian

“It brings together almost two different kinds of class

government in 2014. It was among 12 traditional foods

artefacts,” he said. To Ray, muri mansa is a means of

to be promoted in the global market. The project focused

creating a distinct Odiya identity by bringing together

on the standardisation, mass production and marketing

the foods of the high and the low. “Muri’s power is its

of these foods. Muri represented the state of Odisha,

portability.”

casting the spotlight on the state’s cuisine, which often gets overshadowed by West Bengal given the similarity in their

And suddenly it all makes sense to me—why my mother

food cultures.

would pack two kilos of phodni for me to carry back to the hostel when I was studying, or why it lends itself so

In Odisha, muri is vastly popular in the Mayurbhanj region,

naturally to street food across the country. Travellers and

located in the northeast corner of the state. Muri mansa,

soldiers carried puffed rice on long journeys because it

a combination of muri eaten with spicy mutton curry,

wouldn’t spoil. Its lightness is also an asset for street food

forms a unique identity for the people of Mayurbhanj. It’s

vendors, who often carry their portable stands along with

believed that the dish was invented in the military kitchens

the ingredients from place to place.

of King Ashoka of the Mauryan dynasty who ruled most of the Indian subcontinent from 268 to 232 BCE.

Besides in the literal sense, as Ray points out, muri is portable because it can occupy many roles on our plates.

“Muri is light, hence the soldiers would carry it along. They

It can at once be a pocket-friendly meal, a snack when

would typically hunt a goat or a wild animal, cook it into a

entertaining guests or a delicacy worthy of piety and pomp.

curry and eat with muri,” said Madhulika Dash, food writer

Despite its simplicity—and perhaps because of it—it has a treasured place in the Indian kitchen.

K a an ji , C hi ro t a an d O t h e r Me m o r i e s The B ene Israel Jews of India are a small community with a distinct cultural and culinar y identity. Through her poems, Zilka Joseph introduces us to the flavours of her heritage.

TEXT & POETRY

Zilka Joseph

ILLUSTRATIONS

Meghdeep Sarkar

Bene Israel (Beni-Israel) family in Mumbai, (Bombay) India, formerly known as Shanvar Telis (Saturday oil-pressers). The Bene Israel are native Jews of India, said to have descended form a group of Jews shipwrecked on the Indian coast, c. 500 A.D.. (Photo by Culture Club/Getty Images)

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There are many theories about the origin of the Bene Israel in India. The most popular one is that they were fleeing the rule of the Greek overlord Epiphanes, and that two ships were wrecked on the west coast of India in 175 B.C.E. The belief is that seven men or seven couples survived. Some scholars think they came after the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E., and that they were descendants of the Lost Tribes who settled in India around the 10th century, perhaps around King Solomon’s reign. However, other scholars seem to think that they came from Yemen, Persia or South Arabia in the fifth or sixth century C.E. Survivors were allowed to peacefully settle in India and

"Rice (or some form of it) and fish were staples. Coconut wa s added to almost ever y dish. It was an essential ingredient that replaced dair y products when cooking meats, as one of the dietar y laws ( kashruth) forbids Jews to cook meat with dair y."

travel. They lived in villages along the Konkan coast and became mostly oil pressers. They were called “Shanwar telis,” or Saturday oil pressers, since that was the profession that many took up. (Tel is the Marathi word for oil; teli, one

soaked wheat, is a labour-intensive dish. The sticky extract

who presses oil.)

is boiled slowly with coconut milk, sugar and cardamom, and pink (or occasionally lemon yellow) food colouring is

Since they did not work on shanwar—Saturday, the

added. The liquid halwa is then poured into steel thalis to

Sabbath—they were called Shanwar telis. They learned

cool, and later cut into squares or diamond shapes.

to speak, read and write Marathi, the language of the region; wore Indian clothes, cooked local foods and kept

My family also made besan wadis and besan laddoos, which

the Sabbath.

are a dense, tasty and fragrant sweetmeat made from chickpea flour (or besan) roasted in ghee. A dish called

The food of the Hindu and Muslim population of the

malida, made from flattened rice mixed with chopped, dried

Konkan coast became the food of the Bene Israel. Rice

fruit and nuts, and freshly grated coconut, was significant

(or some form of it) and fish were staples. Coconut was

for breaking the Yom Kippur fast. It was also important

added to almost every dish. It was an essential ingredient

for the feast of Prophet Elijah and for thanksgiving rituals

that replaced dairy products when cooking meats, as one

dedicated to him, as he is revered by the Bene Israel.

of the dietary laws (kashruth) forbids Jews to cook meat with dairy.

In India, the Bene Israel were never persecuted, and integrated well into Indian society. As time went on, the

They did not eat pork or shellfish as those were forbidden

community moved into cities, received college educations

too. Herbs like coriander and kari leaves (curry leaves),

and have achieved success in every profession. They

seasonings like mustard, pepper and chillies, and spices

became

like clove, cardamom, cinnamon and nutmeg, were used in

and social workers, and made a name for themselves in

both savoury and sweet dishes.

Bollywood and Hollywood. Their descendants have thrived

educators,

artists,

writers,

doctors,

lawyers

in India and around the world. The estimated population of Curry, a word that came into use later, was more commonly

Bene Israel in India today is about 4,000 people, and their

called “kaanji.” (Not “kanji”, which is porridge or a thin rice

global population is about 95,000 people.

and water preparation). For festivals like Rosh Hashanah and Kippur, the Bene Israel make fried sweets like karanje (also called Jewish puri) and chironje. Chik-cha halwa, which is made from “chik,” or the thick juice extracted from

S o u r c e s The Jews of India by Benjamin J. Israel (Mosiac Books) The Bene Israel of India: Some Studies by Benjamin J. Israel (Orient Longman) Current population data provided by Eliaz Reuben-Dandekar, Kammodan Mocadem Publishing House

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A Chirota for My Thoughts

this fine flaky treat was often made from leftover chironji dough rolled out in flat circles ghee smeared with fingers piled folded and rolled folded and rolled again full of hidden “puthers”—feathers which fluffed miraculously as it rose up singing out of hot oil a crisp golden disc delicate as eggshells dusted with sugar or drizzled with a glaze then studded with pistas and charolee eaten so fast even the fine sprays of crumbs that settled everywhere like dust I pressed my little index finger into and sucked or licked off the old dining table with my tongue Some days paralyzed with lost-ness and weak limbs I pretend unhealed wounds and home fallen to ruin are made whole broken slivers I salvage from those strong stainless steel tins indestructible dabbas we once owned etched with our names

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N e v e r Fo r ge t t h e C h i r o n j e

not the usual savoury fried puris flat and round and large as the palm of your hand— the ones we might eat with rich mutton curry on birthdays or anniversaries but the special ones the High Holiday ones seven-layered ones if you followed the rules half-moon shaped confections filled to the tightly pinched or zig-zagged seam with ghee-roasted semolina coarse shredded coconut chopped raisins and nuts deep fried in our big karahi then laid out in steel thalis to cool sprinkled with powdered sugar and the brown globes of fat charoli nuts who knew heaven could be like this it was never enough to hang around my mother and grandmother while they worked sweat beading their brows and tempers sharp

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but it was my obsession to watch them like a hawk and wrap myself in the fragrance and to wait they knew great secrets I would never learn oh I remember the crunch when I bit into the first hot ones— the trial ones the crooked or the split-in-oil ones those that never made it to the table my face nearly plastered to the plate tasting what they asked me to taste telling them what was lacking more sweet or salt devouring every love-filled crumb they gave me and me thinking they were immortal that there would never be a time in our lives without them or sans our khus-khusi karanje.

(Notes: In Marathi, the chironji is also called karanji. The plural form is chironje and karanje. The same applies to chirota and chirote.)

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Green K aanji and Destiny

the house always smelled different lighter, somehow fresher fragrant in a way that it didn’t when red curries were cooked hunks of ginger garlic onion smashed and ground on the ridged stone scooped into a steel bowl then oil heated in a dekchi (peanut oil Postman Brand when I was young) till it smoked a handful of kari leaves with one or two green chillies seeds removed (we could not deal with much heat) thrown in (ah the crackling the fragrance) and the wet paste added soon after what a sizzle and splatter and noses and eyes watering briefly stirred on a medium flame a slow stir stir stir with a dash of cumin and turmeric and a half-palmful of coriander powder salt to taste mouth-watering the smell filling the rooms wafting out the windows attracting crows to sit on the sill and caw masala never browned just gently fried rawness cooked out the spices mellowed just till it passed the final sniff test

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and what could compliment this green deliciousness mild fish like paplet (pomfret was cheap back then) sometimes local chickens tough birds stewed into softness or a winter vegetable like kohlrabi or cauliflower peas with the ubiquitous potato what made this kaanji green as a tropical pond oh dhaniya, so dhanya— a blessing and the blessed herb mud-smeared coriander washed picked clean of grit and earthworms then ground on the same stone with a splash of water a cup of green shining liquid poured in right at the end finished with a quick boil and a lavish squeeze of lime (fingers still exuding the smell of the rind as you ate) emerald kaanji of the Konkan my ancestors learned to cook when they survived the storm that wrecked their ships on Indian shores and these west coast villages became home so comforting (sometimes with coconut milk for a richer curry) yet so feisty citrus bursting on the tongue the tang of cilantro

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a dish I loved so much that once as a young girl I could not stop eating it slurping the velvety goodness into my mouth gorging on tender cubes of kohlrabi and butter-soft potatoes until alarmed my mother swept the dish off to the kitchen (only I was left at the table still cleaning my plate with my fingers) and did we both learn the truth that day that this little girl mouth full of green curry skinny weak child a poor and picky eater (eyes bigger than her stomach) (who knew what or who I would turn into when I grew up and who knew what “foodie” meant did the word even exist then) had the makings of a glutton was destined to be obsessed with food

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P a n t o u m f o r C h i k- c h a H a l w a

whose hands worked hard to make this halwa whose hands soaked the mounds of wheat how we waited three days and nights how chik was extracted from grain whose hands soaked the mounds of wheat knew each step of the recipe how to squeeze the chik from grain to boil slowly the thick beads of juice did they learn each step of the recipe from a new culture from a new land to boil slowly the thick beads of juice did they miss loved ones left behind from a new culture from a new land did they taste their ancestors’ food did they miss loved ones left behind those lost in the deluge shipwrecked did their tongues taste their ancestors’ food this was so different from sweets of home those lost in the deluge and wreck would never come back to life so very different from sweets of home sugar coconut milk coloured pink thickening those lost in the deluge shipwrecked would their spirits whisper old recipes

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sugar rose-tinted coconut milk thickening tired arms bated breath silky cubes cooling do spirits whisper old recipes in a new land new life new history tired arms bated breath silky cubes cooling sprinkled with poppy seed slivered nuts new land new life new history food and ways you made your own sprinkled with poppy seed slivered nuts how we waited how we waited the food and ways you made your own your hands working hard to make this halwa

I n S e arch o f S arga s s u m India ha s a rich biodiversity of seaweed, which is just beginning to find its way onto plates. Could it b e a f o o d o f t h e f u t u r e?

TEXT

Joanna Lobo

PHOTOGRAPHY

Rebecca D'Costa

It is a blanket of green. Thin green ribbons piled high

algae are an important source of nutrition. They are also

atop blushing pink slivers of salmon, lying in a fragrant

increasingly viewed as a sustainable and environmentally

truffle ponzu dressing. In another plate, the blanket pulls

conscious way of eating.

apart to reveal delicate king prawns glazed with yuzu chilli. Above my head, a solitary lamp throws the ribbons

India has high seaweed biodiversity. Over 800 species of

into sharp focus, their rich green reminiscent of a forest,

seaweed, 600 of which are native, grow abundantly along

contrasting against the pink of the creatures from that

the west coast of the country, including Goa, Mumbai,

same underwater forest.

Ratnagiri in Maharashtra and Gujarat. Seaweed can also be found on the eastern coast, in Odisha, Tamil Nadu and the

I am seated inside a dark, low-ceilinged room awash with

Andaman and Nicobar Islands.

red light and papered with Japanese art and posters. This is Makutsu, a yakitori bar on a popular street in Panjim,

Seaweed has long been harvested and used in the

Goa, where chef Pablo Miranda offers me my first taste of

food industry. Some of its applications include in the

Indian seaweed.

thickening gel, agar agar; the additive and food compound, carrageenan; in alginate, an extract which is used as a

The source? The Goan shores, and marine conservationist

binder and emulsifier, and in dairy and meat products.

Gabriella D’Cruz. On their plates, most urban Indians have so far been Seaweed are macro algae—marine vegetables that grow

acquainted

in the oceans. These macro-algae are classified into three

restaurants that serve nori, kombu and wakame.

with

imported

seaweed

through

Asian

categories: brown, green and red. They can be dried and stored for a long time. Low in calories, high in fibre

However, this is about to change. Indian seaweed is here,

and boasting a high mineral content, these fast-growing

and ready to stake a claim to our palates and plates.

R ASA *** The change is surfacing in restaurants in Goa.

with it, using it in stock, salads, and drying it,” she says.

A large part of the credit goes to D’Cruz, who has been

drying it (just once) to ensure the delicate flavours are

championing native seaweed for two years. The marine conservationist runs Good Ocean, a venture dedicated to highlighting seaweed diversity in Goa (and India at large) and exploring its potential as food. Goa’s coastline is home to 145 documented varieties of seaweed. D’Cruz harvests one kind: sargassum, a brown

Dastidar prepares seaweed by shade-drying and sunretained. As someone who makes a lot of furikake, she has also experimented with creating a podi version. Podi (colloquially called gunpowder) is a spicy condiment made of roasted lentils, seeds and spices, which is very popular in the South Indian states. Down the road from Makutsu is For The Record Vinyl Bar,

genus of seaweed.

where Buland Shukla has been experimenting with cocktails

“It grows in bulk and up to 3 metres in length,” D’Cruz says.

now also working with seaweed. The new menu here stars

“It is larger than the other [types] and there’s less fear of it being overharvested. It has a similar flavour profile to kelp/ kombu, and can also be used to mimic it. In addition, it has

featuring Indigenous liquors such as feni and mahua. He is seaweed in two ways: dusted over thick-cut potato wedges, giving them a truffle-like umami flavour, and adding another layer of crunch to a dish containing beer-battered

its own interesting flavour, and is very nutritious.”

mussels placed on top of a smoked aubergine bharta foam.

The winner of The Food Chain Global Youth Champion

At the newly opened Elaa Café and Bar in Anjuna, chef

Award 2021, D’Cruz had a line of pet treats incorporating seaweed called Sea Doggos, but discontinued it as it was too expensive to produce. Today, she sells dried seaweed directly to restaurants, harvesting and processing it herself. Her supply chain is small. It includes just four restaurants for now. For most chefs, even those familiar with seaweed, Indian

Sandeep Sreedharan uses dehydrated sargassum in his vegetarian laksa. The menu of his “earth-based café” has a heavy emphasis on vegetarian and vegan dishes; he uses local, sustainably sourced ingredients in his versions of global fare. “Seaweed is the closest thing to match the flavour profile of belacan [or prawn paste],” he says. “It tastes like

seaweed is a new ingredient.

the ocean.”

“Chefs need to familiarise themselves with native seaweed

Sreedharan first used seaweed for a private dinner he

species. [They need to] understand the flavour and texture,

catered in Mumbai two years ago, and now intends to add

[which] takes time. It needs innovation,” D’Cruz says.

it to more of his dishes. He has even used it in rasam.

There are ongoing experiments. While some are still in the

“The seaweed here is sometimes more intense in flavour.

research stage, others are finding spots on menus. Burger Factory, a chain of restaurants serving gourmet burgers with multiple outlets in Goa, is working on a seaweed burger. At Makutsu, Miranda uses it as a topping on his dishes. He is also currently working on dehydrating it to make a dashi, and tossing some in a fresh seaweed salad

You have got to really understand it and treat every batch differently,” he cautions. “There’s a lot of responsibility involved in using this ingredient.” That is why Najeeb Bin Haneef took three years to perfect his seaweed cookies. In 2016, the biotechnology student at

with ginger and chilli tamari.

Thrissur’s Sahrdaya College of Engineering and Technology

Anumitra Ghosh Dastidar, chef and co-founder of Edible

applications in food. Zaara Biotech launched in 2019

Archives, an experimental, ingredient-led restaurant in North Goa, has been experimenting with Indian seaweed for two years. The ingredient isn’t unfamiliar to her: she has seen seaweed farming in China, and has used it in her Japanese and Korean dishes.

“I apply my Japanese and Korean experience to work

started researching micro algae and seaweed and their with B-lite Cookies, healthy cookies containing spirulina and seaweed. “Our research helped us realise that if we had to tap the nutritional profile of seaweed and package it in a way that

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appealed to people, bakery items like cookies and cupcakes would be ideal,” Haneef says. Zaara Biotech works with the Central Institute of Fisheries Technology (ICAR-CIFT) in Cochin and sources its seaweed from Rameshwaram in southern Tamil Nadu and the Lakshadweep islands. The seaweed is dried, powdered and used in cookies made with white and dark chocolate; they have also experimented with breads, buns and cupcakes. Their cookies are exported to the U.K., U.S. and Germany, among other countries. In April 2022, they aim to launch seaweed noodles too. “There needs to be more awareness of the properties of seaweed and the potential of the ingredient,” Haneef says. He wants to build it, one cookie at a time.

*** Seaweed appears to be the crop of the future. Globally, people are researching and talking about aquaculture as the future of food. Allied Market Research, a global research firm, says the seaweed industry all over the world is anticipated to generate $9.07 billion by 2024. “The global popularity of seaweed and its applications in food is reflecting in India too, and there’s been more of a demand rather than us trying to push it,” says D’Cruz, adding that she has received enquiries from outside Goa as well. However, the future of seaweed as food is likely to face a few challenges in India. Seaweed is seasonal, and it cannot be harvested all at once: the tide has to be right, and the plant cannot be in its reproductive phase. There is also the concern of overharvesting, especially if there is large-scale demand. People need to know which seaweed is rare or crucial to the ecosystem. India’s traditional food practices are also different from other Asian seaweed consuming nations like Japan. Its appeal may naturally be restricted to those who have had the opportunity to experiment with food. “India is not a seaweed-eating nation. The local palate doesn’t know this flavour. The people eating seaweed in a big way are the upper middle class, who can afford to go

R ASA to sushi restaurants,” says marine conservation scientist Aaron Savio Lobo. “Interestingly, none of our coastal communities eat it. It may be used as part of local medicine but not in the cuisine,” Dastidar says. There is no doubt that it is an unfamiliar flavour, even for those who consume fish. D’Cruz first tasted seaweed

"There’s no denying that utilising these nutritious vegetables from the sea could be the sustainable way forward."

during her stint at a seaweed company in Scotland. Initially, she says she found the taste alien to her palate. “We are not used to eating it, so initially there was a lot of aversion to the new fishy flavour. But, as you start eating

In addition, seaweed in India is different from what

more, it grows on you,” she says.

is available in other Asian countries. The difference is apparent in flavour profiles, nutrient content, texture and size. It’s a difference that D’Cruz likens to that between an apple and a banana. Hence, the challenge lies in familiarising people with the ingredient and then offering them knowledge on how to incorporate it into their daily food habits. “If it is in a faddish and fancy way, it will never go to every sector of society, which won’t be sustainable,” says Dastidar. “If it doesn’t go back to the community, then it becomes a commodity with no connection with the community harvesting it, and they are less likely to conserve it.” To this end, Dastidar hopes to carry some of her seaweed podi to Tamil Nadu and introduce people to it.

*** Lobo believes that seaweed can be part of a larger solution in India’s food future, but needs to be approached delicately and with nuance. It has to be a multi-concerted effort pushed by government policies and food technology institutes, involving coastal communities that farm seaweed. Recently, as part of the proposed Blue Revolution, an initiative that aims to augment the country’s production of fishing, aquaculture and seafood, the Indian government invested approximately $6.4 billion to increase seaweed production to at least 1 million tonnes by 2025. Even though the money is available, there are regulations in place. When Haneef set out to sell cookies, he turned to international guidelines and followed them. The absence of

a proper policy regarding seaweed harvesting means it could become a free-for-all. “Anyone can take over a local fishing area, decide they want to have a massive seaweed farm and start harvesting and selling it. Where are the checks?” D’Cruz asks. Lobo agrees, adding that the harvesting should remain in the control of small-scale fishers and seaweed should have a beneficial impact on their lives. The change should begin with the coastal communities and their diets. “We have to ask: do we need to push it into communities that don’t use it, or do we need to value–add, or uplift what agroecology is doing well? It’s about understanding what was part of local culture and diets, and build on what they know,” he says. There’s no denying that utilising these nutritious vegetables from the sea could be the sustainable way forward. India has only just started flirting with the possibility of seaweed as food, in burgers, cookies and salads. With the right initiative and guidance, the future could very well be blue. And green.

M o u r ni n g Mi l k Powd e r

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times—morning tea break, lunch break, and afternoon tea break.

In Sri Lanka, milk powder is not just a commodity—it brings p e o p l e t o ge t h e r f o r t h e social ritual of teatime. T h e c o u n t r y ’s c u r r e n t economic crisis has made this ever yday ingredient inaccessible.

Considering this, it was difficult to comprehend the answer I received when I walked into a resthouse near Puttalam—a town in the North Western Province of the country—recently and asked for a cup of tea. “No milk tea, sorry,” came the resounding voice from behind the counter. “We have run out of milk powder, and cannot find it anywhere. I can give you plain tea.” I felt almost insulted. Grudgingly, I acquiesced to a cup of plain black tea. *** As good as it is, my Nani’s signature recipe is an expensive one, because it features fresh milk. In fact, powdered milk has long been the secret behind the country’s milk tea frenzy. Being an island nation, fresh milk is not easily available. Hence, for decades, a box of concentrated milk powder has been the shortcut to this indulgence.

TEXT

Zahara Dawoodbhoy

PHOTOGRAPHY

Nazly Ahmed

Milk powder is also widely used as a substitute for breast milk, and was in fact initially marketed as a health drink for infants and children. According to a 2002 Massey University study, which looked at the role of motherhood in creating a market for milk powder in Sri Lanka, “The key

For most of my life, ordering tea at a roadside kade in Sri Lanka has been marked by a customary question: “Do you want tea or plain tea?” The de-facto tea being referred to here is what most other cultures might call milk tea—a tooth-achingly sweet, creamy drink steeped with the flavour of black tea. A warm cup of milk tea is a symbol of hospitality in Sri Lanka, and every household will have its own way of preparing the drink, the nuances of which are often held up with a particular sense of pride. My Nani or maternal grandmother’s version, and my own personal favourite, is made by simmering the tea leaves directly in fresh milk, and topping off the brew with a teaspoon of condensed milk. Tea drinking is so ubiquitous in Sri Lankan life that it has even spilled into the country’s white collar workday. Every corporate office in any city will have three recognised break

to establishing market dominance was gaining the trust of mothers in Anchor products, which are marketed as the best-quality milk products that mothers can buy for their children.” This market strategy proved to be extremely fruitful, as New Zealand—the birthplace of the Anchor brand—is one of the leading countries to supply milk powder to Sri Lanka. Although many non-governmental organisations and Sri Lankan women’s groups have since discouraged the consumption of milk powder for infants, the product remains an essential part of the diet for Sri Lankan children. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit Sri Lanka in early 2020, just as the national economy was beginning to recover from the Easter Sunday bomb attacks that took place one year earlier, resulting lockdowns and border closures served as the trigger that plunged the country into an ongoing economic crisis. With the wide-scale loss of jobs in the wake of the pandemic, and a range of other factors

R ASA such as loss of tourism, tax cuts, low reserves of foreign exchange, and financial debt, Sri Lanka is currently in dire economic straits. The waning tourism industry, which previously contributed more than 10 percent of the country’s GDP, has resulted in a lack of incoming foreign currency and a sharp dip in foreign reserves. As economist Rehana Thowfeek noted in an Al Jazeera article, the situation in the country “... is boiling down to a choice between servicing its debt or paying for imports of everyday needs. So far it appears that the government is committed to the former, even if that means sacrificing the needs of its citizens.” As a result, uncleared essential items such as milk powder

"In 202 1 alone, the price of a 400g pack of milk powder increased by Rs 250, a steep hike of 33 percent. In late March 2022 , news reports noted that the price of the same 400g packet shot up by Rs 250 in a single day."

continue to pile up at Colombo’s port even as domestic prices soar. Certain corporations, including Milco Sri Lanka, Pelwatte Dairy Industries Ltd. and Nestlé Lanka produce milk powder locally, but even combined, are able to meet only around 40 percent of the country’s demand, and the majority of dairy products are indeed imported. In 2021 alone, the price of a 400g pack of milk powder increased by Rs 250, a steep hike of 33 percent. In late March 2022, news reports noted that the price of the same 400g packet shot up by Rs 250 in a single day. Visakam Thiruvadhirai, a tuk tuk driver and father of three who lives in the outskirts of Colombo, noted how many roadside shopkeepers in the area had begun opening up 1 kg packets of milk powder and dividing them into smaller 100g packets. “People can’t afford a whole packet anymore,” Thiruvadhirai said. “I used to get the big packet for my family, which would last us a few weeks, and now I can only afford to get the small [100g] packets. We have all stopped drinking milk tea and we save all the milk powder for the children.” In January this year, local news agencies reported that long lines of people were queuing outside shops for a packet of milk powder again, after lines were temporarily dispersed a month earlier due to a police directive ordering citizens not to queue. Some of these lines were forcibly dispersed A man prepares tea outdoors for protesters who will arrive at GotaGoGama, the main protest site in Colombo, Sri Lanka, where thousands of people have been gathering everyday to demand political change and solutions to the country's economic crisis.

by police officers as citizens began openly voicing their frustrations with the government, and blaming President Gotabaya Rajapaksa for this shortage. To quell the chaos during this time, the government issued tokens for available packets, but by January 2022, the

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practice was discontinued and lines began to snake outside

“From the mid 1950s to 1977, Sri Lanka had a policy

stores once more.

environment that favoured local production and selfsufficiency,” said Dr. Siri Hettige, Professor Emeritus of

The quiet irony behind this situation is that the very

Sociology at Colombo University.

ingredient from which Sri Lankans are experiencing withdrawal symptoms has played a vital role in creating the

The implications of this centralised, inwardly-oriented

conditions that have made its loss so potent.

economy was that official pricing, rationing and distribution policies were the main instruments through which the

***

government tried to achieve its social objectives. According

As someone who was born in the mid ‘90s, it is difficult to

to a study conducted by the University of Peradeniya in

divorce my childhood memories from milk powder. I don’t

2019, Sri Lanka was at one point about 80 percent self-

remember the first time I drank a glass of diluted powdered

sufficient in dairy production, even with a lower availability

milk, because it dates back further than my own memory.

of irrigated farming systems.

But I do remember that by the time I was six years old, I was eating whole teaspoons of plain milk powder, relishing

Just one generation before my six-year-old self was

as it dissolved in my mouth to produce a thick, gooey mess

devouring large amounts of concentrated milk powder, my

that stuck to my teeth, equal parts sweet and salty.

mother was waiting outside her house for the milkman. He would come early in the morning before school started

The abundance of milk powder was something that I had

to fill four bottles left out on her doorstep with fresh milk.

never questioned. It was only recently that I learned how

My mother recalls with fondness how her twin brother

unique this was to my generation.

would gulp down her glass of milk on the days when she

"Currently, Sri L anka spends around $ 400 million annually on milk powder alone, and the product has woven itself into the countr y ’s national identity."

couldn’t finish it. The next morning, empty bottles were left

“The population was increasing, and people started

outside for the milkman to refill.

moving into urban areas which were densely populated,” Hettige said. “People could not consume things which

“A lot has changed in what people consume and how

they

consumed

villages,

and

the

consump-

they consume it, and the free market economy created

tion patterns became different, and demand for new

a situation where these changes occurred very quickly,”

products increased.”

Hettige explained. Sri Lanka had been suddenly thrust into the 21st century, The pivotal moment Hettige refers to occurred in late

and my mother’s milkman couldn’t keep up.

1977, when authorities initiated comprehensive economic

reforms, reversing policies of the previous two decades.

As a consequence, milk powder was injected into the

Open market policies were adopted in an attempt to

country’s economy in 1983, when Nestlé Lanka, a subsidiary

boost production, increase employment and improve the

of the global giant, commissioned its first plant. This

standards of living. The decision was fuelled by changes

plant initially produced condensed milk, but expanded its

that had been happening gradually.

operations a few years later with a focus on milk powder.

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Herath is one of many farmers in Matale employed by

outsource production to developing nations in order to

Richlife Dairies Ltd., a dairy company in Sri Lanka. The

cope with economic constraints caused by World War II.

company is well-known in the area and respected by farmers for the relatively higher rates it offers. At times,

According to a study conducted by the University of

the company also intervenes to help farmers with loan

Peradeniya in 1992, Nestlé Lanka was initially given

schemes that enable them to grow their enterprise and

permission to collect milk from three districts in the country.

produce more yield.

The company also embarked on a large development programme to increase milk production in these districts.

But when asked about business growth, many dairy

But by 1992, fuelled by open economic policies, the formal

farmers in the Matale area have a similar answer.

segregation of areas for milk collection was deregulated and Nestlé Lanka was free to collect milk from all districts

“Maybe by cultivating other products, like spices.”

in Sri Lanka. The idea of growth in dairy farming is never brought up as “Self-sufficiency dropped [by] half because the consump-

a viable option.

tion of dairy products increased,” economist Thowfeek said. “New products were introduced to markets and

“It is very difficult to grow the milk industry in Sri Lanka,

demand was not stifled as before, as there was no rationing

even though doing so will greatly help deal with crises like

by the state.”

what we are experiencing today,” said Mangala Kotalawela, manager of milk procurement for Richlife. “Real growth

Milk powder rapidly replaced fresh milk around the country,

involves making a shift toward self-sufficiency, and taking

partly because of the convenience that it introduced

on something ambitious like India did.”

into the Sri Lankan household. Milk could now be kept unrefrigerated in the kitchen for months, and families no longer had to spend money on daily deliveries from the milkman. By the 2000s, the country was able to meet only 30 percent of the national requirement. Currently, Sri Lanka spends around $400 million annually on milk powder alone, and the product has woven itself into the country’s national identity. *** H.M. Shanthirathne Herath wakes up every day before sunrise to feed his six cows. Unlike other dairy farmers in Matale, a town in the Central Province of Sri Lanka, he doesn’t take his cows outside to feed. From years of experience as a dairy farmer, he has found that exposure to the sun decreases the amount of milk the cows produce. So he goes out every morning to the watte—a patch of overgrown shrubbery and grass—near his home and collects grass to bring back for his cows. Once they are done feeding, he collects milk into a 25-litre plastic vat and waits for a company van to arrive. “Everything I produce, I give to the company, because it gives me a good rate and so I prioritise that,” Herath said. “Many people from my village come and ask to buy milk from me, but I cannot get the same prices through them, and so I won’t sell it to them. Here in the village, we don’t really drink fresh milk. We use milk powder.”

R ASA *** Despite similarities in culture and history, the story of India’s dairy economy diverges greatly from Sri Lanka’s. Like Sri Lanka, India was left without a blueprint for economic improvement following their independence from the British in 1947. In the decades that followed, the country struggled to meet the demands of a growing population. In response to this, India’s National Dairy Development Board launched an ambitious project in the early 1970s known as Operation Flood, which transformed the nation from a milk-deficient nation into one of the world’s largest milk producers. The initiative was based on an experimental pattern that

"Conversations on food shortages are always framed from the perspective of survival, and rightly so. B ut...I realised that what has made the shortage of milk powder in Sri L anka so visceral is that it has deprived us of a way of coming together."

created a national milk grid, linking producers throughout India with consumers in over 700 towns and cities, reducing seasonal and regional price variations and ensuring that milk producers got a major share of the income generated

widely due to the country’s relatively low consumption

from consumers.

of meat.

Harish Damodaran, rural affairs and agriculture editor

“Milk is the only source of animal protein and fat for the

for The Indian Express and Senior Fellow at the Centre for

vast population of the country that is vegetarian,”

Policy Research in New Delhi, told me that milk has “very

Damodaran said. “So this made the White Revolution

high income elasticity of demand” in India. That is, when

essential for India.”

the incomes of people increase, so does their consumption of milk.

This is not the case in Sri Lanka, which has a much higher consumption of meat compared to India. Besides, milk

“One cannot imagine what India’s imports of milk powder

products like cheese are not an essential part of the

and butter would have been if we did not have the White

country’s diet.

Revolution,” he said.“It has helped [the country] keep up with both its increase in population and incomes.”

“In that way, powdered milk was the perfect product for Sri Lankan culture, where the majority of milk consumption

The White Revolution was widely hailed as a success, and

comes from tea,” Hettige said. “It is convenient, quick and

it is from this transformation that the iconic brand and

has a long shelf life, and can be kept without the need for a

cooperative Amul emerged. The company’s three tier

refrigerator, which many households don’t have.”

structure effectively cut out middle men, allowing dairy farmers to profit more from milk sales.

There is also a shortage in arable and grazing land in Sri Lanka, and agriculture itself is on the decline. Coupled with

In 1997, Dr. Verghese Kurien, credited as the man

a shortage of expertise in animal husbandry, it is perhaps

responsible for India’s self-sufficiency in milk, visited Sri

not surprising that Kurien’s ideas never bore fruit in

Lanka, determined to replicate his model and reduce the

Sri Lanka.

island’s dependence on high cost, imported milk powder. While many see Sri Lanka’s inability to follow the Indian But Kurien’s efforts failed, due to the exertions from a

dairy model as a failure, others—like Thowfeek—believe

strong import lobby, as well as cultural, social and economic

that Sri Lanka should handle its economic issues differently.

conditions in Sri Lanka. For one, the dairy culture in both

countries were starkly different. There are entire castes

“Personally, I do not think we need to be self-sufficient in

in India that specialise in cattle rearing and dairy farming,

everything we consume,” she shared via email. “We must

and fresh milk and milk products are consumed far more

be careful in the pursuit of self-sufficiency because we

R ASA home for tea. I also knew that any attempt I made to refuse would lead to stronger insistence, so I sheepishly walked back into the house and sat down. “Since you’re here to ask about my cows, how about a glass of fresh milk,” Herath beamed, as he shouted to Nalini from the kitchen, instructing her to heat up the milk. My excitement at the novelty of what I was being offered quietened my anxieties about my stomach, and I happily enjoyed two cups of warm, sweet milk, collected straight from the cows only hours earlier. Herath and I chatted about the differences between country and city life, and I left his house feeling full of conversation, perspective and fresh milk. For Herath, my visit was a rare occasion to indulge in the fruits of his own labour. Conversations on food shortages are always framed from the perspective of survival, and rightly so. But leaving Herath’s house that morning, I realised that what has made should only be doing so if it is comparatively more costefficient.”

the shortage of milk powder in Sri Lanka so visceral is that it has deprived us of a way of coming together. It gave me a newfound understanding as to why people wake up before

Thowfeek believes that Sri Lanka can improve production capabilities in several industries by liberalising the country further, and fostering free markets, competition, innovation and knowledge transfers. “As for addressing current shortages, these are [stemming from] ill-informed policy decisions which need to be addressed immediately, which, in my opinion, is a completely different discussion to whether or not we ought to be self-sufficient,” Thowfeek said. *** After thanking Herath for inviting me into his home, showing me his cows, and speaking so openly with me about his trade, I headed out to the road where my car was parked. But I was stopped in my tracks by Herath’s wife, Nalini. “Don’t leave yet,” she said, panting from trying to catch up with me. “You must stay for tea!” Even though I was still recovering from a stomach ache, I could not bring myself to break the cardinal rule of Sri Lankan hospitality—never refuse someone who invites you

the sun rises to wait in line for a packet of milk powder. “There is something about tea drinking that feels so essential here,” I remember a friend of mine telling me— over a cup of tea, of course. “I didn’t grow up in a family that was particularly close to each other, but we all had this one thing, this one time, where we all came together and talked. Of course, the conversations we had were always trivial and never too revealing, but at least we were talking to each other.” It is unclear if Sri Lanka will ever see the end of this economic crisis, and opinions on what the country should do next vary greatly. But as I think back to the countless cups of tea I have shared with friends, colleagues and strangers over the years, Herath’s parting words to me feel especially weighty. “You must come visit me again and show me your article,” he said, chuckling. “I am curious about what you will say about our profession and the shortage. In a few years, all the milk powder will be gone from our country, and then I won’t ever see you again.”

M o m o s B eyo n d B o rde r s

Fo r t h e s m a l l T i b e t a n Muslim community i n t h e K a s h m i r Va l l e y, traditional meat-stuffed d u m p l i n g s h av e p a v e d the way for an enduring bond with the local population.

TEXT

Suhail Bhat

PHOTOGRAPHY

Sameer Mushtaq

A group of Tibetans who came to Indian-administered Kashmir in 1969 after a failed rebellion against Chinese domination, have fostered a profound bond with locals in

the

Kashmir

Valley

through

their

food—momos

in particular. Momos are dumplings, usually stuffed with meat, chicken or vegetables. Staying true to tradition, most Tibetan restaurants in Kashmir roll out the thin dough rounds using a small wooden dowel. Momos—especially with beef and chicken fillings—are so popular in the Valley that they have become a staple Kashmiri dish. How did momos—and Tibetans—find a place in Kashmir? In 1959, as many as 100,000 Tibetans accompanied the Buddhist spiritual leader, the 14th Dalai Lama, to India after a failed uprising against Chinese domination. While a majority of the refugees were Tibetan Buddhists,

R ASA locally known as “Tibetan colonies.” Eidgah accounts for nearly 90 percent of the total Tibetan population in the Kashmir Valley. A smaller number of Tibetans also live in Gulshan Mohalla in Srinagar’s Makhdoom Sahib neighbourhood.

*** Despite the small numbers of the community, Tibetan culture and cuisine are ubiquitous around the Valley. The Tibetan colony in Eidgah, in particular, has become a favourite spot for momo lovers, with hundreds of people flocking here weekly to sample the delicacy. The flavour varies according to the technique and filling. During the winter months in Kashmir, nothing beats a plate of steamed, minced mutton momos. They are delicious paired with a mint chutney or chilli sauce. Deepfried momos are best eaten with mayonnaise and chilligarlic sauce. Abdul Kareem runs Ab. Kareem Momo Hut, one of the oldest Tibetan restaurants in the Valley. His father, Ghulam Qadir, was among the first Tibetans to introduce momos in Srinagar. “My father started this business some 40 to 50 years ago, and he was the first person to sell momos in Kashmir,” Kareem says. “Now there are many Tibetan restaurants selling momos all over the city.” He explained that his father decided to start a restaurant since he could not find work after he migrated. (Although Tibetan Muslims have Indian passports and are allowed to vote—unlike Tibetan Buddhist refugees—they were

the communist authorities also barred roughly 3,000 Tibetan Muslims living in Central Tibet from practising Islam, forcing many to seek refuge in the conflict-torn Kashmir Valley. Today, around 1,500 Tibetan Muslims live in governmentallotted quarters in Srinagar’s Hawal and Eidgah areas,

"Abdul K areem runs Ab. K areem Momo Hut, one of the oldest Tibetan restaurants in the Valley. His father, Ghulam Qadir, wa s among the first Tibetans to introduce momos in Srinagar."

R ASA

prohibited from owning land or working for the Kashmir

Kashmiri food at home. One of his daughters is married to

government under Article 370 of the Indian Constitution.

a Kashmiri.

Even though the article was abrogated in 2019, only those Tibetan Muslims who can prove that their ancestors

“I have never been treated as a foreigner,” Kareem says,

belonged to the state, are allowed to own land).

reflecting on a lineage that he shares with other members of the community.

Unlike many Tibetans who turned to embroidery to support themselves, Qadir chose to make a living by selling

“My roots are in this region, so I consider myself a Kashmiri.

traditional Tibetan cuisine.

My forefathers were Silk Route traders from here, and they settled in Tibet.”

“Because of the law [Article 370], we could not get a government job or acquire land,” Kareem explains. “As a

The Sangeen Darwaza, a Mughal-era arched entrance

result, my father decided to open a restaurant.”

in Srinagar’s Hawal neighbourhood, leads to another Tibetan colony, which houses at least 200 Tibetans living

Kareem says that his father struggled at first because

in government quarters. A slew of cafes serving Tibetan

momos were unfamiliar to the locals.

cuisine have sprouted throughout the colony.

“He needed to make ends meet but instead created a

The Tibetan Kitchen, owned by Mohammad Abubakar, is

secure business,” Kareem says.

one such well-known momo restaurant. Apart from a shared faith, he believes that food has helped his community form

Like the majority of Tibetan Muslims in the Valley, Kareem

strong bonds with locals.

has adopted virtually every aspect of Kashmiri culture and language. He is known for his sense of humour among

“The majority of our customers are Kashmiris, since momos

the customers. Fluent in Kashmiri, he also prefers to eat

have become a local delicacy,” he said.

M e h e r Var m a’s B a d Ta b l e M a n n e r s H e r e' s a b e h i n d - t h e - s c e n e s g l i m p s e a t t h i s Whetstone Radio C ollective podca st that takes an intimate look at food in South Asia.

“The episode ‘Where There Are No Butchers, There are

Varma, talking about food seriously means going beyond

Cinnamon Buns’ was certainly the most challenging to

good etiquette.

record and script,” said Varma. “I grappled with my

@whetstoneradio

For cultural anthropologist and food writer Meher

positionality throughout (and still do) and constantly “While I love glamorous cooking shows and glossy

questioned what gave me the right to represent a caste-

cookbooks, I wanted to disrupt the formality around

oppressed group in English. Fortunately, my guests were

dining,” she says. “Good conversations begin when good

able to help me think through these self-reflexive questions,

manners collapse.”

and working together on the conversation, way before it was recorded, made for a much richer, honest episode.”

Spurred by this desire to “talk, really talk” about food—an emotive and often divisive issue—in South Asia, Varma’s

In Season 2 of Bad Table Manners, Varma hopes to expand

podcast is called Bad Table Manners.

the scope of her research to South Asia at large. Like season 1, the topics will be “...bathed in antho-water,” as

The show had a strong debut in India on streaming

Varma puts it.

platforms like Spotify, making it clear that listeners in this part of the world have an insatiable appetite for chatting

“I am an anthropologist first, and a food enthusiast

about food.

second,” she said. “I can't really talk about a meal without thinking about the labour in the kitchen that produced it, or

The first season of Bad Table Manners is situated within

walk into a supermarket without thinking about culturally

the Indian context. Each episode of the podcast explores

shaped notions of taste. It’s just the way my brain is wired

a hyper-local issue, ranging from the shrinking abundance

I guess, but thankfully, Bad Table Manners showed me that

of India’s marine life to the importance of eggs in India’s

there’s an audience out there for this approach.”

mid-day meal scheme; and from the lingering imprint of Partition on Delhi’s food to the thorny connections between

The complete first season of Bad

food and caste.

Table Manners is available on all major podcast streaming platforms.

While each of these episodes offered its own revelations,

Visit whetstonemagazine.com/radio

Varma says she was most challenged by the one that

to learn more about the network.

explored food and caste identities.

PHOTOGRAPHY

Nazly Ahmed

R ASA

Rasa: Volume 01

Articles inside

Momos Beyond Borders

Meher Varma’s Bad Table Manners

Mourning Milk Powder

Kaanji, Chirota and Other Memories

In Search of Sargassum

The Unassuming Heft of Murmura

In Life And Death, A Fervour For Fish

A Hankering For Tal

How Did Anchovies Become Beloved to the Gurkhas?

Pride, Place and Pitha

The Essential Taste of Rasam