How India’s princely states promoted fusion cooking

There are several varieties of gulab jamuns. Extra-fried, baked, stuffed, soaked in coffee and even alcohol, or deconstructed into a trifle or tiramisu. And then there is ‘mutton ke gulab jamun’ in which a mutton cashew - yoghurt - cream mixture is made into dumplings, fried and soaked in syrup. Was this from a culinary influencer or cutting-edge chef eager to shock for social media gains?

In fact, it’s from Recipes of a Maharani by Kumud Kumari of Gondal, an erstwhile princely state in Kathiawar. It is presented along with recipes like a curry of garlic cloves and potato kheer. The food of princely states often featured unusual preparations. Darmendar Kanwar’s Royal Cuisine of India, which collects the recipes of Jaswant Singh Rathore, head chef in the Jaipur court, has a curry of jasmine flowers and a pulao made with bhang patties. Geeta Devi’s Jewels of the Nizam has a kheer made with onions and a curry of lamb with lentils and chirongi nuts, which look like lentils but are far richer tasting.

It is a reminder that princely states were both custodians of traditional Indian food and also innovators. Prakash Tandon saw the first side when, as the first Indian manager employed by Lever Brothers, he visited Hyderabad. He attended a princely feast which initially was disappointing: “The meal began with a watery soup and followed its course through indifferently prepared English dishes.” But no one ate much, and a friend whispered that this was just “a touch of modern formality”. A second meal followed: “pulaos and biryanis, naans and farmaishes, rogan joshes and qormas…” All delicious and eagerly devoured.


In Degh to Dastarkhwan, Tarana Hussain Khan’s book on the food of Rampur, she explains how such English food led to innovation. Whether wanting to emulate the British, or because they genuinely thought it healthier, the nawabs invested in their chefs learning this food, even taking them to Europe to learn recipes firsthand. Their wives detested the bland food, so slowly changes were made: “Irish stew was tempered with fried onions, Indian spices were added to the chops, stews and roasts to suit the Rampuri palate; the English custards and puddings were made sweeter.” Princely states also gained diversity through mar ria g e. Suitable consorts came from similar families across India.

Gayatri Devi was born in the Cooch Behar royal family of Eastern India, but her mother was from Baroda in the West, where her own father’s first wife was from the Maratha court of Tanjore. When Gayatri Devi married the maharaja of Jaipur, all these regional links came together in her kitchen in recipes like an Eastern style of cooking fish with radishes, or a luxurious Maratha dal with cashews, coconut and ghee. All these are collected in Gayatri Devi’s book Gourmet’s Gateway , which also showcases another reason for the diversity of the princely states. The larger ones like Jaipur attracted administrators from across India, happy to work with greater freedom than they got under the British. The book has recipes from Kashmiri, Parsi, Muslim and South Indian families who worked in Jaipur. Several recipes are from Congress leader Sarojini Naidu’s daughter Padmaja, a sign of how some rulers carefully cultivated ties with nationalist politicians as well.

As India celebrates 80 years of independence, it’s worth remembering the integration of princely states that followed. Books like Josy Joseph’s Birth of a Nation are taking a fresh look at the incredible complexity of getting their immensely individualistic rulers, whose lands covered two-fifths of India, to join the new nation. Khan writes that one consequence was that palaces had to cut expenses, with chefs often having to leave to work with middle-class families or open food shops. Later, some would return to work in the luxury hotels many rulers opened to make use of their palaces. Much of the history of India’s princely states is complex and debatable, but the food they produced is still worth savouring.