From 'English' vegetables to desi roots

Indian vegetables, like regional languages, were long regarded as uncool and rejected in favour of "English" staples such as carrots, beans and cauliflower. "Indian" dishes promoted by the culinary devis of the 1960s and 1970s rather than the rustic staples of 'native places' became the hallmark of upward mobility and even homogeneity, especially in the growing metros. By the second decade of the 21st century we were well on the way to "One India, One Cuisine".

Then, deracinated urban classes began to experience a yearning for their roots, aided by a growing pride in all things desi. Even as they lived out their American dream in suburban condominium complexes in Gurgaon or Goregaon, Indians began to show interest in eating local and understanding rural, subaltern culinary histories. That's also when social media happened, and suddenly their new-found appetite for culinary legacy could be sated by a myriad of content providers.

This week I was fascinated by a video of a chirpy, toothless Bengali village granny with wispy grey hair tied in a bun and a creased cotton saree wrapped in the old-fashioned 'aatpoure' style, cooking a dish made with the green stem of the elephant yam and small shrimps, on a wood-fired terracotta chulha. Clearly her grandson (the cameraman) realised that gas cylinders which her family could access via the PM's Ujjwala Yojana would have spoiled the bucolic tableau!


A well-used grinding stone, a sharp bonti (Bengal's traditional curved iron blade set on a wooden base), a few stainless steel and plastic utensils, and a spatula comprised her kitchen kit, set under a palm-leaf thatched shelter with a lovely view of greenery and grey rain clouds. No ingredient labels, no kitchen aid brands, no product placements. Just weather-worn fingers expertly slicing, dicing, grinding and stirring while she cheerfully answered her grandson's questions.

The dish she made had minimal oil and spices: just green chilli-yellow mustard seed paste, poppy seed paste, nigella seeds and turmeric; no onion-garlic-ginger, no garam masala. Most people do not know this facet of homestyle Bengali cooking, given the decades of publicity for the stereotypical wedding fare of rich, oily kalias and kosha mangsho. She even dispelled her grandson's fear that the stem would give him an itchy throat, which sometimes happens with yams.

Fear is the reason most cityslickers avoided eating shoots, roots, leaves and all 'unknown' desi ingredients till a new interest in rustic fare made them set aside apprehensions. Most took a cue, of course, from the West's foraged food craze. Mushrooms have an international appeal and yams do not, so Indian elites were willing to profess a liking for fungi even if they ranged from pricey truffles and morels to deathcaps, but steered clear of potentially itchy tubers. Until now!

Earlier this month, an Indian restaurant in New York, helmed by a chef who unapologetically presents the humble ingredients but robust flavours of his Tamil village, was adjudged the best eatery in the Big Apple. In India, restaurant cuisine has moved beyond Mughlai and other mainstream genres to brilliant riffs by star chefs, and even homestyle regional cuisines by home cooks. Truly rural flavours, however, have remained largely untasted in cities barring a few pop-ups.

But now social media has given rural Indians the chance to take their no-fuss, no-waste, hyper-seasonal and hyper-local food to far-away audiences. I found more rural Bengali grannies with thousands of followers posting cooking videos on social media with a little help from grandkids, like plump 'nonnas' popularised rustic Italian cooking. Today, rural India's cool, deft paatis, ajis and thammas are doing the same. Thanks to them we will remain "One India, Many Cuisines".