For the Love of Dal
Cover art by Ruta Jamenis
“I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things in life which are the real ones after all. “— Laura Ingalls Wilder
In India, as in other countries in Central Asia, there is a tradition of eating a family style meal on straw or cloth mats laid on the ground. They are called different names but are commonly known as ‘Chatai’. The idea is quite simple. A typical work day is filled with hustle and bustle, stress and running around. Let there be one meal of the day where the entire family peacefully sits together and engages in light conversation and banter while doing what they love most: Eat food.
There is no set pattern to this ritual but in my home (Pune), it usually plays out like this. When dinner is almost ready, Bhabhi (my sister-in-law) asks me to clear out the living area and set the chatai on the floor. She starts laying out the vessels of Subzi (vegetables cooked in spices), Dal (lentils), Chawal (rice), Roti (hot bread) and salad on the kitchen counter top. My sister starts gathering plates, bowls and spoons for everyone. We start laying the hot vessels of food on the chatai. At this point, the aroma of the food has started drawing in everyone from their rooms to the living area. Those who haven’t are drawn in by repeated yells. As the first batch of rotis are ready, members of the family sit around the chatai. One of us volunteers to serve food onto the plates and hand it off to each member of the family.
And then it happens. We eat.
Bhabhi joins us eventually, hopefully not too far behind us. If we are lucky, the television is turned off. If we are even luckier, everyone has had a good day and we have good conversation to make. And its absolutely divine if my father doesn’t have us get up every few minutes to get him red chilies, green chilies, salt and pepper!
There’s a lot that’s probably lost in translation here but hopefully you get the picture. The idea is quite universal. A family that eats together, stays together. In a world where the words fast and food are married to each other, where we eat our breakfast sandwiches on our office desks, where all cuisines of a world are available in a single food court, where eating food is one of the many chores of a day, there is something very pure and unadulterated about this tradition.
Something very therapeutic about it.
Every meal in the day before that is quickly chewed and forgotten. But for that one meal, my involvement begins quite early. It starts with the quintessential question,
“Aaj khaane me kya hai?” (What’s for dinner tonight?).
Bhabhi: “Dal. Chawal. Roti. Sabzi.”
Me: “Kaun si subzi?” (Which vegetable?)….Hoping against hope she doesn’t say Lauki (Gourd).
Bhabhi: “ Bhindi.” (Okra)
Me: “Aur Dal?” (Which Dal?)
Bhabhi: “Tuar.”
This is promptly followed by me going to my room and getting hooked on to a screen. Sooner or later I hear the whistles of the pressure cooker cooking Dal.
1…2…3…4…5. The Dal must have boiled.
Ten minutes later, a loud crackle and pop!
Hari Mirch (Green chilies), Hing( Asafoetida), Haldi(Turmeric), Rai (Mustard), Jira(Cumin seeds), Kadi Patta (Curry Leaves) dropped in pure, hot Desi ghee (Clarified butter).
The aroma consumes the house. It suddenly dawns upon me. I’m starving!
I open the door and ask bhabhi,
“Khaane me kitna time hai?” (How long till the food is ready?).
Bhabhi: “Bas, paanch minute.” (Five minutes more).
In India, everything is ready in five minutes! After (NOT) five minutes, when I can’t focus on anything else but food I finally pop into the kitchen.
Bhabhi smiles. “Khaana ready hai. Chatai bicha do.” (Food is ready. Lay down the mat).
As the hot meal is laid on the chatai, I savor the food feast with my eyes. I break the hot roti with my fingers. The steam flows out of it. I dip it in Dal.
By now I have already eaten with all the other senses, tasting is just the sublime conclusion.
I can’t quite put my finger to it but something about this ritual transforms ordinary food to extraordinary. Not that we didn’t own furniture. If anything, we owned too much of it. But something about sitting on the ground with no trappings of luxury was both humbling and soothing. It doesn’t just feed your belly.
It feeds your mind and soul.
As time went by and our busy schedules took over, the chatai gathered dust and became a forgotten memory and we became happy to have our meals around a table, dining or otherwise. Conversations got substituted by TV shows and iPads. Families got separated by oceans and dreams. Five senses are assigned to five different chores at meal time. “Aaj khaane me kya hai?” (What’s for dinner tonight?) is more of a problem than a joy. It only serves the belly. The mind is occupied with work. What about the soul, you ask?
Well…what about it?
I’m not trying to paint life in black or white here. We are all pursuing our dreams that require a lot of work day in and day out. Schedules wary. Sometimes we have time for the simpler joys of life. Sometimes we don’t. That’s just how it is. I have made peace with that. My family is scattered across two countries across the globe. We are all married. All my siblings are have kids of varying ages now. Some members are among us. Others are not. To enjoy a simple meal together can take some meticulous planning. It happens once year, if at all. It sucks, but it is what it is.
Thinking back to those times, there may have been 4–5 items on that Dinner menu but its Dal that was the show stopper for me. Not to speak on behalf of 1 billion people, but Dal and Chawal is the ultimate Indian comfort food. For me, its a whole lot more. It’s peace and tranquility. It means I haven’t forgotten my roots. It means I still have it in me to appreciate the simpler things in life. It means listening to classical Instrumental music after a day long binge of Biebers and Taylors. It’s poetry. It means good digestion. Just the idea of eating it makes me feel like I am after all a good person and there is hope in this world for people like me.
It isn’t much to look at. Yet, its beautiful.
Living on my own and eating a lot of fast food made me crave the comfort of home cooked food. I resorted to making Dal for myself and others atleast once a week. Unfortunately for me, I am not a very good cook. But fortunately for me, I get high on nostalgia and I can go to great lengths to pursue things that are dear to me. They say that the most important ingredient of food, is Love. Turns out, they are right. Because when it comes to cooking, it is love that gets the best out of me.
The love of Dal.
Somehow being in the kitchen and preparing Dal, I rediscovered that therapeutic feeling. My senses started to come back together.
The touch of uncooked Dal as I washed it. The sound of the pressure cooker whistles. The aroma of Ghee, Kadi Patta, Hing, Jeera, Haldi. The sight of garnished Dal coming together with all ingredients. And finally the taste of simple Dal and Chawal, bringing back the comfort of home. I was sitting around the chatai with my family. I was enjoying a laugh. We were all happy. We were all well fed.
That’s what comfort food does. Its not just a good meal. It’s memories. It’s nostalgia. Of childhood. Of Good times. Simpler times. A time when we sat together around a chatai with conversation. For our love for good food.
And in my case, for the love of Dal.
