As I write this, we’re in the first week of August in Bombay, so you know we’re neck deep in the famed Mumbai Monsoon; I’m at work and it’s 4 pm, and I’m waiting for the chai guy (shout out, Sadashiv!). I’ve managed to get drenched while picking up biscuits from the shop in the back alley (it’s not as shady as it sounds, promise). While looking for something to dry off with, a faded LDA wristband from a gig fell out of my bag, which I carefully put back. I couldn’t find towels or tissues, so I rushed to the ladies' room to stand under the hand dryer.
If I were back home, my mom would’ve sauntered into my room, sighing, hinting, “Koi chai bana deta toh kitna accha lagta…” I would look up from whatever I was doing, mildly annoyed because the hinting always gets my goat, and get to work.
I’d find the pateela, pour enough water into it, then find the adrak and ghiso it—the spicy aroma invading my nostrils while it goes ghush ghush ghush ghush against the grater. I add it to the pateela with some chai patti, and exactly two pieces of clove, a cinnamon stick, and three black peppercorns. We do like our tea spicy. “Do you want bread to go with it?” I’d yell from the kitchen. Her response is incoherent, but I know what she’d say. So I’d quickly toast up a few slices on the tawa. I quickly add milk to the chai and wait for it to come to a rolling boil; switch it off, sieve it, and serve it.
I must apologise for the random detour, but it’s hard for me not to have random flashbacks, especially when it’s raining outside. The monsoon is making you feel nostalgic.
I head back to my desk, finding the wristband on the floor again. I make a mental note to put it into the little plastic box on my bookshelf.
No, my little box of keepsakes is not some fancy old money aesthetic brass or wood sandook, it’s a little plastic box in which I was given my first ‘stash’ in Bombay. The…err…stuff got over, but it now holds a plethora of random bits and bobs. The wristband from the gig that I had decided to travel 1400km for, which changed my life and career (again). A playbill. Stickers.
No matter how random they look, these pieces are souvenirs of my favourite food memories. The I-Rock wristband takes me back to a post-gig Cold Brew Lemonade from Dope, filled to the brim even though I’d only paid for half. The playbill makes me think of this chaotic restaurant hop with a work friend. And the stickers remind me of sick days when Mum’s Rasam-Khichdi fixed e v e r y t h i n g.
Speaking of Rasam-Khichdi, I never thought that I would use it to cure bouts of homesickness and subsequently introduce my friends to my home. But here we are. The simple, four-ingredient soupy digestif (one would argue) has now become my go-to
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Rasam-Khichdi (Lifesaver, so keep it bookmarked)
Ingredients
For the Rasam
- 2 Tomatoes, cut into eight cubes
- As much garlic as you like (or 7-10 cloves)
- 4 cups of water
- Tamarind paste
- 2 tbsp 777 Rasam powder (or any that you can find)
- Salt to taste
- Ghee, curry leaves, jeera, hing, and crushed pepper for the tadka
For the Khichdi
- 1 cup rice
- 1/4th cup moong dal
- A pinch of turmeric
- Salt
- Ghee, curry leaves, jeera, hing, cashews (optional), and crushed pepper for the tadka
Method
For the Rasam
- In a pateela, add the water, garlic, tomatoes, and a tablespoon of the tamarind paste. Stir and bring to boil.
- Add the Rasam powder and let it come to a rolling boil. Simmer, once it does.
- Let the water reduce, add salt and keep tasting until you feel like the masala is cooked and it’s just right.
- Add the tadka, and you’re done!
For the Khichdi
- In a cooker, wash the dal and rice. You may roast the dal ahead of this (not with stupid jokes, please).
- Add enough water, a pinch of turmeric, and a little salt. Let it cook for 4 whistles.
- Add the tadka, and you’re done!
Over the years, I have been grateful to have received recipes from some of my favourite people—edible heirlooms, if you will. Mashi’s Kosha Mangsho, the Khokkar family’s green chutney, an ex-roommate’s feti hui coffee and her friend’s shoe-polish coffee, an erstwhile Maharaja’s recipe for Murgh Mumtaz Mahal, and more.
Well, I’m not friends with the Maharaja, but I imagine we’d be best buds if we knew each other.
These recipes sneak into my kitchen in the most unassuming ways. Sometimes, the Kosha Mangsho finds its place with a broken dosa, and the green chutney finds its way onto cheese toasties. The Feti hui coffee is what I reach for when I have a little extra time to make something “special”. And, if you’ve known me long enough, the chicken recipe has made several appearances in shared meals—though it was often eaten out of a chipped IKEA bowl while sitting cross-legged on my bed. Girl Dinner, but make it heirloom.
The thing about these edible heirlooms is that they don’t need a special occasion or a perfectly set table. For me, ‘Girl Dinner’ is a way of pulling these flavours out of the archive, mixing them with whatever’s lying around, and making a meal that feels like company, even when it’s just me.
And maybe that’s why I keep them close. Not just in a recipe book, but in muscle memory—the way my hand reaches for the pepper dabba, the way I know exactly how long to cook onions to toe the line between brown and burnt, and the way that I have learnt to add dry fruits to take something from basic to boujie. These little inheritances have travelled from someone else’s kitchen into mine, and now, into whoever’s hungry enough to share the table.
So when I think about it, my little plastic keepsake box and my kitchen shelf aren’t all that different. Both hold souvenirs from people I’ve loved and moments I don’t want to forget. The box reminds me about where I’ve been; the food reminds me who I’ve been with.
And maybe that’s the real magic of these edible heirlooms. They live on your tongue, in your hands, and in the air between you and whoever you’re feeding. I’ll always have them, and with every person I share them with, they’ll carry a little more history.
About the author: Saundarya (she/her) is a certified yapper who cannot stop thinking and talking about food, but is equally passionate about music and collecting artist merch and stickers (niche, no? XD). She is obsessed with her dog, Zorro, and tries to video call him every day. She believes that the only thing keeping him is the lack of opposable thumbs, which should tell you everything you should know about her.
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