Don’t be flaky. Poha is as desi as it gets, says Kunal Vijayakar
‘Across India, from Maharashtra and Goa to Odisha and Karnataka, there are much-loved recipes built around the dried rice flakes. Too much poha un-Indian? That’s absurd.’
Once again, my heart broke watching an Indian politician use food to divide the fabric of our country. It seems to be happening all the time. People, goaded by politicians and sectarian thought, have been turning one person against the other. Instead of celebrating our differences, we succumb to prejudice, and food seems an easy excuse.
I look around and I see the most vocal and growing alienation is between non-vegetarians and vegetarians. Generations of meat- and fish-eating folk face scorn and vilification in schools, workplaces and housing societies, leave alone those who savour bovine or other meats beyond fowl.
Not satisfied with segregating people over food groups, we have now started partitioning them over actual dishes. Like the simple, humble and ever-popular poha.
Late last month, a national general secretary of the ruling party said he suspected the labourers working on his house were not Indian but Bangladeshi, because ‘they were consuming only poha’. In light of that ludicrous diatribe, I thought we should talk about poha.
In legend and myth, poha holds great significance. The Bhagavata Purana narrates a story of true friendship between the Hindu deity Krishna and his classmate, Sudama, an impoverished Brahmin. Krishna and Sudama haven’t met in years and Sudama makes a trip to Dwarka, to meet his long-lost friend. He arrives in tattered clothes and empty-handed, while Krishna’s court is full of all the world’s riches. All Sudama can gift Krishna is a handful of poha.
Krishna is overwhelmed and emotional. Sudama returns home without asking for anything, but finds his home and family transformed with riches. Such is the story of poha, too much of which this politician suggested was un-Indian.
I am an Indian. I love poha. And poha is a remarkably simple dish to make. It’s rice that is first parboiled, then flattened and dried to make flat, light, flakes, which can be stored for use later. When soaked in water or milk, this flattened rice puffs up, and can be used to make fluffy savoury or sweet delicacies, as well as snacks like chivda.
The simplest way I know to make poha is the way we make it in Maharashtra, kande pohe. Onion and thin pieces of potato are sautéed with a tempering of mustard seeds, turmeric, chilli and curry leaves. To this masala mixture, poha that has been soaked and softened is then added.
Vinay Health Home off Charni Road makes the finest kande pohe in Mumbai. They once told me that if the poha is soaked well and is of good quality, there is no need to cook it. One you mix it in with the onion and potato masala, you can just shut the vessel and let it cook in its own steam. When ready, garnish with fried peanuts, coriander and freshly grated coconut, squeeze some lime on top, and you have the finest Maharashtrian breakfast ever.
In fact, when a family visits a traditional Maharashtrian home to meet a prospective bride, her ability to make a good kande pohe is considered a benchmark and can be a big deciding factor.
There was a general outcry from civilised society and the media against this politician who decided to denounce poha, and among those voices was that of an old friend and journalist, Rohit Khanna. His outrage video listed popular dishes from all over the country that use poha, starting with Indori poha, a popular breakfast in Madhya Pradesh that is made the same way as above but garnished with sev and often served with a side of jalebi.
The Bengalis make chirer pulao, which is poha cooked with onions, nuts, raisins, black pepper, green chillies, salt and sugar. In Odisha, poha is mixed with milk, bananas, grated coconut and jaggery, and eaten as a traditional breakfast, called chuda kadali chakata. In Karnataka, bajil or avalakki oggarane is poha is cooked with onion, curry leaves, mustard seeds, gram, peanut and red chillies.
In Goa, poha is cooked in coconut oil with fresh coconut, green chillies, salt, sugar and an extra dose of hing, and called teek phovu or spicy poha. Goans also make dudhache phovu, a sweet dish of poha with milk, sugar and cardamom. It’s a lot like Kerala’s aval vilayichathu, a traditional naivedyam or offering to Krishna. It’s poha fried in ghee and mixed with jaggery, chana daal, cashews, peanuts, ground coconut, black sesame seeds and dry ginger powder.
In Maharashtra, just poha with milk is offered to Ganpati on Ganesh Chaturthi Day as prasaad. Is there any doubt that this versatile staple food is anything but Indian? I wonder which world this politician comes from?