The first leg of the journey was to cover the entire northern India in 22 days. Thereafter, we would make way towards the west. I bid farewell to my family, and as clichéd as it may sound, they fed me
dahi chinni
(yoghurt with sugar) for good luck. The car that I was travelling in was pretty jazzy. It was completely covered with stickers of tomatoes, hence, we decided to call it Tamatar—tomato in English—for the same reason. I say ‘we’ because I was not the only one travelling, there were another eight people travelling with me, including two drivers who played the biggest part in this journey, I guess. So, the first destination on Day 1 was Karnal. I learnt that it had earned an epithet for itself: the Land of Cows. Before we reached Karnal, we stopped at Murthal, about 50 km from Delhi, for a
desi
(local) brunch.
Murthal is a big village in the Sonipat district of Haryana. It is really popular for various kind of stuffed
paranthas
(flatbread made of wholewheat or flour dough):
aloo
(potato),
mooli
(radish),
gobhi
(cauliflower) and other varieties. That was our prime reason for stopping here. These
paranthas
are thick, filled with generous amount of stuffing, crisp on the outside, hot and soft on the inside. They’re mostly wheat based and taste divine with dollops of freshly made white butter. The other favourite accompaniments are
dal makhni
(popular dish made with whole black lentils and kidney beans), yoghurt, pickle and raw onions. We decided to stop at my favourite
dhaba
(roadside food stall) there, Ahuja No. 1. I was feeling quite a hero today with my camera crew next to me. So I proudly went up to the owner and explained to him what I did, took permission to enter his kitchen and the action began. The kitchen was spacious but slightly dark. What distracted me was the number of tandoors or clay ovens! I met Santosh who was their tandoor specialist. First thing that Santosh said, even before I could shake his hand, was, ‘I can make 120
paranthas
in one hour; no one here can beat my record.’
These guys really don’t need to spend any money on marketing; word-of-mouth praise from customers suffices, to say the least. Almost unbelievable if you ask me, we’re looking at making one
parantha
in 30 seconds flat! I patted Santosh on his back and after his permission, tried and made one or two myself. Trust me, operating a tandoor isn’t as easy as they make it look. The temperature is almost 350-400°C. There is no light inside the tandoor to actually spot a corner to stick the
paranthas
on its surface. It is purely a skill-based job and requires a lot of practice.
Being in the kitchen I got a few of my own ideas and wanted to experiment with those yummy
paranthas.
I also wanted Santosh to try something new as he’d been in the same kitchen for the past eight years. I churned out a very basic and simple
Satpura
Parantha.
S
ATPURA
P
ARANTHA
(Traditional potato-stuffed flatbread with a twist.)
Ingredients (For the
parantha
)
Method (For the
parantha
)
1. Make dough by kneading the wheat flour—to which salt is added—with the help of water. Make soft dough; so be careful with the quantity of water you add. Less water is manageable, more will spoil the dough.
2. After kneading the dough, divide it equally to obtain golf ball-size dough balls.
3. Flatten it into a circular disc. Lightly brush the whole surface with
ghee
and spread dry fenugreek leaves on it. Cut this circle into seven equal strips. They will be equal only in width not in length.
4. Sprinkle some flour on the rolling surface or chopping board. Place the tallest strip on the floured surface with
ghee
side facing up.
5. Stack all layers on top of one another with tallest at the bottom and shortest at the top. Press lightly so they stick together.
6. Roll this stack like a pinwheel. Close the loose ends by tucking them in the centre. Lay it flat on the surface and then flatten it out again into a circular disc.
7. Cook it on a hot
tawa
(griddle) and as you see layers getting crisp and more visible, add
ghee. Parantha
is ready.
Ingredients (for railway
aloo
)
Method (for railway
aloo
)
1. Peel the potatoes and cut them into small cubes.
2. Heat the
ghee
in a pan. Once hot, add cumin and let it splutter.
3. Add turmeric, coriander and chilli powder to a small bowl and then add one tablespoon water; mix it nicely.
4. Add this wet spice mix to the
ghee.
Let the spices cook on medium heat for a minute.
5. Now add the potatoes to this mixture and toss gently. Add salt. Saute potatoes for two to three minutes on medium heat.
Final Dish
1. Cut the
parantha
into pizza-like quarters. Top each of them with potatoes and a spoonful of yoghurt. Garnish it with coriander.
∼
Well, it definitely looked new and very different from anything that was being served at the
dhaba.
Santosh couldn’t get enough of it and made one for himself, whereas the owner didn’t seem very convinced, more confused about why I had done that to his
parantha
! But he did end up saying,
‘Swaad toh hai’
meaning it was tasty nonetheless.
After having a soul-satisfying meal at Ahuja No. 1, it was time to move on. The next destination was a bit unusual. I wasn’t told that we were going there, because my producer thought I’d refuse. The place in question—an
‘akhada’
—for professional fighters, or rather wrestlers, it is a religious place where they train in front of the God that they believe in. The motive was to find out what do these wrestlers eat to stay fit and in what quantities. I won’t lie but after reaching there I was impressed to see how naturally these wrestlers are trained, so different from the confines of a gym. The men here had perfect bodies by doing exercises like rope climbing and
kushti
(wrestling) and lifting clubs. Pretty soon I was out in the field, a ring made out of moist mud, which felt like a surface of a semi-kneaded dough. I was given some lessons in wrestling and also thrown around three or four times like some action figure!
The general diet these people follow is pretty interesting. They have four to six bananas everyday with at least 10
paranthas.
They prepare a special almond milk called
badam ras.
They grind almonds in a mortar and pestle with a little water until the almonds release their goodness into the water. Once they’re ground to a very fine paste, a litre of water is mixed with 250 gm of almond paste and then passed through a muslin cloth to get the purest extract from these almonds. By the way, all this is for just one wrestler! As these people made
badam ras
for me, I too prepared a very traditional
chaat
(an Indian savoury snack made of boiled vegetables or raw fruit with spices) for them. It was super healthy and had all the elements of a Delhi-based
chaat.
It was sweet, tangy, sour, spicy and savoury.
D
AY
2
7 August / karnal
The fact that the journey had begun was still sinking in and I was doing all these crazy things just because I felt like doing them! No questions asked. Our car, named Tamatar, started again and our next destination was a
gaushala
(cowshed where handicapped or disowned cows are taken care of) in Karnal. The whole day was spent there learning how it functioned. The most beautiful thing about this organisation, that ran the cowshed, was that they ran the sheds purely because they wished to take care of the cows. For a city dweller like me, to think of such a place is a little amusing with a tinge of nonchalance. But then when you visit them and see the real scenario you realise how tough it is. All this was part of my learning at the Radha Krishna Gaushala in Karnal. After speaking to Ajit, the concerned head there, for about 30 minutes I realised that they take care of 470 cows. They didn’t make any profit and most of the cows didn’t give milk anymore. Since I had come a long way, Ajit made sure I learnt how to milk a cow. Just imagine trying to milk a cow for the first time in your life; it is a little awkward and a lot terrifying. There is a specific technique about it and if you go wrong, sometimes the cow might try to kick you too. So one has to be careful.
Soon, the whole village near that
gaushala
knew that there was a ‘shooting’ happening. At least 100 people gathered by sunset. Ajit introduced me to a very popular
ghazal
(soulful ballad) singer of that village. He came in with his harmonium and told me, ‘I’ll sing for you if you cook for us.’ I graciously accepted the deal and soon I could see wooden cots all over with about 100 people sitting on them, just like traditional old Indian village set-ups that I’d seen in Bollywood movies. Cows in the backdrop…carefree people ready to sing merry songs…
I decided to cook
Dark Chocolate
Kheer,
from fresh milk, for 100 people. (I had collected the milk, yes!) As the
kheer
(rice pudding made by boiling rice, broken wheat, tapioca, or vermicelli with milk and sugar; it is flavoured with cardamom, raisins, saffron, and nuts) preparation started, the
bhajans
(religious songs) got sweeter. I felt like a 12-year-old child who had cooked his first dish purely out of love. Soon the
kheer
was served; it was over and I could see kids licking their plastic bowls and spoons clean. I had never felt this happy feeding a customer inside a restaurant or any hotel I’d ever worked at. To see that satisfaction on their faces made me overjoyed and I wanted to stay for a while longer but it was time to say goodbye, take a selfie with the cows and move on.
D
ARK
C
HOCOLATE
K
HEER
(Sweet Indian rice pudding cooked with chocolate.)
Ingredients
Method
1. Soak the rice in water for 30 minutes.
2. Pressure cook the rice with milk for one whistle. Instantly release the steam and put in a deep pan.
3. Keep it simmering for 20 minutes.
4. Now add the saffron and mix it nicely. Melt dark chocolate on the side on a double boiler or a microwave.
5. Add the melted chocolate, malt powder and cocoa to the almost ready
kheer.
6. As the
kheer
thickens, add sugar. Cook for another three to four minutes.
7. Finally, add the cardamom powder at the end. Give it a final mix and serve it either hot or cold. I usually prefer to chill it and have it cold.
D
AY
3
8 August / National Highway 1
It had been two days since I left home… After an overnight halt in Karnal and wandering around the town, we headed to Punjab. The land was visibly becoming more fertile as we moved on. The agenda and challenge for this day was to eat somewhere on the road, but not in a
dhaba,
because we would be travelling the whole day. After much contemplation I decided to go on a bike ride for four or five kilometres with a stranger. The aim was to try and look out for unique highway eating experiences; we were running out of options and it was well past lunchtime. Finally, my luck worked and I saw a dozen trucks parked in a row on one side of the highway with only one
dhaba
in sight. I got off the car and spoke to one of the truck drivers named Kartar Singh. He was wearing an old blue T-shirt and a
lungi
(sarong-like garment wrapped around the waist and extending to the ankles, usually worn by the males), and with his curly hair and messy beard looked every bit like a regular truck driver. I asked him where he ate, what his routine was like and there I found a solution to our hunt for eating options. He said, ‘Sir, we cook our food ourselves inside the truck… My helper, Ramu, cooks
dal
(lentils), rice and
sabzi
(vegetable curry) in these small utensils on a gas stove that we carry with us.’ This whole concept of cooking inside a moving vehicle was quite fascinating.
Kartar Singh explained that he was usually away from home for 11 months. Because of his job, he considered the roads his real home. After I had a word with him, Kartar immediately and very generously, offered to cook
dal
and rice for me. The thing about Indians is that no matter how rich or poor they are, they believe in hospitality and have big hearts. Now, how could I say no to that? He quickly tossed a simple
Highway Style
Dal,
with extra
ghee,
for me.