tales of Suchita

As promised, I’m going to write odes to food items that I love for #BlogchatterFoodFest and today’s ode is dedicated to arhar ki daal. For those uninitiated into daal lore, this is also called as toor daal or lentil soup, if you will. I have no idea why daals are called soup because the only thing they have in common is that they’re liquid. Soup is a starter and daals are the main course.

Anywho, as you can see, I have definite feelings about my daals. I was telling my mother only yesterday (she was quite flattered after reading the ode to nariyal ki barfi), she makes the best daal. People put too much garlic or the ubiquitous gravy made of tomatoes, onions, garlic and ginger and it stops tasting like daal and tastes like any other generic curry instead. The daal in my house is made in ghee, hing, jeera tadka and that’s how daal was intended to be made, even if I sound biased.

Now that that’s out of the way, let me tell you more about this daal in the form of a poem:

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People may call you
Yellow lentil soup
But for me, and my desi heart
You will always be arhar ki daal
Or as my sister likes to call it
Papa ki daal – not because we have
A maa ki daal
But more because it is papa
Who likes this daal best.

Perhaps one of the easiest
Daals to make, I love you
With a ghee, hing and jeere ka tadka
Because that’s how I have always had you
Since I could tell mum
Yum, aur chahiye.

Soul food for this desi
I look forward to savouring you
Once a week during lunchtime
And unlike the nariyal ki barfi,
You are special because you’re made
Not to impress anyone
But simply because eating you
Takes me back to a feeling…
…a feeling called home.

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I didn’t even know arhar daal chawal was something that my soul loved eating until someone asked me what meal I’d like if it was the last meal of my life.

I would have thought I’d say something exciting like chicken biryani, or pizza or pasta or hakka noodles – all of which I adore, obviously – but I went with daal chawal. Maybe I’m old and hence nothing can beat a simple meal. Or I have too much of Moradabad (my paternal grandparents hailed from here) in me to not say arhar daal chawal.

So, my friend, reading this very clunky piece of poetry written for something as basic as arhar ki daal, what’s soul food for you?