Spilling the beans

I soak them on Saturday night and by Sunday morning they bloom into plump beans, splitting at the seams.
Image used for representational purposes only
Image used for representational purposes only

I soak them on Saturday night and by Sunday morning they bloom into plump beans, splitting at the seams. While I boil them in the pressure cooker with salt for about five to six whistles, I chop onions and tomatoes to be used in the masala, along with freshly-grated ginger and garlic. If I am in the mood to add some extra oomph to the dish, then I make a coarse garam masala with badi elaichi [black cardamom], dalchini [cinnamon], and jeera [cumin seeds] to be added to the smoked mustard oil before the freshly-ground pastes go in. Then, there are days when I wish to savour them in the most rustic form—I cook them in a little oil with jeera, and let the flavour of the beans stand out.

Yes, I am talking about rajma [kidney beans], our customary Sunday lunch. Not just that—you have probably guessed by now that rajma is sacred to me. It is also my first love; something I can cook to perfection every time.

Rajma-chawal is a celebratory
dish for many families

While I hold my rajma ritual close to my heart, I learnt quickly that I was not the only one. During my graduation days in Delhi University, I would catch a whiff of rajma every time I’d step out of my hostel—particularly on a Sunday afternoon. However, this did not feel out of place—after all, I am from Punjab,
you see!

Among myriad things, one which remained consistent through my childhood would be the entire family coming together on a Sunday afternoon for a hearty meal of rajma, pyaaz-wale chawal, boondi ka raita, and masala pyaaz. Soon, I learnt from many friends that they had very similar weekend rituals at home, too.

Did I feel that my childhood specialty was being snatched away? Well, the funny thing is that I probably would have felt so if it were to be any other thing. But, the fundamental bit about rajma-chawal is its nature of universal comfort, and its place as being one of the greatest champions of community.

Interestingly, though, if you look at the narrative that rajma-chawal serves, you will realise something unique. At home, the quintessential rajma-chawal is a celebratory dish—it celebrates that one day when the whole family gets together.

At the same time, out in the city streets, you’d find it to be commonplace in most of Delhi’s office gullies. In my college days here, I discovered food stalls behind the 18th Century observatory, Jantar Mantar, on one fine winter afternoon. It was a humble shop selling steaming hot plates of rajma-chawal, kadhi-chawal, cholle-chawal, and onion kulcha with boondi raita, chutney, and laccha onions— for just Rs 35 per plate—to a long queue of hungry office-goers.

That instant redefined the dish for me. As a student living outside home, and for the first time in life without ghar ka rajma-chawal, I requested a plate too. Not only was it heavenly—in that one moment, the celebratory rajma-chawal became a dish of essence. It was fundamental, and no longer a choice.

It is, therefore, only fitting that in a city as diverse as Delhi, the humble yet mighty rajma-chawal continues to serve inimitable taste to the discerning fine-diner stepping out of a limousine—and to parched workers on a midsummer afternoon.

Vernika Awal
is a food writer who is known for her research-based articles through her blog ‘Delectable Reveries’

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