If you’ve ever visited an Indian restaurant, you may have come across thali. This cuisine consists of a platter, commonly silver, adorned with naan, rice and several small, brightly filled bowls of curry, sauce and pickled fruit and vegetables. A bowl of sweet milk will sit next to a fiery curry, whilst chillies complement yoghurt and mango mixes with a salty dahl. Moving from one bowl to the next can leave you surprised, confused, and perhaps even shocked, but always, always, it is delicious. This plate, this thali, leaves you longing for more, browsing the rows of sweet, colourful laddu sitting behind the restaurant counter to leave you finally satisfied.
India is not dissimilar to this famous thali. Its contrasts and combinations can appear erratic and nonsensical to the casual traveller, inspiring questions and confusion as much as it does awe and admiration. However, much like the unassuming pottles of the silver thali platter, the mixture of these various flavours always results in an unparalleled, inamicable experience, leaving you searching for just one more taste. Such has been my own experience, mixing the calming flavours of divine inspiration, the spice of innovation and the sweetness of hospitality to create a cuisine both masterful and memorable. Eating experiences themselves serve as an excellent example.
Stepping out of calm, fan-cooled vegan restaurants into the heat, horns and hawkers of the streets of Mahabalipurum is the sensual equivalent of eating a chilli pepper after yoghurt.
Thali in all its diverse and flavorsome glory.
And it is here, on the streets of India, whether behind bus windows, squished into the seats of auto-rickshaws, or weaving on foot through the seemingly indecipherable directions of traffic, that the thali that is India is best savoured. Within the space of a block, you can taste all of the nation’s many flavours. Multistory clothes stores share walls with restaurants – street stalls, French cafes, and western-like fast food joints – and sit across from pharmacies which sell everything from jelly beans to the highest strength bugspray. Wares are advertised and street names spelt in local dialects, Hindu, English, and occasionally French. Not too far from these stores you may find a bottle store or bar, and separating one footpath from another will rumble a road sometimes smooth and sometimes potholed, along which speed scooters, motorcycles, cars, trucks, and buses.
It is outside the organised chaos of these streets that you will find the sweet, satisfying laddu of India’s deep diversity, far beyond municipal design. The plurality of this land is in many ways driven by its multiplicity of spiritual practices and religious traditions. Turn a corner from the local, ornately coloured Hindu temple, and you’ll find a pious Christian church. On a dusty rural road you’ll spot shrines devoted to a local deity, whilst early-rising city dwellers will hear the sound of the Muslim call to prayer reverberate through slowly waking city streets, as thousands of heads turn towards Mecca. For those seeking an experience merging East, West, and new age spirituality, the Matrimandir of Auroville, appearing externally like a giant Ferrero Rocher and designed internally like the Tantive IV, presents a tranquil, if somewhat disconcerting, space for meditation. An 8-hour bus ride west to Coimbatore will send you into the gates of Saddghuru’s Ashram, where yogis practice meditation in the shadow of a statue of Shiva’s sacred bull, Nandi, and bathe within cool, sanctified pools.
Each bite of India has so far left me with a different taste. Nostrils have flared, eyes have watered, and the tongue has tingled, but I always desire more. I happily anticipate the savouring of more of the delicious variety of experiences and opportunities that await me during our time in India, and keep vigilant for my metaphorical gulab jamun.