“Who has the right to decide on the cooking and eating choices, and the food culture of one’s kitchen other than the concerned individuals or families themselves,” writes author Shahu Patole in a powerful introduction to Dalit Kitchens of Marathwada, the English translation of his 2015 Marathi book, Anna He Apoorna Brahma. This is pertinent in the context of the regular debates that rage in the country about vegetarian and non-vegetarian dietary habits, notions of purity and ethics of food, and the idea of free will.
Yet, while discussing the culture of food, we tend to ignore why certain communities eat the way they do—is it out of choice or compulsion? Patole writes that food habits and caste cannot be separated in Indian culture. “Just as caste is cemented at birth, so is diet,” he states. In his book, Patole looks at the primary diet of the erstwhile Mahar and Mang communities—the two main Dalit castes in Maharashtra that suffered under untouchability—and looks at the social hierarchies that informed their food habits. “These castes and food habits have both been neglected,” he writes.
Patole, a retired government officer, makes it clear that the purpose of writing the book is not to demote or oppose vegetarianism, or to promote eating of meat. Rather, this is an exercise to document the food culture that he observed while growing up in a village in Osmanabad. “There is a belief that a person is what he eats. But did you give us an option or a choice to eat what we wanted? We were relegated to the ‘tamsik’ category—our communities had to clear carcasses of dead animals, and eat that flesh,” Patole had said in an interview to Lounge in 2021.
Patole first thought of writing the book in 2012 at the behest of his socialist friend, Jaydev Dole. “Our food histories don’t find space in the mainstream narrative,” he says on the phone. Whenever he read food columns in newspapers, they mentioned non-vegetarian recipes but never from the Dalit communities across the country. He would send articles with recipes to media houses only to be ignored. Even in Dalit literature, food practices were mentioned but in-depth research-based writing on culinary habits was missing.
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In 2015, Anna He Apoorna Brahma became the first such book to document Dalit food history of the two communities, and its translation by Bhushan Korgaonkar is equally significant, for it brings the culinary practices, and the reasons behind them to a wider audience.
It was quite revelatory for Korgaonkar to work on the translation. When the Mumbai-based director travelled to Osmanabad to understand the ingredients and techniques of the food of the Mahar and Mang communities, he realised there was community-specific vocabulary, which had no counterpart even in Marathi, let alone in English. The exclusion of the words mirrored the invisibilisation of the communities and their practices. The book brings home some harsh truths about exclusion—take for instance, the absence of ingredients such as asafoetida and ghee from the dishes of the two communities in the past because these were expensive and never made available to them. According to Patole, these two ingredients were used by upper castes, or those who followed Brahmanical rituals such as the chaturmas. Or the ingenious methods that homemakers came up with, in the face of lack of storage space and techniques, to preserve the meat once an animal died. Patole talks about the need for this anthropological exercise, and the habits of the next generation of the two communities. Edited excerpts from the interview:
In the introduction to ‘Dalit Kitchens of Marathwada’, you have mentioned that members of the two communities did not want you to write the book in such detail. There is still a sense of shame attached with the food practices. Do you hope that the book will change some of that attitude?
I have always said that food practices percolate from top to bottom. I know what the upper castes eat, but they don’t know what we eat. I hope the translation will bring some awareness among the readers, and also do away with the shame felt by the community. A food culture depends not just on the location and weather but also on the availability of ingredients, which are controlled by the caste system. Within one village, two villages reside—one within and the other on the outskirts. For centuries, members of the Dalit communities have felt embarrassed by what they eat. Why this feeling that we eat something wrong? Did we have an alternative? Even with the democratic platforms offered by the internet, our food narratives have not come to the forefront. This is why I felt the need to write this book—this is for the future generations, about why and how our food habits came to be.
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![The translation of 'Anna He Apoorna Brahma' by Bhushan Korgaonkar is equally significant, for it brings the culinary practices, and the reasons behind them to a wider audience The translation of 'Anna He Apoorna Brahma' by Bhushan Korgaonkar is equally significant, for it brings the culinary practices, and the reasons behind them to a wider audience](https://www.todaysauthormagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/Book_Cover_Shahu_1719819104793.jpg)
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You don’t just touch upon the vegetarian versus meat debate, but also talk about how within meat eaters, there is a certain hierarchy as well. You write that within certain social elite and Hindu upper castes, while meat of particular animals is eaten, abstinence is also followed during certain periods prescribed by religion. They frown upon the consumption of offal—tongue, heart, mesentery and blood—by the Mahar and Mang communities…
The food habits of the two communities have emerged from extreme poverty. They would herd bullocks for the landed people in the village, and often dung would fall with the grains of jowar. They would sift through it, wash the grain and eat it. They were made dependent by others—people who assumed the role of poshankarta (providers of nourishment). But the thing is that these poshankartas were not giving anna (food) without exacting a deep price for it. If it had been the other way around, would we not have had land, cattle and produce of our own? We would not have had to scavenge for dead animals. In these households, every part of the animal, from skin to blood and fat was used. There was no other choice.
What are the other myths that you hope to clear?
I have intentionally titled the book Dalit Kitchens of Marathwada, as I am focusing on food habits that are common to the communities from northern Maharashtra, northern Karnataka, some parts of Telangana, some parts of western Maharashtra and Vidarbha. These are the communities that I have grown up in and know well. I don’t know much about the food habits of the Dalit communities in Konkan, so how can I write about that? However, today, in the media, we have a tendency to bunch up everything under the umbrella term of Maharashtra ka khana. In my village, which lies to the south of the Godavari river, jowar is eaten, but in the villages to the north of the river, bajra is eaten. Through the title, I have made it very clear that I am only talking about Marathwada. Just like some people have a misconception that Muslims eat only meat, there is a similar notion about the Mahars and Mangs. But, meat was never affordable, and hence families could not eat it on a daily basis—only when an animal died. In fact, vegetarian fare, including pulses-based curries, seasonal dishes made with wild purslane, pumpkin vines and unripe figs, outnumbered the non-veg dishes.
!['Tarawata chi bhaji', which is a monsoon vegetable, with jowar bhakri. Photo: courtesy Shahu Patole 'Tarawata chi bhaji', which is a monsoon vegetable, with jowar bhakri. Photo: courtesy Shahu Patole](https://www.todaysauthormagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/monsoon_1719819365605.jpg)
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You draw interesting linkages between the rise of Dalit literature and the awareness about Dalit food. What were your reading habits like, and how did these connections come about for you?
I had always been interested in reading. I started writing at the end of class IX, but never got an opportunity to publish. And then I failed four times in class XII. Sometimes I feel that those years taught me a lot, it gave me a lot of time to reflect and introspect. If I had not failed, I would not have become an officer. Even at that time, my reading was not selective. Then, in the 1960s-70s, with the rise of the Dalit Panther movement, Dalit literature made its ways into mainstream Marathi literature, and I gravitated towards it. Even though these books were available in the market, mainstream society was not reading them. That was until satirist-writer Pu La Deshpande, on reading this literature, remarked that we don’t know anything about this part of society. Suddenly the elite classes woke up to Dalit literature and got exposed to the struggles imposed on communities by social structure.
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Before that, rural Marathi literature was either dominated by comedy or by rural literature penned by professors and officers, who hailed from the villages. However, even in their stories about poverty and labour, the Dalit community would not find a mention. When Dalit literature and poetry emerged, information about customs and food was brought to the world’s notice for the first time. But even then, in-depth research-backed writing on our food practices was not available. Today, children from the Mang and Mahar communities have grown up and migrated to cities. My own kids don’t know the reality of all that transpired in my village back then. Even today, food of the two communities doesn’t find a mention in mainstream media. I wanted to change that with my book.
How are the habits of the next generation based in cities different?
Even today, in the village, no one eats chapati, as it is believed that this would lead to an upset stomach. We celebrate 14 festivals and only on those occasions is puranpoli and rice cooked. However, in the city, Dalit families cook rice daily. My children don’t eat jowar roti. It is only those who are aged 50 and above who eat jowar roti daily. In the last three decades, both the state and central governments have been providing rations to people, including those from the Dalit communities, and that has brought both wheat and rice into the diet. Life has changed both in the city and the village—in the latter even pizzas and momos are being eaten—which is why this documentation is important.