On a breakfast trail through the streets of Varanasi

In Varanasi, as in some other parts of northern India, breakfast, or a morning meal, is called kaleva, derived from the older Sanskrit word kalyavarta. That the idea of a light morning meal is well entrenched in the culinary cultures in these parts is confirmed by the region’s time-honoured colloquialisms, proverbs, and idioms. An old expression declares: naan bahu, nun kaleva. For a petite daughter-in-law, mere salt can be breakfast. Numerous devotional songs from the region, composed around the dark-skinned Lord Krishna, describe in detail the morning rituals of waking him up and feeding him his breakfast. These songs are collectively called kaleo or kaleva.

In one such song, Sur Das, the sixteenth-century poet-saint of Braj in western Uttar Pradesh, pleads the lotus-eyed Hari (another name for Krishna) to eat a breakfast, or kaleva, of makkhan, roti, dahi, mewa, prataras ke mishtanna (breakfast sweetmeats), drakh and kishmish, badaam, sahjari sev (fresh apples), chuhare, pista, and more. Flatbreads, dairy products like butter and curd, and dried fruits, nuts, and fresh seasonal fruits are still breakfast essentials in north India for those who can afford it.

Another old song, sung by the women of Varanasi, imagines Krishna as a child to be woken up with his favourite treat of butter and sugar candy. Kakar papar aur gur meva itane ka hari jitun karuhun kaleva—partake in a breakfast of cucumbers, papad, sweets, and dried fruits, Lord Hari, the song coaxes.

‘Banaras has a culture of eating fresh fruits and raw vegetables early in the morning,’ says Amitabh Bhattacharya, a veteran journalist and academic, when I meet him one afternoon on the veranda of the Bengali Tola Inter College School, established in 1854. ‘And cucumbers are always eaten in the morning,’ he adds. A chain paan-chewer who speaks chaste Hindi, Bhattacharya is a Bengali whose family has resided in Varanasi for generations. On my early morning sojourns around the old quarters of Varanasi, I too have seen many roving vendors pushing carts heaped with cut fruits to lure customers, despite innumerable warnings from authorities against selling cut fruits.

A younger man, in deep conversation with Bhattacharya when I had arrived on the school grounds, joins the conversation. ‘In Banaras we say, ‘subah kheera heera, din mein kheera kheera, raat mein kheera peera.’ Eaten in the morning, cucumbers are like diamonds (beneficial); in the afternoon, it is merely a cucumber (neutral); and at night it results in pain.’ The man introduces himself as Kamlakar Tripathi, a Supreme Court advocate, who comes from a family of Ayurveda practitioners. ‘Banarasis are particular about the timing of food, and the seasonality of ingredients. Specific food is eaten only at specific times of the day, and often after taking into account its intrinsic properties or potency as per the diktats of Ayurveda,’ he says. This preoccupation with specific foods at specific times is also visible on the streets of Varanasi, where the food scene changes every couple of hours, Bhattacharya adds.

The street food of Varanasi is legendary. Often seen through the lens of the city’s fabled pleasure ethic, and extolled for its gastronomical virtues, Varanasi’s thriving street food is also the city’s lifeline—a tradition rooted in the city’s long and storied history as a global cosmopolis.

While the ancient city’s status as the spiritual capital of Hindus often dominates conversations around Varanasi, its sacred grounds have hosted and nurtured many faiths and cultures. It is an important Jain tirtha, the birthplace of four Jain Tirthankaras. Buddhists come here to visit the sacred complex of Sarnath close by, where the Buddha is said to have delivered his first sermon. Muslims have lived here for centuries, their mosques and shrines scattered around the city, and have shaped its music, culture, crafts, and lustrous weaves.

‘Banaras is the original bohemian city—intrinsically pluralistic and cosmopolitan,’ says Bhattacharya, as he pops yet another gilori of paan in his mouth. ‘It is not only a site of pilgrimage, but also an ancient seat for learning, that has for centuries attracted scholars and learners from around the world.’ Besides, Varanasi’s strategic location on the river, at the intersection of major trade routes, propelled it to an important centre of trade and commerce. Arts and handicrafts thrived here, as did some of the oldest musical traditions in the country. All this attracted multitudes of pilgrims, traders, intellectuals, and migrant labourers to the city over centuries. ‘These were often people who had left their homes and families behind. With no one to cook for them or a kitchen to call their own, they depended on the city’s many annakshetras (charitable kitchens run by temples and mutts in Varanasi) and street purveyors of food for their daily sustenance. In the city of Annapurna, the goddess of food and nourishment, no one goes hungry,’ Bhattacharya adds.

Excerpted with permission from ‘First Bite: Breakfast Stories from Urban India’ by Priyadarshini Chatterjee, published by Speaking Tiger Books.