DEVOURING DARJEELING

“A typical breakfast in this Indian city on the Nepal border is an English Breakfast”, says yet another food blogger from Kolkata that I have been binge-watching on my phone screen, who takes us to explore the best food in Darjeeling, the town where I was born. And I am convinced about this person’s findings.  As the vlogger meticulously maps out the meals that one ‘must- have’ when in Darjeeling, I cannot help but feel an tinge of romanticization in my heart to nit-pick my way through the shiny variety of gourmet in Darjeeling town.

While it is commonplace to find food from various cultures in most cities, Darjeeling’s cosmopolitan food culture could well be traced to the foundation of this hill town from a fabled lake and forest to a concrete jungle where money growing on the tea bushes was promptly poured in to build the railways and the ropeway.

The British planted not only tea bushes but also an enduring preference for their palate. Today, hand-me-down colonial establishments serve “English Breakfasts” alongside Tibetan, Nepali, and global cuisines. Tourists line up on the narrow streets to experience these “must-visit” eateries.

School Girl Memories

I cannot lie, for I do enjoy a good sunny-side-up smothered on a slice of bread to brighten up another gloomy day at home.  But, growing up, such instances were rare. Today, I cannot shy away from the fact that on most days we would guzzle down bhuteko bhaat, the quick and hearty Nepali-style fried rice with our sunny-side-ups. 

My fondest food memories of devouring in Darjeeling is a spicy potato dish, alu-dum. A bunch of us school girls had a cult favourite and would promptly split our ways to visit Bari and Bhola, or our respective favourite alu-dum dealers. My preferred shop was Bhola Bhaiya, who served alu-dum and veg momo on a small round steel plate which we relished with finger chips and bhujia.  

Another favorite of mine is Anand Bhaiya (whom we called Baby Bhaiya back then), where we ganged up at 3:30 PM after school. We could get a newspaper full of aloo for Rs. 5 and customize it with local chips, bhujia, and makai. Over time, the triangular mama bhujia made inroads and we couldn't get enough of the little crunchy things. Now, each one customizes their alu-dum with a packet of Mimi (crunchy noodles), Cheetos, and chips from Fritolay.

The love for the school girl’s alu-dum transformed into the catchphrase “Bhola’s alu is so peero”, an accented sentence in mixed languages invented by girls who were constantly shifting from the colonial institutions of their Convent schools to the local street-food consciousness that was shaping the town where they were growing up.  

Could Darjeelingeys’ love for alu-dum at these shops be somewhat generational? I dare ask. But my parents do recall with fondness their memories of the alu-bhuja makai stalls outside Rink Cinema where they would line up as one does today for popcorn at the Inox. 

A recent trend among food vloggers exploring Darjeeling is to look for a hideaway hole-in-the-wall eatery. Most of them take us to old Tibetan establishments which started around the 1960s where the same recipe of momo and thukpa have been in service, catering to people looking for something hearty while running quick errands at the bazaar, hospital, and other urban navigations. 

My go-to has always been Momo at Soaltee. It started with my mother taking me there for a treat after the parent-teacher meetings at school. I eagerly looked forward to such days, when these borders between our colonial and homely existence would be shed for a while, as my teachers talked to my Ama in Nepali and she could get a glimpse into this very dark academia fantasy life I was leading every day - so different from Home. 

Coming back to the momo from Soaltee, the thin wrappers filled with juicy pink mince with just enough onions served with a clear Soup that I love to season with Vinegar. The plates were always colour-coded: Green for mutton and cream-coloured for pork. I think, choosing to eat at only a favorite alu-dum shop or momo corner became a ritual of exercising belonging.  Of saying, this is my home, this is where I eat every time.

Dal Bhaat Tarkaari

While walking around town was an exploration of many plates, Dal bhaat tarkari was a homely affair,  we could rest from our exploration and ambiguity and embrace the comfort of our skin. 

Sometimes, one might enjoy fresh bread from the master baker for breakfast or sneak in some Chola-chaat and aloo chips for 4 o'clock tea from Chowk Bazaar; but one thing was certain: we would always have dal bhaat tarkaari at home.

As a raging teenager , I much preferred the latest Thai noodles at a posh restaurant in town I visited with school friends or some questionably spicy Punjabi food. Now, having lived far from home, from surviving on instant noodles to being casually shamed for consuming meat in a vegetarian State, I know no comfort that can match that of daal bhat tarkaari with a dollop of local ghiu. But as an embodiment of my colonized town, I admit with some shame that I enjoy a slice of European cold-cut meat on the side, every now and then. 

Many of us when we leave home carry these quintessential treats from Darjeeling as a remembrance of our roots. We cannot recall where our ancestral lairs are. But in the fragrance of Bakery biscuits, bamboo shoot pickles, and aloo-chips in brown paper bags from Bich Gully, we are reassured of our belonging.  

With food came the lore that tied the experience of eating in Darjeeling as a communal continuity. “Narayan Das ko malik le ta jinn bheteko harey”, (Jinns or Genies are supernatural beings originating in pre-Islamic cultures, they can be benevolent or evil. A benevolent Djinn is said to grant the wishes of the person who encounters them, provided that the person keeps this encounter a secret), one would casually say while devouring a plate of chola bhatura with tea at the iconic sweet shop.  

 "My father recounts tales of a Chettri couple in Bich Gully who are credited with popularizing vegetarian momo, a rarity in a cuisine essentially rich in meat. These narratives, while perhaps embellished, underscore how local adaptations of global food traditions reflect the ingenuity of Darjeeling’s residents, blending cultural necessity with evolving tastes." I cannot convince him about the existence of vegetarian gyozas and dim sums. 

He also tells me about their love for Freedom, a restaurant in front of the Municipal Boys’ Higher Secondary School, where the students especially enjoyed thukpa. 

As we devoured quiches and apple pies and equally savoured Kapil Bhaiya’s spicy chaat, we never really questioned why we never really looked for food from the Eastern Himalayan or Nepali culture on the streets. It was rather abrupt, how questions of identity, of this is what I eat and this is who I am, this is the food from our culture started blossoming in our ignorant teenage hearts. 

Darjeeling Pahaar Kasko? (Who Owns the Darjeeling Hills?)

It was rare to see Nepali food on the streets of Darjeeling. Nepali delicacies such as sel-roti, alu-ko achaar, etc. were saved for special occasions such as Dasai and Tihaar. A favorite activity of mine was to watch Ama preparing to make sel roti (traditional Nepali deep-fried sweet treats) and neatly stacking them in a carton lined with newspaper. Soon after the festivities, she cooks up a storm and sends along a nanglo full of sel-roti, sweetmeats, and other delicacies to the neighbours. Promptly, I would run to visit Chhumm, our Sherpa neighbour to gift our Diwali greetings. In February, after the celebration of the Tibetan (Sherpa) celebrations of Losar,  Chhumm will reciprocate with a spread of khapsyo and khhocchi (Tibetan fried bread) and other sweets for us to devour. Soon after, our Kirana vendor would come with Thekua and other sweets as a gift after Holi, the festival of colours.  I don’t know how these rituals came to be, if they were passed on or created by neighbours trying to get along. But it is something that cemented a sense of togetherness. 

Bengali Food was served in restaurants where tourists visited. The franchisee eateries offering Bengali food that now abound at Nehru Road are only recent additions, along with American food giants such as KFC . On the other hand, eating the Bhog of Khichudi, Achaar, and Kheer offered at the Thakurbari Mandir during Durga Puja in Chandmari has always been a quintessential Darjeelingey ritual.  

A Plate of Resistance

The food landscape in Darjeeling underwent a dramatic transformation after the 2020 Covid-19 Pandemic. As the world grappled with travel restrictions, the Youth in Darjeeling and beyond who were hopeful for career and educational opportunities abroad and in other metro cities of India, started reassessing their livelihood options at home itself. Soon, small businesses such as cafes, home delivery services, FMCG opened up through Social Media and continue to make their mark in the socio-economic fabric of Darjeeling. 

Along with this, a quiet resurgence of street food styles rooted in indigenous and cultural pride took shape in the hills. Innovations and initiatives such as the Thursday Gorkha Haat (A weekly market for cultural and traditional food and paraphernalia from Darjeeling), and traditional food-based ventures promoting local regional food are now playing a major role in reinforcing the community infrastructure for the residents of Darjeeling, while also encouraging tourists to look beyond the colonial grandeur into the rapid marginalization of cultural and ethnic identity in Darjeeling. 

There’s a song in that went viral across Social Media that goes by the lines of “Darjeeling Pahaar Bhaiya ko Bhayo” (Translation: Darjeeling Hills is being taken over by “Bhaiyas”, which is a colloquially used term to address people from the Plains, especially Bihar).

While the theme of the song was, understandably, a satire meant to awaken class consciousness in Darjeeling’s indigenous and Gorkha community, the communal undertone of othering was unmissable.

While reasserting Darjeeling’s indigenous and Gorkha identity and building systems and fostering socio-economic and cultural preservation is crucial to the survival of us marginalized, it’s always more graceful to remember that Darjeeling has always existed as a communal potpourri.  

Of all the food that reminds me of Home, I think what I wish to emphasize is no matter where the food originated, it was the seasoning of inclusivity and tolerance that made it even more delicious.