Whose Dal Is It Anyway?: Why There's No Such Thing As A Definitive 'Indian' Cuisine

What do you think about when you think about Indian cuisine? What does the great Indian table look, smell, and taste like in your imagination?

In India, conversations about food are often deeply personal and equally political. Food can be a bridge between people and communities, but it can just as easily be a divider. It marks caste, class, religion, and region; it reflects identity, belonging, and exclusion. Debates about food — what counts as authentic, what is pure or impure, who eats what, and why — often slip into fraught arguments about insiders and outsiders, tradition and transgression.

This line of thinking in fundamentally flawed, especially in a diverse country like India. From the humble Rajma-Chawal to the regal Biryani, and savoury, umami-packed kebabs to earthy, essential daals — a look at India's long history of migration, invasion, and cross-cultural exchange reveals that many of the ingredients and techniques central to the country's diverse culinary traditions trace their roots to distant lands, from the Mediterranean coast and the deserts of the Middle East to the savannas of Africa and the mountain valleys of Central and South America.

Take biryani — India's most ordered food according to a 2024 survey by the quick commerce giant Swiggy — for example. One of the most consumed rice dishes across India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, Biryani originated in Persia (now Iran) where the dish was known as 'Birinj Biryan', literally meaning 'fried rice'. The original Birinj Biryan resembled what we now call a yakhni pulao — a dish of marinated meat slow-cooked with rice, aromatics, and spices in its own fat and juices. But, as historian Lizzie Collingham points out, it was only in the opulent royal kitchens of Awadh, Lucknow, Agra, and Delhi that this humble preparation evolved into the exquisite biryani we know today, crafted by master chefs known as Bawarchis.

While popular belief credits the Mughals with introducing biryani to India in the 16th century, according to food scholar Pushpesh Pant, it's more likely that various versions of the dish existed or arrived in different parts of the subcontinent at different times, shaped by local tastes and regional influences. Interestingly, the Pakadarpana — an ancient Indian culinary treatise — also includes the recipe of a Biryani-like meat and rice dish called 'mamsodana' (Sanskrit for 'meat and rice').

Similarly, Naan, too, has its origins in Persia, where it was known as Nan-e-Sangak — a leavened flatbread baked on hot pebbles and traditionally paired with dry kebabs or keema. The bread made its way to India during the Delhi Sultanate era and quickly found favour with the Muslim aristocracy. The 13th-century poet and historian Amir Khusrau wrote of two popular varieties in his journals: Naan-e-Tunuk: a thin, roti-like flatbread baked on a griddle; and Naan-e-Tanuri: a thicker version cooked in a clay oven or tandoor. Like naan, other beloved Indian staples such as samosas, jalebis, and gulab jamuns also trace their roots to Persian culinary traditions.

According to Chef Sima Ahmed — a doyen of Awadhi cuisine — Awadhi classics like different kinds of pulaos and leavened or unleavened, baked or fried flatbreads like Naan, Khameeri Roti, Sheermal, and Shahi Tukda all originated in the Middle East and Central Asia, and arrived in India with pilgrims, migrants, traders, and invaders through the silk route in the 13th century CE.

These Persian delights were neither the first nor the last culinary imports to be embraced and indigenised in India. Take wheat, for instance — now the second most cultivated grain in the country — which was introduced nearly 7,000 years ago by Neolithic farmers migrating from Central Asia through the mountain passes of the Hindu Kush and the Himalayas.

Between 2000 and 1500 BCE, another wave of pastoral nomads from the West Eurasian Steppe brought with them barley, millets, oats, flax, and various legumes that gradually became staples of the Indian diet. Even the beloved combination of daal-chawal — rice and lentils cooked separately but eaten together — is believed to have travelled from Nepal around the 4th century BCE. Food historians such as Salma Husain and Vijay Thukral note that early Buddhist and Jain texts from this era mention pulses like kalaya (matar), adhaki (arhar), and chanaka (chana), which are thought to have reached India from Egypt during Alexander's invasion in 327 BCE.

The assimilation of foreign ingredients, dishes, and techniques into Indian food cultures continued well into the modern era. After the Partition of India in 1947, as many Muslims left for Pakistan and Mughal-Awadhi culinary traditions began to fade, Hindu and Sikh refugees from Western Punjab and Afghanistan brought with them bold new flavours and methods. Delicate, yoghurt-based Mughal gravies gave way to spicier, heartier sauces built on tomatoes, onions, and garlic — a shift that reshaped the Indian palate. The tandoor, once confined to Punjab and parts of Central Asia, soon became a fixture in North Indian cooking. Meanwhile, in Mumbai, Sindhi refugees introduced street-food staples like tikkis, pakodas, and bhajis, while in Bengal, migrants from East Bengal brought the refined artistry of Dhakai cuisine and the sustainable, mindful tradition of nose-to-tail and offal eating.

In parallel to these developments, the indigenous food cultures of India's forest-dwelling tribes remained largely unchanged until the colonial period. Due to caste, religious, and social otherization, tribal food cultures continued to rely on the same wild, uncultivated food resources as wild meats and wild fruits, roots, and vegetables until the 19th century when a a series of British colonial legislation between 1871 and 1924 — collectively called the Criminal Tribes Act — and the Indian Forest Act of 1927 disenfranchised them from their historical custodianship of India's forests and criminalized their traditional hunting-gathering activities. As a result, tribal food cultures experienced a rapid change, and many food cultures and traditions were lost.

Today, tribal cuisines in the Chota Nagpur plateau and the foothills of the Western Ghats in the South Indian peninsula represent the closest we can come to have historical 'Indian' food.

Do the far-flung origins of our favourite dishes, ingredients, and techniques make them any less Indian?

Absolutely not. India has always been a crossroads of cultures — a place where people, ideas, and traditions have mingled and evolved over millennia. This openness, this ability to absorb and adapt, is at the heart of who we are. Naturally, our cuisine reflects that spirit. The Great Indian Kitchen is not bound by borders — it is a vast, ever-simmering cauldron where influences from across the world are stirred into something that's now uniquely our own. What makes Indian food truly 'Indian' is not just its ingredients or origins, but our boundless love for it — our way of making it, sharing it, and claiming it with pride. And in that love lies its most authentic Indian flavour.

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