Many Indians today believe that dishes we call “classic Indian food” are largely the result of outside influences brought in by colonisers and invaders. A common narrative says dishes such as the much-loved Biryani were popularised by the Mughals who brought Persian cooking techniques to the country. The fact is the dish what we call as Biryani today originated in ancient India, and it was not brought by the Mughals. Textual evidence from ancient Indian scripts and literature like Śatapatha Brāhmaņa and Pākadarpaņa describe dishes like mānsodan that are early forms of biryani containing rice, meat and spices. The word “biryani” itself comes from ancient Persian word birinj which is borrowed from the Sanskrit word vrihi (व्रीिह) for rice. Vindaloo, the fiery Goan curry beloved by many, is often cited as a Portuguese import and it is said that it began as a meat and wine dish modified and based on food prepared over centuries in India. The humble Samosa, now a beloved snack at every Indian celebration, is traced back to Middle Eastern roadways long before it became a street food hero. We are told that many such ingredients we use today without a second thought like potatoes, tomatoes, and chilies, arrived with the Portuguese during early maritime trade.
For a long time, I too had accepted the story that India’s progress was only possible because of the British; their trains, education systems, and from the cultural blending introduced by the Mughals who came many centuries before them. I thought, if not for their rule, I would have been missing out on my favourite Biryani today. What I have come to understand since is how deeply colonisation has shaped our minds and beliefs, what many call a “colonised mind.” This is a mindset where people internalise ideas and values imposed by colonisers, often feeling inferior about their traditions and history. It makes people doubt their own heritage, prioritise foreign norms, and devalue their own languages and cultural practices. In India, this has led to generations of cultural selfdoubt and the mistaken belief that our traditions are backwards or must be “modernised” to meet foreign expectations.
When I moved to Australia in 2008, I brought my colonised mind with me. I was impressed by what the colonisers achieved in this beautiful and vast cultural hot pot. But as I spent more time learning about the Indigenous Australian cultures and their deep ties to land, their ancient knowledge, and the brutal history of colonisation, the fog of colonial thought begun to lift. The realities of history and cultural erasure lay bare before me. I had started to decolonise my mind.
Food has always been a passion for me. My time on MasterChef Australia in 2013 introduced me to the wonders of bush foods and a renewed clarity about the legacy of colonisation. This made me curious about the roots of Indian food. During this exploration, my wife Mitra Desai, a renowned author herself, introduced me to the brilliant Dr. Bhāswati Bhattāchārya, a Harvard trained physician with a PhD in ancient Indian chemistry and Ayurvedic pharmaceutics from Banaras Hindu University. She shared with me the English translation of the Vāgbhaṭa’s Aṣṭāṅgahr̥daya saṃhitā, postulated to be written around 500–600 CE. The Aṣṭāṅgahr̥dayam, one of the principal texts of the “Brihat trayee” or “Great Triad” of Ayurveda, details meat preparations such as “Vesavara” – meat cooked with spices by steaming or baking and “rasa,” nourishing meat broths or soups. Remarkably, it even describes rice cooked with meat juice from birds like partridge or quail, a nourishing dish suited to restoring health and strength. This is a clear precursor to biryani or “pulao” as they call in my hometown Kolhapur. The biryani we know today may have evolved over centuries, but its roots are unquestionably ancient and indigenous to India, not something brought by the Mughals. I often ponder how the Mughals, who arrived from arid regions of the Middle East, cultivated waterloving rice crops essential for biryani. If you have insights, I would love to discuss this fascinating botanical and cultural innovation.
Further investigation led me to the Suśruta saṃhitā, another seminal Ayurvedic text, which describes various sophisticated meat preparations: frying (bharjita), roasting with ghee (pratapta), minced meat dishes (ullupta), meat cakes or balls (pishta), and thin meat soups. These diverse techniques clearly point to ancient cooking styles that prefigure modern day kebabs and tandoori, disproving the myth that these are Mughal introductions. Beyond these, numerous Indian staples like paneer (cottage cheese), dosa and idli (fermented rice cakes), pulao (spiced rice), lassi (yogurt drink), khichdi (rice and lentils), and achar (pickles) all have deep ancient origins and are often misunderstood as colonial imports. These ancient Indian texts bust the myths around a multitude of foods and ingredients that were introduced by colonisers. Further, these texts provide evidence that our ancestors new of medicinal benefits of ingredients, which suggests they did deep research and experimentation. A common belief is that fruits such as dates and pomegranates, common in middle Easter and North African cuisines originated in the ancient Mesopotamia. Once again, the Aṣṭāṅgahr̥dayam mentions these ancient fruits. It says the sweet and sour pomegranates are good for one’s heart,
and the dates (amongst other fruits) provide strength to the body. The ancient text also mentions ‘Āmalika’ or commonly known as Tamarind (another Persian word with connection to India, tamar-e-hind), which aids digestion. I acknowledge that a colonised and narrowly rigid mindset may refuse to accept these facts, clouded by ingrained ignorance or cultural cringe. Yet, adopting a growth mindset allows for the embrace of historical evidence and an appreciation that cultures and foods evolve. Words like “biryani” and “kebab” today embody centuries of exchange and innovation, but their essence was nurtured in Bharat long before colonial powers arrived.
For me, the irrefutable references in Ayurvedic texts like the Suśruta saṃhitā and Aṣṭāṅgahr̥dayam remind us that we were never simply passive hosts to foreign culinary trends but are the originators, scientists, innovators, and influencers. These ancient treatises did not just make India a land of food lovers; they inspired and shaped food cultures around the world. It’s time to rethink the colonised narrative and reclaim pride in the deep, rich heritage of Indian food, culture, and knowledge. The truth is not about rejecting all influences but understanding the indigenous foundations that continue to nourish and empower us, even today.
Author: Hrishikesh Desai 📧 rishidishy0@gmail.com www.hrishidesai.com _rishidishy
Sources:
- Vāgbhaṭa Aṣṭāṅgahr̥dayam saṃhitā (वाग्भट अष्टाङ्गहृदयसंिहता) Māmsa Varga
- Vāgbhaṭa Aṣṭāṅgahr̥dayam saṃhitā (वाग्भट अष्टाङ्गहृदयसंिहता), Kritānna Varga, 31, 32
- Suśruta saṃhitā (सुश्रुतसंिहता), chapters 10 and 38
- Śatapatha Brāhmaņa (शतपथब्राह्मणम्) by Rishi Yāgnavalkya
- Pākadarpaņa (पाकदपर्ण) by Nala
