Panni Erachi Curry on the Eve of Vishu
Shruti Tharayil documents the revival of an Ezhava tradition in her home — the cooking of pork curry on the eve of Vishu — one that was nearly wiped out in the process of Sanskritisation, the struggle to be free of caste.
Vishu is celebrated on the first day of the Malayalam month of Medam. The word comes from the Sanskrit word viṣuvam, literally meaning 'equal', which originally signified the celebration of the annual spring equinox [i]. The preparation of vishukanni on the night before Vishu was an event of hushed anticipation in my childhood home, as my parents secretly snuck around preparing our surprise. Vishukanni, translating to ‘that which is seen first on Vishu’ is an auspicious arrangement that signifies abundance. The Vishukanni prepared by my mother would typically include coconut, a settu mundu (the Kerala half-saree), money or gold, kanni konna flowers (cassia fistula), a photo of Sree Narayana Guru, a mirror and a lamp. The mirror is placed as part of the vishukanni tray to symbolise the self as part of the experience of abundance. As a child, I remember being woken up at dawn, and brought towards the vishukanni with my eyes closed, so it was literally the first thing we we laid our eyes on, on this new day.
Memories of Vishu
Growing up in Pune, a hurried visit to the local Malayali grocery store around the second week of April, with a long list in hand, is how I remember Vishu approaching. The list typically included banana leaves for the sadhya (feast served on banana leaves), mangoes for manga pullishery (curry cooked with ripened mangoes, coconut and curd), coconuts for the payasam, and if we were truly lucky, then konnapoo (cassia fistula flowers) for the vishukanni. The frenzy of the festival would begin several days in advance, when my mother would start cooking dishes for the sadhya. As we sat, full to the brim after the sadhya, my mother would reminisce about the pork erachi curry which she would enjoy on the eve of Vishu. It was a key part of her family celebrations, when she was a child. As I grew up, I came to understand that the reason panni curry was no longer cooked, had to do with us being a migrant family in a city where pork was frowned upon.
In 2014, my parents finally returned to their ancestral land in Kerala, which allowed for the re–emergence of cultural practices that being in Pune forbade. This included cooking panni erachi curry on the eve of Vishu, a tradition my mother held close to her heart.
“The eve of Vishu is one of the few times in a year pork meat was cooked. Many of the lower caste communities from our region (central Kerala) cook pork around festivals,” my mother explained, as I probed further into her understanding of pork traditions.
The idea of having pork curry on the eve of Vishu first felt like an anomaly to me. I had been schooled in the mainstream narrative of festival food being vegetarian. My memories of Vishu are sadhya, and the glowing women on TV wearing traditional attire serving sadhya to their families. None of those images had ever featured the pork curry my mother remembered. As I began to realise just how much my food narratives had become homogenised, I also became cognisant of the recurring theme of shame around what was once our community’s food — particularly the controversial meats. In the apartment complex that I grew up, it was hushed business on the days my mother cooked beef or pork. It was our implicit, collective understanding that word of us being pork or beef-eaters should not get out. I later realised that the shame stemmed from protecting the caste identity we were born into.
The first time I learned about caste in school, I asked my mother about it. She brought her voice down to a whisper when she said, “Our community were untouchables. We were not allowed inside temples. It was Sree Narayana guru who worked towards uplifting us.”
More about the Ezhava Community
I grew up around the unmissable omnipresence of Sree Narayana Guru in my home. A spiritual mystic and social reformer from the Ezhava caste, Sree Narayana Guru worked relentlessly towards uplifting the erstwhile untouchable Ezhava community through religio-spiritual assertions. His work is often seen as an attempt at Sanskritisation — the upward social mobilisation of lower caste communities in the caste hierarchy, by embracing upper caste practices. The Sree Narayana Guru trusts and institutions across the world aim to spread the teachings of the reformer, and toward the well-being of the Ezhava community. I grew up with one such institution being an integral part of my social life.
Sree Narayana Guru asked his followers to not consume meat or alcohol (read: toddy). Even today, many followers of Sree Narayana Guru renounce meat and alcohol, and pursue the way of life he preached. However, I have been both saddened and triggered to see many of them judging, criticising and looking down upon others in the community who choose to follow older, traditional practices. This, to me, seems in opposition to the fundamental spirit of his teachings — which was to free humanity from the disease of caste. I believe it is in this spirit he often propounded ‘One caste. One religion. One God for mankind’.
As the daughter of an ardent disciple of Narayana Guru, I have reaped the rewards of reforms he facilitated, for the upward social mobility of an aspiring, marginalised community. However, as a gastronome, the journey of reconnecting with my roots has been through the history of my community’s food practices. I struggle with how our food traditions have been ripped apart through the process of Sanskritisation.
In recent times, many of these old practices have made their way back into the social landscape of the Ezhavas — my mother cooks her pork curry on the eve of Vishu these days — I sit with multiple threads of the complex intersections of the situation — gratitude for the much needed socio-historical movement our Guru brought in; sadness and anger with how some so-called followers are using it to shame their own community for practicing older food traditions; as well as my own hope for a more pluralistic Vishu celebration.
[i] This has changed as the spring equinox occurs in the month of March (21st) due to the precession of equinoxes over the centuries.
RECIPE: Sumam Raghunandanan Tharayil’s Pork Curry
Ingredients
500 g pork cut into medium curry pieces
2 potatoes, cut into 1 inch-cubes
2 large onions, sliced
A 3-inch piece of ginger
15 pods garlic
4 green chillies
2 stalks of curry leaves
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
1 tbsp roasted red chilli powder
1.5 tbsp roasted coriander powder
1 tsp pepper powder
1 tsp garam masala
For the garam masala
2 tsp fennel seeds
2-inch piece of cinnamon
8-10 cloves
4 cardamoms
2 pcs of mace
Method
To make the garam masala, dry roast the powders together over a slow flame. Then grind all the roasted spices.
In a pot, add in the masala powders, adequate salt, sliced onions, pounded ginger, garlic and green chillies and curry leaves, pork and potato pieces.
Mix well using your hands, and allow to marinate for an hour.
Add 1/4 glass of water, and pressure cook for 10 minutes.
Your pork curry is ready to serve.
Shruti Tharayil loves exploring lesser-known narratives about the intersectionalities around food. She also runs a project called Forgotten Greens with a focus on reviving the lost tradition of uncultivated greens as part of our food systems.
Banner photo by Anisha Rachel Oommen.
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