From Kabul to Lajpat: The Silent Story of Delhi’s Afghan Cooks

In Delhi’s bustling streets, Afghan refugees are preserving their culture and memories through the food they cook — a quiet act of resistance against displacement.

“Your favourite Afghan dish,” I say to Harpal Singh. The 21-year-old Afghan Sikh was born in India, his parents refugees who arrived in Delhi from Afghanistan in 1992. Singh is quick to respond. “Aush, that’s what I will cook for you.” I met Harpal Singh quite by accident, walking around Tilak Nagar in 2024, an undergraduate student working on a project about the Afghan refugees in Delhi.

Making my way through the narrow lanes of Delhi’s Tilak Nagar, I was greeted by a chatty group of women, boys, and girls at Harpal’s home. In one corner, Gurucharan Singh, a 23-year-old Afghan Sikh, used his momo-maker to press the aush dough (a mix of wheat flour and all-purpose flour or maida) into thin sheets while Harjeet Kaur, another Afghan Sikh resident of Tilak Nagar, used circular moulds to cut the sheets. Then, Khajinder Kaur, who moved to India from Afghanistan, with her uncle in 1983, filled the circles with a mix of finely chopped spring onions and soya, meticulously folding the sheet and pressing the end to finally make a glorious aush.

“Back in Kabul, we used to make aush like this, together. I learned it from my mother,” Khajinder Kaur explains. “Aush would bring us together. We begin making it early in the morning, until our father arrives in the evening. Then the family would all sit and eat together.”

Aush is served in a large bowl with yogurt, rajma, onions, tomatoes, vinegar, and mint chutney.

For others like Kaur, food becomes a way to keep the memory of home alive. As it brought people together in Khajinder’s childhood, it continues to bring people together in this new home.

Farida Khair Khwa, a single mother of four, fled from Afghanistan eight years ago in 2016, and has since lived in South Delhi’s Bhogal. Khwa lost her parents at a very young age, and was raised by her brother and his wife. Most people who fled Afghanistan left under terror, or the fear of terror. Home remains a distant memory. “Not a single day has passed these eight years when I have not been reminded of Kabul,” said Khwa. Like most Afghans, she fled without carrying memorabilia of her home in Afghanistan. The only things that live on are their culture, food, language, and memories.

“I learnt all the recipes from my bhabhi, and aay khanum was our all-time favourite,” says Khwa. She enthusiastically narrates the recipe: Aay khanum is made with wheat and all-purpose flour, filled with a mix of cabbage, chicken, onion, and coriander, garnished with a yoghurt-garlic-and-tomato sauce, steamed, to be served like momos. Even today, Khwa makes it a point to follow her sister-in-law’s recipe to the letter. For her, aay khanum is not only a dish but a memory of her relationship with her late sister-in-law.

According to latest UNHCR data, India is host to over 19,000 Afghan refugees. While most of them live largely in and around Delhi (specifically, Lajpat Nagar and Bhogal), many live in Faridabad and Haryana. According to the Routledge Handbook of refugees in India, most refugees from Afghanistan arrived India in three waves — starting from 1978, to the 1992 fall of the Najibullah government, and the rise of US-backed mujahedeen, followed by the rise and fall of the Taliban, and finally, the entry and exit of United States from the graveyard of empires. Most left their homeland under the fear of death, and this displacement continues to scar their lives in many ways. However, despite dispossessing them of their homes, you can never take Afghanistan out of them. The memory of their land lives fresh in their hearts.

Sweet Festivities

Food is a way of preserving memory and culture, and a way to show love.

Hasia Shams, a Tajik from Afghanistan who arrived in India in 2016, talks about the Nowruz celebrations (Tajik New Year) of the Afghans in India. During the festival, large groups of Afghan women gather at the house of one of the women to make samanak, (a sweet dessert made from germinated wheat and flour).

The preparation of the dish takes a long time, and the whole process is accompanied by song and gossip. “None of us here are bound by blood, but we come together to celebrate our new year, only because we are all Afghans,” says Shams. They also prepare Haft-seen (an arrangement of seven symbolic items that have names starting with ‘S’) that includes a variety of dry fruits including senjed, pistachios, raisins, walnuts, almonds, prunes, and apricots. Shams would source Senjed, the dried fruit of the Oleaster tree from Afghanistan, but no longer. Other Afghan dishes include Kabuli pulao (steamed rice cooked with caramelised vegetables and dry fruits), mantu (small dumplings filled with beef or lamb mixed in onions and spices, topped with an orange sauce made from thick creamy strained yoghurt), and aushak (Afghan dumplings).

During Eid, Afghans in India will cook another one of their favorite dishes, kichiri quroot — Afghan sticky rice with mung beans, meatballs, and quroot (salted and dehydrated yoghurt balls).

A Taste of Home

For many Afghans, food is also a means to earn a living and move forward. Afghan refugees have set up eateries and bakeries in various parts of Delhi in order to sustain themselves in a foreign land. These restaurants allow them to foster relationships with the food loving people of Delhi while bringing a taste of their cuisine to the table.

Amaanullah Qadri, who fled Afghanistan in 2017, makes Afghan shiryakh (Afghan ice cream made from milk, cream, and dry fruits) at a roadside stall in Delhi’s Lajpat Nagar 2. One of the lanes in the market is dotted with spots that serve authentic Afghan food. Many call this area mini-Kabul, as it is a slice of Afghanistan to Delhi. Qadri used to make shiryakh in Afghanistan for over two decades. “If you eat it once, you will never forget the taste of my shiryakh,” smiles Quadri. “The people of Delhi enjoy this much more than Afghans do.”

The Afghan naan is yet another gem that I was introduced to — they eat it raw or pair it with any and every vegetable or curry. Eating the naan at one meal is a given in Afghan households. It is best eaten warm and fresh, and doesn't even need the butter to elevate its flavours.

Nanwais often sell thousands of naans in a day.

Chopaan Kebab is one of the many Afghan eateries in the area that serves kebabs, Iranian, and Uzbek delicacies, and a rich dessert menu featuring firni, baklava, and shiyakh. In Lajpat Nagar are a few Afghan bakeries, called nanwais, which sell tandoor-made naans.

Afghans emphasise eating with loved ones, and this is apparent in their traditions too. A traditional Afghan dining room does not have the conventional table lined with chairs but includes a dastarkhaan or a square mat. While many sit on the mat, they also have chairs and tables to serve Indian customers. Most Afghan restaurants across Delhi replicate this seating.

“In Afghanistan, the dastarkhaan was where the family would come together every evening. It was the symbol of our togetherness, and we want to bring this to our restaurants in India too,” said Khwaja Zamirruddin Siddique, the 35-year-old manager of Pakeeza Café in South Delhi’s Jangpura area. He also mentioned how some dishes like rosh (mutton and potato in tomato gravy), kabuli pulao (rice), and mantu are bestsellers. Siddique came to India ten years ago in 2014 and food has become a way for him to make friends with many Indians who are regulars at the café.

Beyond the food, the hospitality is heartwarming. Even today, Harpal Singh prepares aush at the merest hint from me. Every time I visit Lajpat Nagar, I visit Qadri Miya (as I call him). I have taken so many friends and relatives to his shiryakh stall and none have returned disappointed.

For Afghan refugees, food is a way to remember the past while also navigating a future.