The Tale of the Travelling Kaliya
The recipe of a delicate yet flavourful curry known as kaliya has metamorphosed through the centuries as it passed down from generation to generation, one community to another.
This dish is one that has been adopted by households all the way from the Northern Plains to the Deccan Plateau, and is known in different pockets as khaliya, khaliah, or qaliya. Each household has its own expression, and interpretation, of the dish, that often include distinctive regional influences and flavours.
Believed to have made its way from Persia into the deghs of Delhi, the curry carved a place for itself in the Indian subcontinent through cultural exchange. Sangeeta Bhatnagar, author of Dastarkhwan-e-Awadh, who is familiar with a vast repertoire of Awadhi recipes, and has studied the food of the aristocratic class of Nawabs and Talukdars, explains, “The Nawabs of Lucknow were Shia, and Persia was predominantly Shia, so a lot of Persian influence is reflected in local art, food, architecture, and even perfumes.”
Elaborating on the evolution of Awadhi cuisine, she says, “These cross-cultural influences impacted cuisines in different places. Since the Nawabs were wealthy and had great cooks, Awadhi cuisine was very rich and sophisticated. Entertaining included an element of surprise, treating guests to dishes they haven’t tasted before.” Sangeeta first heard about kaliya from the descendants of the Nawabs of Raqaabdars who cooked in the royal kitchens, and from reading about it in old texts. She describes the Dastarkhwan as an elaborate spread of twelve or so dishes, with curries such as kormas, salans, and kaliyas, adorning the table.
“Kaliya transformed with each community it came into contact with, taking shape to serve a new purpose. It was fine-tuned to serve an army, a convalescing patient, a Nawab, and a wedding celebration. ”
Kaliya was said to have begun as simple mutton dish, cooked with turmeric, ginger, and whole spices. The recipe was elevated over time in the highly competitive and skilled kitchens of the Nawabs, and that is where kundan kaliya presumably took shape. Kundan kaliya, which loosely translates to ‘golden meat’, is a relatively thin curry cooked with mutton and turmeric, a spice that isn’t commonly found in kormas. Saffron and yellow chili powder are also used liberally, giving it a gentle golden hue. However, one can count on the Nawabs to display extravagance, as the curry is embellished with gold leaves, or ‘sone ka vark’. Chandi kaliya made with silver leaves made an appearance too, as did egg kaliya, resembling nargisi kofta. Hakeems would also prescribe food according to seasons or predispositions of the Nawabs, and kaliya was recommended for certain ailments, thanks to certain medicinal properties ascribed to gold. Sangeeta further explains that the cross-pollination across different gharanas on account of marriages or socialisation, could be responsible for the dish traveling wide and far across the Indian subcontinent.
Machher kaliya’s travel to Bengal has many origin stories, however, one that is closely related to Awadh is the story of Wajid Ali Shah’s exile. When the British staked claim to his kingdom in 1856, the king, Wajid Ali Shah, was exiled to Metiabruz, a neighbourhood in Calcutta. With him, he took his royal chefs, ministers, courtesans, and the memories of a Lucknowi past. Slowly and steadily, from his little new kingdom that rested on the banks of the Hooghly, his followers gave Bengali cuisine a new course, as they branched out and opened their own eateries.
In Kolkata, Iti Misra, a consultant and home-chef with a deep understanding of Bengali cuisine, explains that while kaliya is traditionally a light mutton curry, in Bengal it has been adapted to be cooked with fish. She elaborates, “Machher kaliya is cooked with large chunks of river fish such as rohu or katla, and potato is often added. The curry is eaten with ghee-bhaat or plain rice. The dish focuses on the sweetness of the freshly caught fish, as Bengali cuisine is about letting ingredients shine. The curry is cooked with onion, ginger, cumin paste, and haldi-mirch, but never garlic. Garlic can kill the sweetness of the fish, and was traditionally a condiment that balanced cholesterol levels while eating meat dishes. Turmeric and salt are smeared on freshly caught fish to protect it from bacteria. The fish is then lightly fried to seal in the juices, and once the gravy is boiling, the fish is added for a few spare minutes, to prevent it from overcooking. Since the dish is rich, it is often served at special occasions including wedding festivities, as meat dishes are taboo on such occasions.” She adds that Lucknow’s influence on Bengali cuisine is evident with the interweaving of onion and ginger in the local cuisine.
Hyderabadi mahi khaliah
Image credit: Hungry Palette
In the Deccan Plateau, as the Umraos and Jagirdars socialised and often exchanged culinary techniques, mahi khaliah also took shape. Mahi khaliah, in fact, is cooked with mutton in Hyderabad, and the dish has a very light and watery consistency. Azra Hussain, a home chef in Hyderabad has been cooking khaliah at home and has shared her mother-in-law, Attiya Hussain’s, treasured recipe. Beyond mahi khaliah, a staple at home also includes a vegetarian version of khaliah. She says, “At home, we also cook bhindi ka khaliah, as well as khaliah with pumpkin, carrots, and colocasia. The base of any khaliah is a soft onion paste that gives the dish sweetness, and the vegetables are usually chopped, fried, and added later. Hyderabadis are very fond of ginger-garlic, so that’s a must. We also add curd or tamarind paste as a souring agent. For the mutton dish, we also use roasted peanuts, sesame, and dried coconut, which is very typical of Andhra. The mahi khaliah is more festive and is often eaten in winters. We now make a simpler and quicker version, but I have an aunt that is very particular about sautéing and boiling the onion paste and passing it through a sieve which often takes an hour or two.”
Chef Gaurav Sircar, and alumni of Oberoi Hotels and The Bombay Canteen, delineated the differences between the each iteration. “The Bengali version barely resembles Awadhi or Nizami kaliya — machher kaliya has a smooth or coarse gravy and is usually eaten with a robust fish. Awadh stretched from Lucknow to Rampur. In this belt, the kaliya is quite refined, however, the Aurangabadi version was said to have originated when Muhammed bin Tughlaq shifted bases from Delhi to Aurangabad, and that’s when they prepared the mutton kaliya. It’s a very simple curry with onion, turmeric, ginger, and the bare basic amount of whole spices. The Awadhi belt also uses yellow chilli powder as opposed to the red chilies, as it is more accessible up north, and some Northwestern Frontier versions usually use nut pastes.”
In 1327, Muhammad bin Tughlaq wanted to shift his capital from Delhi to Daulatabad in Maharastra, to save his reign from a Mongol invasion. Cooked by the bawarchis who faced the monumental task of feeding a weary garrison on the way to their new capital, the dish was a quick-to-prepare one that is humble in its inception.
In Aurangabad, close to the town of Daulatabad where Tughlaq had left a mark, naan qalia took shape. “Naan qalia is a lighter version with onion and yogurt, and a lot of Rogan with about one-inch dipping oil on top, in which they dip the taftan (leavened bread) made in iron tandoors,” explains Chef Gaurav. The dish used to be an integral part of wedding festivities but today, it is one that is served as comfort food. The ideal way to enjoy the curry is to tear the naan into smaller bites, dunk it into the curry, and scoop out both naan and curry together.
The curry tells a story of how recipes are embraced and assimilated. Regional adaptations were born with a cord connecting it to the first version. Through time, kaliya transformed with each community it came into contact with, and took shape to serve a purpose. It was fine-tuned to serve an army, a convalescing patient, a Nawab, and a wedding celebration.
It made its way into people's homes from coast to coast, highlands to lowlands, to grasp the essence of each culture it met, and redefine itself. We often look for authentic recipes, but food has an evolving history. It ebbs and flows as a result of the forces it meets and meanders its way into a new home. And much like that, the story of kaliya is not just historical, but one that continues to evolve and grow.
Attiya Hussain has generously shared her family’s recipe below.
Recipe: Mahi Khaliah
Ingredients
½ kg mutton
2 small onions, chopped
For the dry-roasted masala:
½ cup dry desiccated coconut
½ cup peanuts
½ cup sesame seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp coriander seed
½ tsp mustard seeds
½ tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp chilli powder
1 ½ tsp ginger-garlic paste
½ cup tamarind paste
3 green chillies, slit lengthwise
Coriander leaves, small bunch
Curry leaves, one sprig
4 tbsp oil
Salt to taste
For the tadka:
½ tsp mustard seeds
2 tsp cumin seeds
¼ tsp kalonji seeds
Method
Roast the ingredients for the dry-roasted masala to a gold brown.
Sauté the chopped onions till they are translucent.
While you are doing the above, pressure cook the mutton with ginger-garlic paste, salt, and turmeric.
Now, grind the dry-roasted masala and the onions into a fine paste.
In a saucepan, heat the oil and when hot, add the ingredients for the tadka (mustard seeds, cumin seeds and kalonji seeds).
Add only the mutton (keep the broth aside) and stir for about 5 minutes.
Add the ground paste, the chilli powder and salt. Allow it to cook, stirring continuously, until the oil separates from the sides.
Next, add the tamarind paste, the rest of the broth from the cooked mutton, a sprig of chopped coriander leaves, the green chilies, and curry leaves.
Cover with a lid and cook on simmer for 10–15 minutes.
Takshama Pandit is a hospitality professional & brand consultant who explores how our geopolitical context affects what we eat at Food is Political.
Banner image credit: Spoon Fork and Food
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