Falling in Love Again – Pakistan, its Culture, its People and its Cuisine

On Saturday, 17th of December 2011, I set  foot for the first time on the birthplace of my husband, Pakistan. It was 4 degree at Islamabad Airport. The cold air was blowing on my face sending a wave of excitement as well as reservation as i was about to enter a new country, a country with a much older  culture, mystifying country, where women mostly cover their head with beautifully draped piece of fabric called dupatta.

I step out of the plane wearing a dupatta wrapped around my head and half of of my face, covering everything except a pair of eyes. Looking through this modest covering, i felt somehow protected, free to observe my surround. I wanted to respect Pakistan, its culture and its people. And in return,  i yearned for its acceptance. For me, this attire does not represent oppression of women, this attire represents this culture respects of its women, in which women are cared for like a jewel of the crown.

At 4.50 am, we were greeted with one very meaningful word “assalam muallaikum” meaning ” peace be upon you”. Such a beautiful greeting, full of sincerity.

Pakistan is what you make of it. Go with open mind, its food will tantalize you, its vibrant colors will seduce you. Sindhi, Pasthun, Blochi, Khasmiri, Bihari, Punjabi, Urdu speakers are among the ethnic groups that make up the richness of this country’s culture. The hustle and bustle of the city where Mercs are moving along side horse drawn carriages does take a while to get used to but one thing for sure is that its people will touch your heart. I was received with so much love, not with overwhelming excitement, but one with full of restraint. However behind that restraint I was able to feel the warmth, blessing, acceptance and extra ordinary love. The one with full sincerity. My heart was filled with love to this country instantly. I’s like falling in love all over again, and this time not only falling for a man who had become my husband, but also to his country, its culture, its people and its cuisine.

There is so many things i wanted to share in this post. But what i have experienced so far can not be justly captured by a piece of writing. I came here expecting a beautiful culinary experience and what i have tasted so far are amazing beyond words can describe. The hospitality of this country is so far the best I have experienced. Pakistani food is much alike to Indian food, however like its people, the use of spices is much more elegant here. Fragrant Tikka bbq on the street of Pindi, perfectly charred on its edges, the warmth of Karahi from the Blue Area of Islamabad that comes in terracotta colored “handi”a deep rounded bottom clay pot, the scrumptious naan bread, puris, and paratha from almost every street corner present a truly magnificent culinary experience which blew me away. Pakistan is a country full of contrast. On one side, food stalls are selling inexpensive Gol Gape, hollow fried dough filled with cummin laced water, and one the other side, expensive restaurants are serving its hungry upper crust patrons, with imported cuisines like pizza, pasta, french patisseries.

From this trip, i am hoping to be inspired, to find and to bring some precious recipes home. But for now, i would like to share with you some of the dishes i have tried so far. I will try to post some of the recipes while i am here. But i doubt i will have much time, as i am spending each previous moment to experience each aroma, each flavour, each color this country culinary has to offer. This trip will not be the last trip for me, Insya Allah there will be many more. As i am falling for Pakistan, I will share with you each experience a bite at a time.

From Rawal Pindi, Pakistan,

Khuda Hafiz,

Lina Shehzad

(Unmarked Photo credit belong to flickr.com)

We arrived early on Saturday morning in Pakistan. The family resides in Faisal Colony, a crowded residential area just behind the Islamabad Airport. The streets are narrow, in the break of dawn I could see the street are dusty, they have been waiting for too long for the rain to come. It has been long overdue. Abu ji (my father in law) later complaint “we need the rain to have a good harvest of wheat from our land this season”. He fold his hands in front of his chest, and smile, perhaps hopping that our arrival would bring the rain with it. It was an hour after our emotional arrival, early breakfast time, which mean perfect timing for enjoying the ultimate weekend nashta (breakfast) in Pakistani manner “Halwa Puri”. Halwa is a sweet sticky cardamom scented semolina porridge. Puri is crispy flat bread deep fried in ghee.The combination of the two, with Channa ki Salan (spicy chickpeas curry) is a rustic indulgence that i will miss.

My mother in law whom i called Ami, prepared for us Doodh Patti – warm milky tea made of fresh buffalo milk delivered daily by the doodhwala. I would tear of a chunk of purri, scoop up a mount of halwa and wash them down with a sip of tea. Then I would tear another chunk of puri and scoop up the spicy Channa with it. Drops of spicy curry would trickle down across my palm and I would lick each drop not wanting to waste any bit of its delicious flavor. The rest of the morning the family would sit and walk down the memory lane until lunch time. Time does slow down here in Pakistan.

My husband eldest paternal aunt whom the family lovingly called Nono is 76 years old. She refused to have Puris with us. She would say “too much oil for me”. She enjoys freshly baked Naan from the local Tandoor instead. The naan is thick, scrumptious, dotted with fragrant sesame seeds, scattered like jewels on top of its glistening, golden brown  surface. Nono is a war veteran widow. Her husband passed away long long time ago. He went to war and never return. The family doesn’t like to talk about him, fearing the pain it will in flick. Nono has been with my Husband’s family ever since. Nono is a very content old woman. From her face radiate happiness and peace. I enjoy sitting with her, listening to her reminiscing about her childhood in Burma where her father – my Husband’s Dada Bu – was posted  by the British government as a Railway Master. “We had a great childhood” she would say. “Our pockets were always filled with toffee” she said while touching the pockets hidden behind her Kameez. “Food was always plentiful, freshly harvested and delivered daily by the villagers. Our Abu Ji (Father) was highly respected there” she would add. His favourite food was Prawn and Fried Fish marinated in fragrant cumin, coriander powder and dried chillies.

She would pause a little, perhaps looking back in a time long gone, when her hair was long, and thick and plaited into a pony tail, tied with silky ribbon – time when she was youthful and full of promising time ahead of her. Nono and her two younger sisters were highly educated because Dada Bu was a progressive man. During the time where family would cry for having a daughter, Dada Bu would say “my daughters will complete their higher education, they are the engine of the next generations to come”. Dada Bu was right. His daughters became the pillar of the family when he passed away. Motivating their two younger brothers making them able to move out of their village and build a modest but beautiful double storey brick house in the city where the family have reside in the past 27 years.

I often wonder how Dada Bu was able to speak fluent Urdu, English, Bengali, Pashto, and Sindhi. Did he like poetry and how much alike was he with my Husband? I also wonder how Ama Ji – my Husband’s Dadi Ma (grand mother) looked like. I heard she was beautiful. The fairest during her time. She would attend all the parties and the british wouldn’t able to figure out her modest background. A lady with poise. And elegance. I was able to draw some pictures in my head through Nono’s eyes.

I enjoy breakfast with Naan together with Nono. From her i learnt to dunk a piece of Naan into a cup of doodh patti. Letting its caramelized dark brown liquid to soak through the naan. And on some other day, I would use the naan to scoop up Masoor Daal, tempered with garlic tarka oil.

Ami has a very good system running her kitchen. She would cook in bulk, and save some left over in her chest freezer. When due to the dry season people couldn’t find fresh supply of Saag (mustard leaves), Ami miraculously pulled out a box of Saag ki Saalan. “Faiza, our tenant upstairs brought this with her from Faisalabad”, she smiled victoriously looking at me. I knew that i would be up for a treat. Saag with Naan for breakfast was on the menu that morning. It was so delicious, the kind of deliciousness that would want to make me eat my finger.

To be continued …….

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