“Ab maka me vo swaad kaha, sab dawai laga ke ugaate hai”
Growing up in the 2000s, I never quite understood my grandmother’s complaints about the saag and makki ki roti my mom prepared during winters. To me, the combination of saag with generous amounts of white butter was nothing short of heavenly. Changes in the taste of pulses or vegetables were elusive concepts, and it wasn’t until recently that I began to truly appreciate the flavour of the food I consumed. Winter conversations at home often revolved around the alleged adulteration of grains, the use of pesticides, and my grandmother nostalgically suggesting that village life held the key to the best flavours. She would recount tales of venturing with neighbours to pick the freshest produce from nearby lakes, creating saag so delicious that it did not require “a ton of masalas.” As a city girl, these stories felt foreign, and I struggled to comprehend the fuss until I had my own revelation with fruits like watermelon, which can now be seen in markets all year long and taste artificially sweet.
When I came to pursue my undergraduate studies at Shiv Nadar Institution of Eminence, I never imagined that the inside and outside worlds of the university would be poles apart. Nestled in the quaint village of Dadri, my university is a place of unmatched comfort with lush greenery. Dadri is a small village in Uttar Pradesh close to the Delhi NCR region and predominantly home to the Gujjar community. It’s a wetland area; hence, a lot of produce for nearby cities is grown here, and in the years, I’ve been here as a student, there has been quite an evident change in how produce is treated here. Vegetables, which are a staple in the north Indian diet, are grown here, and the village is famous for its luscious carrots and oranges. In dhabas nearby, you will find big parathas with a variety of chutneys made from leafy herbs, fresh tomatoes and even fruits. The city’s main occupation was farming; the produce grown here was extraordinarily fresh and nourishing. However, the winds of change over the past decade have altered the landscape, transforming Dadri from a haven of organic farming to a hub for commercial cultivation catering to the insatiable demands of nearby metropolitan cities. Most produce grown in Dadri is laden with pesticides or is a product of hybridisation. This has gravely impacted the people of the village, who were used to eating unadulterated, healthy produce of the village. Families living in the village for generations have recognised this issue and started growing their own vegetables in their houses or have resorted to foraging for locally available produce.
In this struggle for unadulterated sustenance, foraging has emerged as a beacon of tradition and nutrition for the women of Dadri. While social media glorifies foraging as a contemporary trend, it has been an age-old practice deeply rooted in Indian culture. For the women of Dadri, foraging is not merely a means of acquiring food; it is a tradition, a bonding experience, and a connection with nature outside the confines of the kitchen. On a visit to the village of Dadri, I noticed women picking out some weeds from the ground. It did not look like it was some vegetable I had ever consumed, but I was curious to know. In my interaction with the women from the village, I was made aware that this red-green leafy green was Lehsua. I had seen this weed grow in abundance around my campus but never thought it could be consumed. A seemingly ordinary weed, Lehsua has become the “foraging gold” for the women burdened by Dadri’s lack of nutritious, unadulterated food. Amidst the rise of hybrid vegetables, Lehsua stands out as a protein-rich alternative, easily spotted with its distinct red-green leaves. For the women of Dadri, it is a prized ingredient in preparing a hearty saag, a dish that has transcended from a daily meal to a symbol of tradition. On Sunday afternoons, when the whole family is at home, elderly women in groups go to nearby forests or lakes to forage for Lehsua (Amaranthus viridis) , Bathua (Chenopodium album) and Cholai (Amaranthus), which they call ‘free ki sabzi.’ On one of my foraging trips with the women from Dadri, I noticed how foraging has emerged as a tradition of bonding between women. The practice also has various cultural and gendered notions attached to it where only older women of the family go forage; the newlywed brides don’t participate in this practice as it is considered too ‘outgoing’, “Bahuo ke peeche hum hai. Unhe jaane ki koi zaroorat hai”
Usually, the time to forage for vegetables like Lehsua is during the monsoon and autumn seasons; the ladies in the village discussed with me how they are always on the lookout for more foraging areas while coming back from work. The elderly bring back the produce wrapped up in their shawls or pallu of their sarees and give it to the younger women in the family to cook and prepare the saag. The preparation of Lehsua takes around 2-3 hours, during which the saag is cleaned, chopped, and cooked on the chulha or gas for at least an hour. Women prefer to add all the foraged leafy goodness in this saag, which comprises Lehsua, cholai, palak and bathua depending on the availability. The saag is exceptionally green and vibrant and is finished with a tempering of hot oil, jeera and onions. It tasted like a warm hug from nature and very distinct from my mother’s saag. It tasted rich and earthy and had a hint of sweetness and greasiness from the different varieties of weeds used in it. Women expressed their love for Lehsua, as it is readily available and makes for a healthy, nutritious meal for the family. “Bahut sahi lagta hai, swaad hota hai, poshtik hota hai.” Lehsua is also prepared in multiple other ways across the village, where it is made into a bhurji with potatoes or even added to the dough to make parathas.
For women who have grown up in Dadri or villages nearby, foraging is a part of their tradition, and such practices are not just acts of providing for the family but also give them immense joy. The times of foraging are times of bonding and allow them to connect with nature outside the walls of the kitchen. Since making saag is such a lengthy procedure, women of all generations prepare this saag together. The younger ones help pick out the leaves and wash them, and the older married women chop them and start the ‘saag ghotna’ process for hours. The cook on the saag needs to be perfect for it to taste rich and almost nutty. The resulting saag is not just a meal; it reflects a family’s resilience in changing times.
Yet, as urbanisation sweeps through the village, the tradition of foraging is facing a silent demise. The convenience of year-round availability of vegetables and the lack of time in the modern woman’s life has led to a decline in this age-old practice. Women of the village prepare such a unique preparation about twice a month because it is such an arduous process. Most women in Dadri have started working, which gives them little to no time to forage and cook such elaborate meals. For the younger generation, foraging is becoming an extinct practice. On asking the women in the family, most of them stated that even though the whole family loves consuming saag, they don’t see their daughters foraging for these seasonal leafy greens. Concerns regarding the hybridisation of vegetables keep rising, but lack of time and resources to forage or grow their greens has just made women succumb to adulterated produce.
The current trends of commercial farming have led to a loss of traditions like foraging, the variety of hybrid vegetables, and the use of pesticides, which have muted the availability of fruits and vegetables, which were a massive part of people’s childhood. Women in Dadri reminisce about preparing jars of achaars and picking out fruits like khirni, jangli ber from nearby farms and forests with their grandmother. Renu didi, told me that life was much simpler back then; there was no need to worry about adulterating food, vegetables, or grains. For her, the joy of foraging is in the mystery of what she might find. When we went foraging for Lehsua, we returned with a bounty of winter’s leafy greens like Cholai and Bathua, which are also used to make raitas and parathas. “Kitna pyaara bathua farra hai,” she said when I asked her what she was plucking other than Lehsua. The foraging walks and preparing the saag out in the open made me realise what my grandmother’s complaints meant. For women, food is not limited to cooking; it also holds an emotional and cultural value. Dadri, set to be the land of commercial farming, worries women about their grandchildren, who are bound to eat adulterated vegetables as they do not have the time or resources to grow or forage for them. Even though it is challenging to manage, she wishes to keep traditions of foraging for leafy greens like Lehsua because they’re cheap, nutritious, and the ultimate comfort food in Dadri’s cold, harsh winters.
For me, this foraging experience has been memorable and quite insightful. I would like to thank my professor Bahar Dutt for guiding me through this project and for motivating me to think about foraging and other sociocultural concepts in Dadri. I would also love to thank Renu Didi, Mahesh, and Anurag Bhaiya from SNIOE for helping me bring this article to life. The photos have been clicked by my peer at college, Syam Surya Sai Teja Guggilapu.
