If America is a melting-pot, then to me India is a thali, a selection of sumptuous dishes in different bowls. Each tastes different, and does not necessarily mix with the next, but they belong together on the same plate... That, to me, is the notion or metaphor of the Indian identity.
—Shashi Tharoor. Under Secretary United Nations, author. 1997.
As we get to know Europe slowly, tasting the wines, cheeses, and characters of different countries you begin to realize that the important determinant of any culture is after all—the spirit of place...
—Lawrence Durrell. N.Y.Times Magazine, June 12, 1960.
When I went to do fieldwork in Bangalore city in South India in the spring of 1998 I found middle class housewives and working women excited about packaged foods that had begun to flood the urban Indian market.1 When I returned to Boston in the fall of1999, I found working women of the Indian diaspora equally excited about the same products that had begun to enter the “Indian” markets in the United States. My fascination with why these women were so attracted to these “instant” foods has led me to a questioning of how global food flows construct identity in a cosmopolitan and multicultural world and the social and symbolic contours of transnational food consumption (Appadurai, 1981, 1986). So here, in a context devoted to understanding the family in a transnational world, I revisit the question that has bothered social theorists since the time of Marx: How are relations among people shaped by relations between people and things? In this exploratory paper, the focus is upon recent trends of consuming a variety of packaged and pre-prepared “Indian” food among (Achaya, 2005) Indian families, and the convergent symbolic trends among two twinned transnational Indian communities—urban, middle class professionals, and their families in the South Indian city of Bangalore, and the same urban, middle class, diasporic professionals and their families in the city of Boston, in the United States. This article addresses two interrelated questions, one pragmatic and the other affective—the radical transformation in the manner of food consumption occurring due to globalization and concordant development of the packaged food industry in India; and the anxiety over identity loss experienced by South Asians both in urban India and abroad.
Globalization (Hannerz, 1996; Tomlinson, 1991, 1999), the consequent warping of time and space through media, travel, and other modes of access, perforce leads to pluralism. This in turn leads to a consequent and important questioning of identity. Identity is no longer a “taken for granted” (Berger, 1961) but becomes an all absorbing project that is often enacted through consumption. Recent ethnographic work describes cultural consumption among the Indian middle classes (Osella and Osella, 2000; Mankekar, 1999; Varma, 1998; Kothari, 1991) link it repeatedly, to the shaping of a nation, imagined or otherwise. But how this consumption actually plays out in the everyday lives of the middle class (see Wessel, 2004), whether in urban India or among the Indian diaspora, and what it means to them, is rarely explored.
Globalization has been seen by theorists as the dominance of the culture of Euro-America (Appadurai, 1996; Barber, 1996; Berger, 1997; Friedman, 2006) i.e. the center upon the periphery. This paper seeks to expand on an understanding of a network form of cultural globalization—where goods and ideologies move through the network in many directions, leading perforce to plural forms of cultural globalization— that I have argued for earlier (T. Srinivas in Berger and Huntington, 2001) which stands in opposition to this cultural homogeneity model. In her discussion of the globalization of Bombay cinema, Lakshmi Srinivas argues that Bombay films “convey sensual and emotional experiences-the most immediate and embodied effects of globalization,” through what she terms “feeling rules.” She suggests that the films act as “a medium of translation,” where the local as opposed to the global, is communicated through “a structure of feeling,” where the local is “the known, the taken for granted and the tacit” (L. Srinivas, 2005: 324). Following her lead, I conceptually “map” (L. Srinivas, 2005) the affective contours of cultural globalization through an examination of how Indians, particularly women in urban India, (in Bangalore) and in diasporic contexts (Boston) (Theophano, 2002), engage this emergent world of prepared packaged foods. This article argues that food provisioning is fuelled by what I term a “meta-narrative of loss” engaging several narratives within it. Food consumption is seen as a “narrative of affiliative desire” that affectively recreates caste, micro regional and other social identity groupings for the cosmopolitan Indian family. Fuelled by a “narrative of anxiety” over “authentic” foods—“as mother made them”— the act of eating is transformed into a performance of “gastro-nostalgia” that attempts to create a cultural utopia of ethnic Indian-ness that is conceptually de-linked from the Indian nation state. Finally, “narratives of subterfuge,” often invest the preparation of these packaged heat-and-eat “home made” foods, as South Asian women attempt to become socially acceptable models of domesticity. I further argue that a two habits are powerful paradigms in shaping the women’s emotions over food; one is the nostalgic desire to prepare food as their mother or their spouse’s mother made it, and to keep tradition alive in the hope of giving their children a sense of their “Indian self” by cooking the foods of their particular local caste and ethnic group in India; and secondly, and somehow oppositionally, to engage the transnational world of speed and economy that they live in, where the emphasis is on work and play and where food preparation and eating is the rapid “heat and eat” variety.
The data suggests that women in Bangalore and Boston are torn over the “right” thing to do for themselves and their families, and I explore what these conflicting changes in food preparation and eating mean for the role of the mother in the South Asian family. What are the desires that these foods articulate and fulfill? How do Indian women see these foods? What emotions do these foods create or engage? And most importantly, what is the dynamic between women and family that these foods articulate? These and other such questions form the central framework of the paper.
I suggest that the movement of Indian packaged prepared foods across international borders allows for a “utopic consumption” by cosmopolitan Indian families, where “local” food is culturally inserted into the “global” space (Appadurai, 1996; Hannerz, 1992). This insertion enables South Asian families to conceptually “sidestep” the confrontation between the local and the global, and engage what Lakshmi Srinivas calls, the “translocal” (L. Srinivas, 2005: 319-21). I agree with Appadurai (1996) that cultural mediation lies at the center of the problem of transnationalism. I suggest that the packaged food becomes—in its familiarity and its distance—a mediating model for these cosmopolitan families and is, simultaneously seen as of a place, and placeless (Giddens, 1991: 26) leading one not only to question the empirical value of these categories,2 but also to question the nature of embeddedness and authenticity.
Much of the material for this chapter is based on ethnographic work in Boston and in Bangalore, both in observation of families and what they eat, as well as in informal and formal interviews of women as they shopped, cooked, and fed their families. I began the study of Indian packaged food in 1998 as part of a ten nation study on globalization,3 but it is only in the past three years that I have actively thought about the world of packaged food in India primarily because of the growing number of packaged products both in Bangalore and in Boston. Secondly, my Indian friends and colleagues, are at an age when they all have young children, and I find that Indian mothers, both in urban India and in America, struggle to find foods that their children will eat, that have what they consider both nutritive and “cultural” content.
The comparison between the urban Indian and diasporic Indian community is useful since both the Bangalore community and the Boston community are dealing with similar problems of cosmopolitanism arising from being an integral part of a transnational world (Bourdieu, 1984). From an outsider’s perspective one may say that these two communities are roughly similar. Both these cities are central to the global economy through their dynamic participation in knowledge capital industries, software and IT services and biotech advancements. But the similarity between the two communities holds up only in a first approximation. The local patterning of the diasporic community is in its complex relationship to the dominant Western Judeo-Christian culture of the United States (Appadurai, 1986, 2005). As a group one could argue that Indians in America are marginalized, both politically and socially by the dominant culture,4 even though they, according to Kibria, suffer from (Breckenridge, 1995) the label of a “model minority,” derived from their “cultural programming for economic success” (2003: 11). Nationally, their median income in $68,500, double that of the national average income.5 This “programming for success” has made South Asian immigrants “a part yet apart” of the larger society; separate even from other Asian immigrant groups.6 In the 1980s and 1990s, with increasing visibility due to the overwhelming successes of Indians in Silicon valley, in academia, in literature, and a few in the political arena and in films, this marginal position has been contested in the public arena. (Mintz, 1996; Nestle, 2002).
Boston is the academic Mecca in the United States, and has its fair share of South Asian intellectuals, along with a substantial community of venture capitalists, software engineers, biotechnologists, doctors, and technology specialists. By and large, immigrants to the New England region tend to be well educated, middle class, cosmopolitan professionals, and their families. According to the U.S. census for the year 2000 the city of Boston showed growth in the immigrant groups to the point of—“a minority as majority”—where minorities were over 50 percent of the total population.7 Asian Indians were in fact the fastest growing ethnic minority in New England—up 110 percent in 2000 from a decade previously, and numbering roughly 76,000 in 2000 (Allis, 2005). This expansion in Asian Indian population increases as one moves towards the suburbs where the hi-tech industries are located. Asian Indians gravitate between the technology firms on Rt. 128, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the medical research complexes and hospitals, and the many laboratories and research facilities in the region. Indians in Boston lead a cosmopolitan life, often meeting for Mexican dinners accompanied by margaritas during the week, and for South Asian dance and cultural recitals on the weekend.
The middle class professionals in Bangalore lead a similar cosmopolitan life in which they too are an essential part of transnational culture. In the late 1980s Bangalore became one of the “hot zones” (Heitzman, 2004) of technology in the country attracting the new software companies and their employees.8 Today Bangalore is a center for all those interested in engineering, software technology, chip building, information technology, and related fields (Heitzman, 2004). Engineers and other professionals have poured into the city, and the population of Bangalore has grown from 3.4 million in 1985 to 5.5 million in 20009 and is projected to reach 7 million in 2011 (Heitzman, 2004 quoting Bangalore Development Authority, 2000 statistics). There are believed to be more information technology engineers in Bangalore (150,000) than in Silicon valley USA (120,000) (see Kripalani and Engardio, 2003; 69-70). As a result of this economic spurt and increased monetization, a significant and growing Indian middle class10 has been created with the power and cultural capital for global consumption. It is important to note that this middle class is a minority as over one third of the Indian population is illiterate and the country’s per capita income is $460.00 per annum (Kripalani and Engardio, 2003).
But this middle class has significant social and economic clout as they loom large in the public imagination of urban India. Journalists often extol this new “consumer revolution” in India. The Wall Street Journal writes: “a thriving middle class is changing the face of India in land of poverty; its buying spree promises economic growth” (19th May 1988). Popular news magazines have focused several stories on the consumption mores of the new India—for example; “The New Middle Class” (Hindustan Times; 7 June 1987), and “The New Millionaires and How They Made it” (India Today, 31 October 1987), and “The New Gold Rush” (Sunday, 13 December 1987). The popularity of new Italian restaurants, Thai food restaurants, and ubiquitous bars, discotheques, coffee shops and pubs, has created the image of Bangalore as a cosmopolitan location within India. The new Bangalore11 cosmopolitans are often single people or young couples who often find themselves far from their home and larger family. This “spatially mobile class of professionals” (Appadurai, 1988) creates a small (by Indian standards) but culturally important consumer base known for their knowledgeable often “westernized” (Srinivas, 1962; 1989) taste and is characterized by its “multi ethnic, multi caste, polyglot” (Appadurai, 1988: 6) taste.
But I have strayed far from the issue with which I began; the complex links between culture, motherhood, family dynamics, food consumption, identity and loss. Excavating these hidden links, the paper traces the social history of these packaged foods.12 Since there are few sources on the social history of food in India (Goody, 1982), and even fewer on the eating habits of the Indian middle class or the Indian diaspora, much of this data comes from an analysis of “unorthodox” primary texts such as community based newspapers for the South Asian community in the United States, English language newspapers in Bangalore that carry food product and restaurant reviews, and the internet sites of many of these growing food corporations. This reconstructed gastronomic social history centres on the problem of home; How is the concept of “home made” constructed in an increasingly industrialized, corporatized and urban world of packaged foods in India? How is the “home” constructed in the increasingly plural and transnational world of food for the Indian diaspora? And how does the eating of packaged Indian food relate to identity? (Ferro-Luzzi, 1977). I consider this problem in emic terms and conclude with the way in which this peculiar and rich form of consumption can expand and enrich our understandings of the family, motherhood, and the construction of a cultural utopia (Counihan and Van Esterik, 1997).
According to Lamb and Mines (2002), co-editors of a volume titled Everyday Life in South Asia, the family is “the site of everyday life in South Asia” (italics mine). A familiar term for family in India is samsara, which means “that which flows together” in which “flows” is used to denote relationships between family members, as well as the flow of daily events. The assumption commonly made and not incorrect is that South Asians, particularly Indians in India, live in joint families comprising of many members related by networks of kinship. According to Shah, the family in India has undergone rapid change in the past fifty years. A “patterned widening of the connubial field” (1998: 10) had led to “contextual” marriages rather than “caste circumscribed” ones. Thus, inter-caste, inter-regional, and inter-religious marriages form new alliances and “create a new class which is cosmopolitan” (1998: 11). As time goes on, this class widens. Shah suggests that Hindu joint family (HJF) while enduring in surprising ways is giving way, especially in urban areas and in non business castes, to the nuclear family.13
The family in America is also changing. As more and more immigrant families from Latin America and Asia become part of the United States, family structures change. Add to that the aging population of the United States, and the economic instability that these elders face, and American families will, according to Zolli (2006), “get bigger and bigger.” Zolli suggests that the American family will be redefined from being a single parent, or two co-parents and their children—a “nuclear family”—to being multi generational, sometimes even “a threeor even four-generation affair,” a return to the beginning of the 20th century, ironically like the Indian joint family.
But in all these families, multi-generational or otherwise, the image of the good mother is conceptualized as a nurturing relationship between the mother and child, where this dyad is a metaphor for relations of caretaking and dependency (Counihan, 1999; Lupton, 1996). It is obvious that mothering relationships are much like other social relationships and, like them, are bound to take shape from the broader political and economic order within which they are forged. In South Asia, as elsewhere, feeding the child and provisioning the family are key components of the role of mother and wife. The “good” mother is one who feeds the child on demand with wholesome home made complex foods of the particular ethnic and caste based group of the patriliny. Renowned Indian psychologist Sudhir Kakar states:
The Indian mother is intensely attached to the child... From the moment of birth the Indian infant is greeted and surrounded by... relentless physical ministrations the emotional sensuality of nurturing in traditional Indian families serves to amplify the effects of physical gratification. An Indian mother is inclined towards a total indulgence of her infant’s wants and demands whether these be related to feeding, cleaning, sleeping or being kept company. Moreover she tends to extend this sort of mothering to well beyond the time when the ‘infant’ is ready for independent functioning in many areas. Thus, feeding at all times of night and day and ‘on demand’ (81).
With the growing economy in India from the 1970s, the Indian family has undergone rapid and enduring change, and more women have entered the work force in urban India (Theophano, 2002). One would assume that the expectations of motherhood and wifeliness would have shifted (Elias, 2000). But Desai (1996; 100) argues that while employment for women increased rapidly in the 1970s outside the home, there was little if no change in home management.14 Desai states:
Traditionally food processing was women’s work. Women have been involved in cleaning grinding, and powdering grains and condiments: cleaning salting and drying of fish once it comes ashore; and preserving fruits and vegetables. Thus in spite of increasing education citizenry rights and employment in the workforce the familial role still gets precedence over the work role (1996: 107)
Echoing Desai, the economist Amartya Sen (2005: 235) states that unequal sharing of household chores has remained part of the Indian family tradition. Women were, and are, still primarily responsible to looking after the home, the children, the provisioning of the household and the preparation of food. Sen says:
It is quite common in many societies to take for granted that while man will naturally work outside the home, it is acceptable for women to do this if, and only if, they can engage in the work in addition to their inescapable and unequally shared household duties (2005: 238).
However Sen does concede that “in reality women working outside the home and earning an income tends to have powerful impact on enhancing women’s standing and voice in decision making, both within the household, and in society” (2005: 238). While the Indian family has remained resistant to change, and the primary roles for women in India are as wives and mothers, it almost appears as though working women in Bangalore have read Sen, for in Bangalore city, in the past five years, there have been signs of more men learning to look after children and keeping house.15 But still, domestic cooking and family provisioning remains, by and large, a female realm.
As Dharamjit Singh, chef and expert on Indian food notes, Indian recipes are complex, often using many ingredients and spices, and many different cooking methods, such as roasting, baking, flash frying, steaming, and so on, in combination so they fuse into complex, layered flavours (Singh, 1970). Often, in traditional joint families in India, many women of the family would gather together; sisters-in-law, mothers-in-law, young adult women, and aged female relatives, to create the meal for the family. Faced with the daunting task of preparing a complex, many tiered meal of time consuming preparation alone, contemporary Indian women find themselves ordering food from local restaurants, or relying on “heat and eat” foods or asking family members such as mothers and elderly relatives to cook and servants to help them.
In the diasporic Indian family, the links between motherhood and provisioning (Taylor, Layne and Wozniak, 2004) are engaged somewhat differently as nuclear Indian families find themselves with no family members, extended kin or servants to help. With most Indian families having two working parents, and children engaged in extracurricular activities required to get them into “good” colleges, the family is constantly harassed for time. But Indian women, in the diasporic context, are usually expected both by their families and by themselves, to run the household whether they work outside the home or not. In Boston, Indian women often tried to cook Indian dishes but chose easy recipes that could be done in a few minutes often substituting frozen vegetables for fresh, to cut the preparation time. Some women I interviewed confessed to preparing a whole week’s worth of food on Sunday, and freezing it so that an Indian meal was just microwave seconds away during the hectic weekday schedule.
The “time crunch” for both urban Indian women and their diasporic counterparts is very real, and food manufacturers are tapping into this demand. Food manufacturer Amin states, “We recognized that more and more couples were working and had less time to spend in the kitchen. Now we get so much fan mail saying that these prepared meals are a lifesaver.”16 The overwhelming pressure that most Indian woman feel to get an Indian meal on the table in a few minutes, is underlined by author Lavina Melwani in her article titled “Retouch of Curry.” Melwani (2004) says:
Indeed, it must be hard for Indian families to give up the cultural tradition of cooking fresh food every day, but in this new world you don’t have the retinue of servants nor do you have the time to always whip up an elaborate meal from scratch, weeping as you chop the onions.17
But what about “real” food—that authentic home cuisine, those heavenly delights which each Indian American family hands down, those wonderful pots of comfort food that tastes like no other food in the world? What about those flavorful South Indian rasams..? The layered, perfumed Hyderabadi biryani that has been made for generations in your family? Are all these an endangered species in the frenetic hustle bustle of America where time and attention spans are short and where for many cooking means simply pressing the microwave button? Will the cooking of authentic regional home food become a lost language?18
As we can see from the excerpts what I term “meta-narratives of loss,” invest the provisioning of the South Asian families. Fears of loss of a rather loose concept of “Indian” culture and family values tends to drive food choices. It is better to eat Indian food than any other food. This explains the ready acceptance of pre-packaged foods by the cosmopolitan Indian family. Melwani ends her article with a paen to the grocer who stocks ready to eat Indian food.
So the next time you’re on deadline and have no time to cook and don’t have the desire to eat yet another turkey sandwich or slice of pizza, holler for your invisible personal chef. No need to chop and cut; all the exercise your fingers have to do is open up the boxes and zap the microwave button. Huge succulent ramosas stuffed with cheese and jalapeno peppers, plates of steaming daal makhani, palakpaneer and an array of crisp parathas, rotis and naan. Or perhaps you’d prefer fluffy idlis, golden dosas, uttampams and some spicy rasam? No problem, it’s all in the box. Spread out your fit for a king feast on the dining table and then say a silent prayer of thanks to your Indian grocer!19
Prepared and packaged Indian food has become the food of the everyday in the cosmopolitan Indian urban family, in Bangalore and in Boston. That these foods are consumed within loosely knit “ethnic” communities in diasporic or urban contexts allows for a fluid semiotics open to innovation to invest the consumption of the food (Douglas, 1972; 1975). These are changes that are legitimated because they allow for the travel of the food across the world, and the foods are not subject to regulatory strictures of purity and pollution of caste and religion based authenticity (Toomey, 1992) and “orthodox” consumption of their “original” sending contexts.
A whole range of social, economic, and cultural changes have taken place in India over the past fifty years, culminating in the economic boom of the past decade.20 In 1989 the Indian economy was “liberalized” after nearly fifty years of independence and Soviet style protectionism. Perhaps by design or perhaps coincidentally, since then the Indian economy has seen significant growth rising from 2 percent in 1990 to 7.8 percent in 2001. 21 Emergent during this sudden liberalization, was a new packaged prepared food industry that has grown rapidly in the past decade and a half. However, the prepared food market in India is still in its nascent stage, with only 5 percent of the food market is packaged and branded. Indian players see a staggering 95 percent of product still to be packaged and enormous profits to be made. The Indian Tobacco Industry,22 a recent entrant into the world of packaged foods, announced that they see a huge market potential for these foods among the middle classes of urban India and among NRIs (Non Resident Indians, the local term for the diaspora). Ravi Naware, head of the Indian Tobacco Industry (ITC) food development sector projected the growth of the ITC segment alone of the packaged food industry to be Rs 500 crores (approximately $10 million). He stated in a press conference:
Certainly, there is a close linkage (between economic development and food). As the disposable income goes up, standard of life improves and consumers... start looking for packed food that are reliable and of good quality’.... Firstly, the market for food is simply huge and estimated to be Rs 500,000 crore annually. It is also growing for two main reasons: population growth and improvement in consumers’ spending ability. Consumers, more and more, are looking for packaged food because of hygiene, nutrition and convenience.23
The indigenous packaged food industry takes Indian recipes, simplifies them for fast production, and decreases the time and cost to the consumer. The industry includes food products for immediate consumption, as well as pre-prepared foods such snacks, spice powders, lentil wafers, pickles, and chutneys. The Indian pre-prepared food industry is divided along caste and ethnic and micro regional lines of affiliations. Preparation of these indigenous prepared foods has become a local cottage industry for cooperatives of women (many of them home makers and widows) who are subcontracted to work for larger local food preparation companies (Srinivas, 2002). Local entrepreneurs, many of them women, often employ poor women from the targeted caste or ethnic group to prepare the product so it has an authentic taste. Today in local markets in urban India over three hundred companies do business and middle and lower middle class housewives rely on these mixes and snacks to provide food for the family.
The prepared food industry has an eager large clientele in urban America in the South Asian diaspora. According to Neil Soni, vice president of House of Spices, for “wholesalers to retailers, it’s possibly a $15 million market, while for the retailers it could be a $25 million market. It’s a good component with lots of growth opportunities.” The February 2006 issue of Little India the self proclaimed “largest circulated Indian publication in the USA,” aimed at the South Asian diasporic readership ran a feature article titled “The Immigrant Thali” by Lavinia Melwani. In the article Melwani quotes Madhu Gadia, the health editor of “Diabetes Living” the article states that Indians have started eating far more prepared foods than ever before. Gadia states that Indian food is catching on even in the “heartland” of America. In her home town of Ames, Iowa where “many of the supermarkets and coops carry frozen and canned Indian foods,” Gadia states: “these are becoming part of the everyday home food of busy Indian families.” She says that she knows of many friends who “carry the shelf stabilized ready Indian meals to work often.” In the same article, Julie Sahni, chef, author, food historian, and culinary celebrity, states:
I think what has happened is that they (Indians) are buying a tremendous amount of ready made foods because people with busy schedules still need to have something nice to put on the dinner table.These are family people buying ready made food. So there is a need and it is being fulfilled. There are some very good products out there very tasty and authentic tasting in both shelf stabilized and frozen.
Food manufacturers in India and in the US scour the Indian food market for prepared foods that can be marketed to the growing Indian diaspora. Shwetal Patel of Raja Foods says:
Our best bread is going to be something we discovered in Delhi, called the Papad Paratha, a paratha with papad rnside it. Trust me, it’s unbelievable! We’re also coming out with paneer and potato wraps. These will be great for people on the go, such as college students, and the taste is really good. It’s solid Indian paneer (home made cheese) which tastes delicious.
Most of the packaged food in the urban India and diasporic market is sourced in India. MTR (The Mavalli Tiffin Rooms) one of the oldest players in the packaged food market specializes in South Indian cuisine. The Bangalore based24 MTR prepared food line is owned and operated by the Mayya family; an Udupi Brahmin family from coastal western Karnataka.25 Members of the Mayya family have gone through rigorous hospitality and hotel management courses in Europe and America, and bring modern ideas and technologies to increase the MTR market share (Kohn, 1999). In the past few years MTR has come to dominate the South Indian niche of the prepared food market. With their wide range of product categories and with a consistent track record of good quality products, the brands of MTR have made substantial in-roads to markets overseas such as U.S.A., U.K., Gulf, Far East (Singapore, Malaysia), Australia etc. Other Indian companies that have product lines that are sold transnationally are Gits (ready mixes), MDH (for curry powders), Maya, Mothers, and Priya (pickles and sauces).26
But not all Indian food packaged food comes from India or even from the subcontinent. Patak is an international family owned packaged food company started by a twice immigrant in London, UK, that exports packaged Indian food all over the world. Patak’s owns several manufacturing facilities—a frozen food factory in Dundee, an Indian bread factory in Glasgow, the head office in Haydock, Lancashire and an £18 million investment in a new state of the art food processing factory in London which at 164,000 sq ft, is believed to be the largest Indian food factory in the world. Within a year Patak’s project that they will manufacture 30 million jars of Indian sauce, produce over 1.5 million ready meals, over 1 million Indian snacks, and use 2,700 tons of spice from around the world. Patak’s states that it manufactures its products primarily for the Indian women “who needs more time.” The Patak’s website states:
Patak’s, a household brand name in the UK, is fast becoming recognised around the world for creating authentic Indian food that is quick and easy to prepare. Our popular cooking sauces, curry pastes, chutneys; pickles, naan bread and pappadums make it easy for food lovers everywhere to prepare authentic Indian dishes at home in less than 35 minutes.27 (Italics mine).
The biggest overseas manufacturer of Indian food in the USA is believed to be Deep Foods. Deep Foods has a 100,000 square feet facility in Union, NJ, where it produces several lines— Mirch Masala; Deep and Curry Classics, as well as the Green Guru International Cuisine line, other frozen food lines such as Maharani and Kawon Malaysian parathas. Raja Foods, based in Skokie, Ill, a suburb of Chicago has been in business since 1992 and imports frozen foods from India under the ubiquitous Swad label. According to Swetal Patel of Raja Foods, Swad has the largest variety of frozen vegetables in the market, especially ethnic products like, tindora, papdi lilva, valor papdi, chauri and tandal jo ni bhaji, vegetables which are a part of traditional Gujarati cuisine. These come fresh from the farms in Gujarat and are much easier to prepare since they are already cleaned and cut.28 Swad is part of the latest trend in prepared frozen Indian food and ingredients. According to Ms. Melwani in her essay titled, “The Cold Revolution,” flash freezing techniques delivers “fresh” Indian food to your door in any part of the world making Indian food quick and easy to prepare.29 “Ethnic” grocery stores, which previously stocked varieties of raw ingredients are turning more rapidly to flash frozen, packaged, and prepared foods. According to Neil Soni, vice president of “House of Spices,” frozen prepared foods are the “next big thing;” “Wholesalers to retailers, it’s possibly a $15 million market, while for the retailers it could be a $25 million market. It’s a good component with lots of growth opportunities.” Soni believes that the Indian market is evolving into what the mainstream consumers already expect from their supermarkets.30
Multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism creates anxiety because they expose us to new ways of being in, and seeing the world. In the contemporary world, large populations of people live in diasporas, in exile, in migration for all sorts of reasons, self-chosen or not. Clifford describes this condition as a world where syncretism and parodic invention have become the rule rather than the exception, where everyone’s “roots” are in some degree cut, and therefore it has become “increasingly difficult to attach human identity and meaning to a coherent ‘culture’” (Clifford, 1988: 95). The paradox of the cosmopolitan in an existing multicultural context is that as the local becomes less significant physically, the memory and the imagination of that place become stronger. As people are living abroad or away from what they consider their “home culture”, the idea of “homeland” becomes an important nucleus for nostalgic sentiment.
The anxiety of cosmopolitanism in the case of the Indian family appears to be centered on food consumption. Food provisioning and food consumption in South Asian families are couched in what I call “narratives of anxiety”—who is eating, how much, and what they are eating—are questions laced with anxiety for South Asian parents.
When I interviewed Prabhakar and his wife Sathya, both from the city of Chennai in South India, they expressed anxiety about their children’s eating habits. Prabhakar said: “Pasta, that’s all they eat. Night and day.pasta. How can they eat it, I don’t know.” The second problem parents encounter is cultural and aesthetic— getting children to eat caste and regionally based appropriate Indian food. Sathya, Prabhakars’ wife, spoke to this concern: “The children don’t eat Indian food at all, let alone South Indian food. They want macaroni and cheese all the time. Or pizza.” When I attended a Diwali party for Indian couples and their children, in November 2005, the talk turned naturally among the women to the “problem” of getting their children to eat the “right” Indian food. Uma, a South Indian upper caste woman said of her six year old son Vijay: “He will eat Indian food only if it is from the packages, so Kannan (her husband) and I go every weekend to the Indian store and we stock up on palak panner, malai kofta, chola puri and all that. All North Indian food he likes. My mother was shocked when she came to visit us. She also tried convincing him to eat “home” food (i.e. South Indian Brahmin food) but he refused. She told me “How can you let him do this?” Uma voiced her disappointment that her child not only refused to eat home cooked food, preferring the packaged alternatives, but that he refused to eat South Indian food. She felt she was a bad mother, and had not provided proper direction to his choices of ethnic affiliation, allowing him to eat North Indian Punjabi food when he was a South Indian Tamil Brahmin. These “narratives of affili-ative desire” where South Asian mothers see their children’s choice of food as a desire for affiliation with another ethnic community, are contentious. With adult children, Indian parents often feel that they have lost the battle to inculcate the children into eating “their” food. Sanjay, a young adult lives with his parents while he goes to college. While his parents come from a strict Brahmin vegetarian family, Sanjay eats only non vegetarian food. His mother Saraswati often buys him food from Indian restaurants, and packaged food of the “heat and eat” variety from the Indian grocery stores. “That’s all he eats,” she said matter-of-factly while picking up twenty frozen Indian chicken and lamb entree dinners at the local Indian store. “He won’t eat our south Indian rasam, sambhar. Avanakei ishtame illai. He does not like it. If he doesn’t have this, he’ll heat up a pepperoni pizza.”
For the children on the other hand, the eating of Indian food, especially in the company of others, either not of your own culture or ethnic type, or those who are “hipper” and more westernized than you, presents a series of shameful moments. For example, Anjana Mathur editor of “Food Matters” recounts her own shame filled tale of desiring a tuna salad sandwich in her lunchbox in the hope that it would make her just like her white Australian classmates. She states:
In April 1982, my family moved away from Penang, Malaysia. When I first started carrying lunch to school, my mother would pack a lunch consisting of rice and dahl and rice and yogurt into a tiffin-dubba, a split-level metal lunch container. My white Australian classmates would look on in curiosity at my “weird” lunch in a “strange” container. My rice and dahl were nothing like the tuna fish sandwiches they would carry in their pink plastic lunchboxes adorned by the likes of Strawberry Shortcake. Over time, the snickering and odd looks became too much, and I begged my mother to buy me a plastic lunchbox and to let me have tuna fish sandwiches. Eventually she relented, and when the day finally arrived that I had tuna for lunch, I was visibly excited; I was that much closer to losing my status as “Other” and becoming like my white classmates, or so I believed. But upon opening my lunchbox, I found something entirely different. My mother had “Indianized” my lunch and created a bright yellow tuna fish sandwich filling spiced with green chilies, cilantro, chopped onion, and turmeric.
In my school setting, food was a visible way to mark ethnicity and difference. When I look back on my curried tuna sandwiches, they were my mother’s attempt to combine Indianness with apparently “Western” fare. I wanted them to help me try to assimilate, but ironically, they merely reinforced my otherness.
As the cultural critic Frank Wu (2002) notes, our ideas of diversity conflict with our actual practices of tolerating diversity, and what the mainstream might consider intolerable, unethical, unpalatable, and inedible, determines what we eat. The articulation of the real difficulties involved in confronting difference in understanding foodways is central to the story of the negotiation of cosmopolitanism (Bestor, 2001). Wu concludes, “Our festivals of diversity tend toward the superficial, as if America were a stomach-turning combination plate of grits, tacos, sushi, and humus. We fail to consider the dilemma of diversity where our principles conflict with our practices” (216).
So in a multi cultural arena, the Indian packaged food becomes, as Appadurai states, “chimerical, aesthetic, even fantastic objects” (Appadurai, 1996: 35) where strong feelings of longing are located for the displaced. The food represents “an important symbolic anchor to imagined homelands.”31 Consumption of these foods becomes in some sense “sacramental” (Berger, 2001)—a return to a “taken for granted” identity of the homeland. So as cosmopolitanism increases, a hyper caste based local Indian identity asserts itself in consumption located affectively in gastro-nostalgia. In this globalized state of re-territorialization, imagination and fantasy become a necessary alternative for “the real thing” (which is also imagined as Anderson [2005] points out). I want to emphasise that, in multicultural cities, “parodic” inventions such as these packaged foods have substituted for the real food of the homeland. It would appear that authenticity is not questioned, as long as the copies that appear authentic are provided, as symbolic anchors on which identification can unfold.
But authenticity is central to the problem of multiculturalism in more ways than one. In Bangalore the packaged Indian foods serve other social desires linked in part to anxiety over authenticity. In May 2004, when I was in Bangalore, I was invited to a dinner party at the home of an old friend, Rashmi, who is now a manager at a Fortune 500 software company. She had invited several, elderly, family members, and some friends for dinner. The food was excellent; cooked in a traditional manner, and the meal comprised of many of the traditional South Indian, Iyengar, Brahmin, vegetarian dishes that were part of festival menus such as Bisibelebhath, Puliyogare, Kootu, Kosambari, and so on. I was surprised at her choices since I knew her to be a cosmopolitan eater who was not very interested in traditional cooking. Everyone complimented her on the meal discussing how well cooked all the dishes were, and how they tasted “just like her grandmother used to make them.” They asked for her recipes, which she coyly refused to divulge. When all the guests had left, I helped her clean up and went into her kitchen where I found twenty opened packages from MTR Packaged food division, known for their “authentic” tasting South Indian cuisine, strewn all over the kitchen counter. Rashmi winked at me to keep the secret of her “home cooked” meal. I found Rashmi was not the only young working woman who resorted to MTR packaged foods when they wanted to create an impression of having cooked authentic, traditional, home cooked meals for their in-laws and other visitors. Kalpana, was Punjabi woman from Delhi in North India, had lived in Bangalore for twenty years. In 2004, her in-laws visited her from Delhi, and for weeks before their visit she asked all her South Indian friends for recipes. Apparently, Kalpana’s in-laws were convinced that since she lived in Bangalore, she must know how to cook South Indian food. But Kalpana herself never bothered to learn the intricacies of South Indian cuisine because she was surrounded by it everyday. When her in-laws arrived, I found that Kalpana had made an enormous breakfast of idlis, dosas, and other South Indian delicacies for her guests and they praised her “authentic Madrasi” food —“Kithni acchi hai na ? So good... almost she can start Madrasi restaurant in Dilli (Delhi).” Kalpana herself confided in me that she had bought the whole MTR line of packaged instant South Indian food before they arrived, and had spent the past week mastering the amount of water and ghee (clarified butter) she needed to add to each dish.
In Bangalore the MTR “heat and eat” south Indian line of dishes have become the modern housewife’s guilty secret. The MTR packaged food promotes secrecy and subterfuge among certain women whereby a facade of authenticity and traditional eating is maintained when in fact multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism have changed both eating and cooking habits (Cwiertka, 1998; Curtin and Heidke, 1992). These “narratives of subterfuge” allow South Asian women to remain socially acceptable models of domesticity, when in actuality the loss of traditional knowledge of recipes, cooking ingredients, and methods, is wide spread and inter-generational. When I asked an older friend of mine for her rasam (lentil broth) spice powder that I thought she made from scratch at home, she told me that she got it made to order by a caterer and had never even thought to ask the recipe. She added: “Oh, now I don’t even bother to ask him. I just go to Food World (the local supermarket) and buy the MTR rasam powder mix.” However, in the larger society, the expectations of women still being able to produce an “authentic,” micro regional, caste based meal, is still evident. The disjuncture between societal expectations and the reality are bridged by the readily available, culturally accurate, packaged foods. The parody of a continuous tradition is kept alive for these cosmopolitans (James, 1996; Nestle, 2002).
So this raises the problem of the authentic in cosmopolitan consumption: to most people authenticity resides in the ability to recognise it. Regina Bendix (1997), a folklorist who argues for a legitimation of the discipline of folklore, states that; “in an increasingly transcultural world, where Zulu singers back up Paul Simon and where indigenous artists seek copyright for their traditional crafts, the politics of authenticity mingles with the forces of the market,” and that declaring that something is “authentic,” legitimates it, and by reflection, adds more status and legitimacy to the authenticator as well (Bendix, 1997: 10). The problem for Bendix is “what does authenticity do?” both for the authenticator and the authenticated. So while authenticity can be the search for something lost as in the case of Shaila, it is also, paradoxically, the legitimation of something existant such as in the case of Rashmi and Kalpana.
The question of the authentic (Handler, 1986) arises primarily about how it is created or manufactured. Rachel Laudan argues that culinary authenticity, (Laudan, 2000) is framed in the terms espoused by the viewer, or eater: as she says, Americans tend to say it’s authentic if it is artisanal, pre-industrial, uses indigenous ingredients, and no processed foods. It is also to us “historical”—meaning, what people used to eat, preferably familial, rural, regional foods, and now, natural and organic are added to the list of requirements. We set up this checklist, she says, because we contrast the “sunny days of yore with the grey industrial present.” Italians too, according to Ales-sandra Guignoni, travel to Sardinia for a taste of an imagined past, for what she calls “naive” cooking, simple, genuine, the core of “what Italians really are” (Guignoni, 2001). The retrieving of a pre-modern self located in earlier caste based and agricultural rhythms located in the highly local through cuisine, is part of the push against the anxiety that modernity and globalization bring. As globalization erodes the traditional notions of hierarchy, breaking down caste barriers through commensality and marriage (see M.N. Srinivas, 2003), the anxiety over identity becomes rooted in the symbolic value of consumption (Giddens, 1991). The retrieving of the self through the eating of the cuisine of one’s caste, ethnic group, region, and locale, becomes a precious experience. So in Bangalore as in Boston, foodways and the eating of ethnic Indian food epitomizes a personal, a local, or a caste based utopia, a cultural utopia that can be either the pure and simple peasant like (whether Tamil rasam32 or Gujarati rotli nu shaak33), or the high aesthetic culture of the elite (Mughlai cream Burra kebab). The utopian ideal of a lost time is engaged through gastro nostalgia and the eating of foods (Roy, 2004) that symbolize this lost golden era, thereby catering to the gestalt of loss and memory that is part of the cosmopolitan’s narrative. Loss and retrieval are built on the idea that there is something to retrieve that is unchanged; that is essential, and essentializing the narrative of self and other is at the core of fighting anomie in a multicultural space.34 As Lindholm argues so convincingly in his work on authenticity, the search for new taste becomes a “moral imperative as the performance of difference through new and authentic foods is seen as valuable in itself.” Further, recovering and maintaining the authentic food of any ethnic group, caste, family, locale, region etc. is seen as a “good” enterprise leading to knowledge and awareness.35 Creating and exploiting nostalgia yearning, for a local culture and cuisine perceived as all but lost makes travel to such places both a pleasure and an urgent duty.
One of the key ingredients of the descriptions of foods that appeal to gastro-nostalgia is the evoking of “home cooking” or as “mother made it.” The Indian diasporic market and the urban Indian market are dynamic because Indians like Indian food. Melwani argues that Indian immigrants “cling to the food as talisman and mantras, substituting mother and father. How vitalized they feel when they cook daal chaval just like mother! Or the kaju barfi that grandma specialty. They hold that wonderful taste in their mouths, lose their eyes and are transported back home.” Melwani states: “millions and millions of samosas, kachoris, dosas and idlis —made in India and quick frozen—delivered to your door in California, London or Dubai, almost as fresh as those made by your dear Amma!”36
Besides the prepared food industry, Indian internet sites have chat rooms devoted to “foods as my mother made them.” One of the largest internet sites with over 36,000 recipes is called “Ammas.com” (amma meaning Mother). Ammas.com begins with a narrative about this “authentic” grandmotherly character behind all the recipes for south Indian cooking on the site.
Amma is the original Amma on the Internet—having started her web site in 1996. Her advice and recipes are authentic, culled from the mind of an authentic “Amma.” “Amma” in South India (and many other parts of Asia) means “mother.” Amma was born in a small village (by Indian standards) near Vijayawada, in the South Indian State of Andhra Pradesh. In fact, Amma comes from a long line of powerful women, known for their strength both in and outside the kitchen. Her grandmother (“Ammama”) was a freedom fighter and revolutionary. She is especially remembered for her efforts to protect women’s rights. She was well-known for her Kalagoora Pulusu (mixed vegetables in tamarind sauce) and dry fish or mutton curries which she would prepare for the field hands during the rice-threshing season (known as Kuppalu).” (Excerpt from ammas.com)
The familial link of mother and grandmother are mentioned to authenticate and legitimate the recipes and the food. Food and its emotional association with mothers and grandmothers, is the fodder for eager food merchants, as they recreate in a public realm what was previously the food of the home. Images of mothers become touchstones for the authenticity of thee cuisine. Gastro nostalgia as related to mothers’ home cooking is paradoxically the crux of the prepared food industry, as the symbolic and affective value of “foods as mother made them” is invaluable. As more and more cosmopolitan women are haunted by a sense of loss of what they cannot reclaim, they turn to “authentic” food to reclaim their identity (Kurien, 2003; Yalman, 1989; Khare, 1976).
Shashi Tharoor states that Indian expatriates and migrants live in a nostalgic world: “... nostalgia is based on the selectiveness of memory... his (the immigrants) perspective is distorted by exile... his view of what used to be home is divorced from the experience of home. They are no longer an organic part of the culture, but severed digits that, in their yearning for the hand, can only twist themselves into a clenched fist” (Tharoor, 1993). He writes with sensitivity of the migrants’ response to a dominant culture is a reiteration of the latter’s own culture. Tharoor says: “But his nostalgia is based on the selectiveness of memory; it is a simplified, idealized recollection of his roots, often reduced to their most elemental—family, caste, region, religion. In exile amongst foreigners, he clings to a vision of what he really is that admits no foreignness” (Tharoor, 1993).
Salman Rushdie argues that fantasy helps the Indian living in diaspora and migrant Indians to relive the India of the imagination (Kakar, 1996) based on semi truths, stories and heard accounts that are strongly based on the local. For the Indian cosmopolitan, fantasy is an important narrative structure to assuage the ambivalence of the cosmopolitan over the loss of family and place. As growing number of groups claim cosmopolitan status, cosmopolitanism gets broadened to include the growth of particularistic cultural identities of all kinds. Therefore the “cosmopolitan” has come to “signify a transnationally situated subject who is nonetheless rooted in particular histories, localities, and community allegiances.”37 It means the world (or a big part of it) is a field of interaction where people’s identities can escape the confines of nationalism, allowing for both a local and a global identity simultaneously.
So, paradoxically, as the local fades further and further away for cosmopolitans, the memory and the imagination of family, mother and place become more powerful. Self consciously searching for their roots—ethnic, local, and caste based—these memories become located in the emotional and gustatory link between mother and family, symbolically located in a cultural utopia of loss. The prepared food industry packages authentic foods of their particular caste and ethnic, regional group, so that cosmopolitan working women can come home and cook a “home cooked meal” to reclaim their identity for themselves and their children. This produces a limited and circumscribed authentic experience. While these food companies cater to gastro-nostalgics, and support the diversity of caste and regional foods, they (unwittingly) support a conceptual division of India, into micro regions, religious and caste based groups, which runs counter to the discourse of nationalism that pervades the anthropological literature on South Asia (Appadurai, 1988; Inden, 1990; Mankekar, 1999).
The overriding narrative of loss for cosmopolitans is detailed through the emotional loss of “home cooked” food that migrants feel. The availability of packaged “authentic” Indian food that echoes micro regional, caste, and ethnic variation of India enable urban Indians and diasporic Indians alike to indulge in “gastro-nostalgia” where the food recreates a cultural utopia exemplified by mothers’ home cooking, located in the collective imagination of the ethnic community (Schivelbusch, 1992; Sahlins, 1990). The “narrative of affiliative desire”—of wanting one’s child to eat the food of one’s ethnic group is a powerful desire for these mothers.
It is clear that in the spaces of a global consumer-capitalist cosmopolitan society, mothers provide for their children primarily by providing purchased food. Motherhood offers unique practices that resist ready analysis since they reveal, by the “very manner in which they transgress,”38 the contours of a deeply rooted ideological opposition between that which is recognized as “real,” good motherhood and the “corrupting” influence of consumption. Because of this “deep rooted belief in the opposition between consumption and motherhood,” the rules governing consumption, especially the choices made by the mother on behalf of the child, are often the “cause of much anxiety for mothers” (Warner, 2005). South Asian mothers I have shown, are no different in their anxieties over consumption and they face new challenges in a cosmopolitan world as they attempt to retain a sense, not of nationality; i.e., of Indianness or Pakista-niness, but more of regional and local identity i.e., Punjabi-ness or Bengali-ness, through food consumption. The “narrative of subterfuge” that runs through the preparation of a “traditional” meal points to the complete pragmatic acceptance of caste and regional based packaged foods by South Asian women, while they attempt to remain socially acceptable models of feminine domesticity.
Rephrasing the nineteenth century gourmand Billat-Savarin’s assertion—“you are what you eat”—I have attempted to shed new light on consumption, memory and identity, through stories that might speak to the ways in which migrants and their families use food to explore the classed, ethnic, caste based, regional, and gendered dimensions of their personal and collective identities. The consuming of these packaged foods point to a new way of “being” Indian in a transnational space.
* Originally published 2006
1. This essay is dedicated to my mother, Rukmini Srinivas, who is not only a great cook, but is also interested in culinary and cultural landscapes.
2. See L. Srinivas (2005) for a comprehensive and thought provoking argument on the locally situated and the global.
3. This research was supported in part by the Pew Charitable Trust and the Smith Richardson Foundation. I thank Peter Berger of the Center for the Study of Religion and World Affairs of Boston University for his support of my interest in food in Bangalore and his encouragement when I decided to study the gastro-scapes of Bangalore as part of a ten nation comparative study of cultural globalization that he directed in 1998 and 1999. Subsequent data collection has been funded in part by Wheaton College. I thank my colleagues at Boston University, Merry White and Charles Lindholm for supporting me in writing this paper and for reading its many incarnations. I have benefited enormously through discussions with Lakshmi Srinivas and many of these discussions were the fuel for this paper. I also would like to thank Professor Gopal Karanth of Institute of Social and Economic Change, Bangalore, for his unstinting help in understanding the Bangalore food industry. Dhanvanti Nayak did the initial research on food in Bangalore that led me to look at packaged food. Jyothi Kadambi and Aruna and Krishna Chidambi brought some of these packaged foods to my attention. Kala Sunder helped me enormously by pointing out interesting articles on food in the Bangalore newspapers and sending me newspaper clippings.
4. See Kibria (2003).
5. Statistics drawn from Kibria (2003).
6. I borrow this phrase from the title of a book on South Asian Americans by Shankar and Srikanth (1998) brought to my attention by Nazli Kibria.
7. For a more detailed account of the US census as related to the city of Boston refer http://www.ci.boston.ma.us/ BRA/pdf/publications//pdr_547.pdf
8. Altogether it is estimated that there are about between 150 and 300 software firms in Bangalore, the majority of which are medium-sized, i.e. between 100 and 150 employees and only about 10 per cent of which have over 500 employees (interviews). More than two-thirds of the companies in Bangalore are Indian. The foreign component of total investment in the software industry, however, is about 70 percent (Economist, March 23rd, 1996: 67). For a comprehensive history of Bangalore city, refer to S. Srinivas (2001).
9. Population statistics derived from Megacities Taskforce of the International Geographical Union. http://www.megacities.uni-koeln.de/internet/
10. Scholars put the number of the Indian middle class anywhere between 100 to 250 million, a significant number by any standard.
11. In a recent paper I chart the changes in the cosmopolitan gastro-scape of Bangalore (Srinivas to be published 2007 in Food, Culture and Society) from the early 1990s to the present. I suggested that non domestic eating for Bangaloreans has become a moral quest in which adaptive creativity and innovation in the face of the attempted domination of multi national food firms—socio historical processes that I examine in the paper cited above. Here, however, what is important to note is that the moral quest for identity in the transnational frame is central to gustatory activity in Bangalore.
12. I have benefited greatly from conversations I have had with my colleague Lakshmi Srinivas.
13. Shah (1998) argues that the decline of the joint family while accepted by sociologists in India is not quite the case. The situation is far more complex and the joint family endures and in fact many new joint families are created. Yet it appears that the cosmopolitan nuclear family is growing especially in urban India. For a fuller scholarly exposition on the Indian family see Shah (1998).
14. But while women worked outside the home less than 1 percent had a long term career strategy, because they felt these positions conflicted with their roles as wives and mothers in the home.
15. See Nair, Deepti. “Behind every Successful Woman.” Deccan Herald. Metrolife March 7, 2005. “Amit Heri, musician, is married to noted dancer Madhu Heri Natraj. When Madhu is away travelling, Heri has always chipped in with the housework and believes it is but a natural thing. “What is meant by traditional? I don’t go by what you’d call traditional.”
16. Melwani, Lavina. Little India. “Hot and Cold”,http://www.littleindia.com/october2004/hotcold.htm
17. Melwani, Lavina. Little India. “Hot and Cold”. http://www.littleindia.com/october2004/hotcold.htm
18. Melwani, Lavina. Little India. “Re Touch of Curry”. September 2003. http://littleindia.com/september2003/ Retouch%20of%20Curry.htm
19. Melwani, Lavina. Little India. “Hot and Cold”. http://www.littleindia.com/october2004/hotcold.htm
20. The Indian economy has reached a growth rate of about 5 percent and inflation has fallen to under 2.8 percent in November 1999, the lowest in the decade. The latest Asian Development Bank figures report India’s potential growth at over 7 percent whereby the Indian economy will be on a par with China in another two years, something that has not occurred since 1990.
21. Specialists in Indian economics, such as Jagdish Bhagwati, Deepak Lal, and Ashutosh Varshney warn that the bubble of this economy may well burst unless pursued thoroughly by the Indian government. But India has pursued the free trade alternatively vigorously though cautiously opening the economy carefully and instituting new economic policies that are market friendly, private investment driven, and that cover internal and external trade relations.
22. Historically this parallels the entry of tobacco interests into prepared food in the 1970s and 1980s in the United States as RJR Reynolds and other tobacco companies diversified into prepared foods.
23. Deccan Herald July 21 http://www.itcportal.com/newsroom/press_july21.htm
24. “Mavalli Tiffin Rooms” as it was known was famous all over south India for cooking their food in clarified butter and serving their customers in silver utensils, practices associated with “good” and “pure” upper caste Brahmin food ways. Rumours swirled that the Mayya’s recipes came from the kitchens of the famous Krishna temple at Udipi where over 5000 pilgrims are fed everyday with fifty different kinds of rice, salads, vegetarian curries, fruit chutneys, and accompaniments. MTR’s cuisine was and is very micro region specific and is located in what is called Dakshina Kannada on the western coast of Karnataka. This region is famous in south India both for their innovative mixing of sweet, hot, and sour ingredients and the business acumen of their chefs. The popular joke in Karnataka acknowledging their ability is that if one climbs to the top of Mt. Everest one would find an Udipi hotelier there ready with a cup of steaming coffee to greet you in a spotless cotton dhoti. The cleanliness, commitment to quality and the business acumen, characterize the Udupi Brahmin food enterprise.
25. During the political Emergency in India the mid seventies, when Indira Gandhi suspended Individual rights one of the populist measures that the government brought in was to standardize and control the price for a cup of coffee. MTR hotel found it impossible to maintain its very high food standards at the ridiculously low prices enforced by the Food Control Act. But in order to keep funds flowing into his business, and to keep the cooks occupied, Sadanand got into the instant food business, and started experimenting with packaged mixes, a range of sambar and rasam powders, instant idli, dosa, chutney, and other mixes.
26. This is not an exhaustive list but merely illustrative.
27. http://www.pataks.co.uk/about/index.php
28. Melwani, Lavina. “Hot and Cold.” http://www.littleindia.com/october2004/hotcold.htm
29. http://www.littleindia.com/october2004/hotcold.htm
30. Ethnic Indian prepared food is also considered the next big niche market in the USA to go mainline. Pillsbury is now actually making naans in India, and Kostos International is national distributor for the Pillsbury line. Says Kostos Vice President Jay Parikh, “Pillsbury has many ethnic lines, and one of them is Indian. They have a factory near Bombay and they have the experts in the field of Indian food and that’s how they developed the recipes.” Pillsbury has seven frozen products coming into the USA—a ready to puff roti, spring onion parathas, layered Malabar parathas, Adraki Alu parathas, tawa whole wheat parathas, stuffed spicy alu masaledaar naan, and a paneer-filled naan for the regular American market.
31. See “Imagining other places” by Rebecca Graversen. November 2001 at http://www.geocities.com/udeifelten/ imaginingotherplaces
32. Lentil spicy soup eaten with rice.
33. Unleavened bread eaten with lentil (dhal) soup.
34. Robbins (1998) argues that the alternative to cosmopolitanism is not a romantic idea of strongly rooted belonging, but “a reality of (re)attachment, multiple attachment, or attachment at a distance” (1998: 3).
35. Thanks to Charles Lindholm (forthcoming, 2007).
36. Melwani Lavina. “The Cold Revolution.” Little India.
37. See a review of Rajan and Sharma (2006) by Frances Assissi. March 17, 2006. http://www.indolink.com/ displayArticleS.php?id=030106070622
38. For a complete analysis of consumption and motherhood see Tayler et al. (2004)
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