There is the hard-working mother, the single lower and middle class men, the restaurant owners and managers, some successful some still struggling. Out of this mixed group, as diverse as a Thali plate, come a variety of perspectives on Indian food and culture;ow authentic foods from each region help the expat Indian in Dubai stay connected to his or her culture while living outside their home country.
The hard-working mother from Mumbai looks at her children and at times is saddened by their inability to fully relate to their Indian heritage. No matter the number of trips to India, no matter the number of traditional Diwali or Holi parties, or meals of chole or pani puri, this mother struggles to fully instill the understanding of India into her children. “They do not get it...they laugh at me.” Not a cold laugh, but a laugh tinged with the indifference of youth. For her, a sincere love of country and culture knows no bounds. She works to keep traditions alive and meals authentic in hopes that someday her children will have a deeper understanding of their heritage.
Yet she is but one expat in Dubai. And as with every country, especially one as large and diverse as India, she is but one voice on the importance of culture and the role food in plays retaining a connection to one’s roots. Two single men from Hyderabad working as engineers grabbing a quick bite at Hyderabad Rocks have a different view. A more complacent view. They are sick of India and Indians. “There is no foreign country left for us to go” without Indians. “We are everywhere”. “We do not have to try very hard” to stay connected to India. For them, Dubai is a means to an end; a place where they can make a little more money and gain work experience. To them, Dubai is a young nation with a transient population, so much so that there is no passing on of heritage to the next generation. Be that generation Indian, Arab or what have you. They see Dubai as a place committed to the dirham, where work is all anyone does, so focused are they all on building their bank accounts. Over a quick lunch of Dum Biriyani whose authentic flavorings explode throughout the mouth and across the tongue, they speak of the differences between Dubai and Hyderabad. Because to them, the differences far outweigh any similarities.
“It is not possible to replicate the culture.” They say. “Every place is dead compared to India.” Dead because no place is as bustling, as populated, as alive. The Indian children raised in Dubai cannot possibly grasp the real India they say. When these children go back they are shocked, “in pain” because the India they grew to know from stories is not the real India. Pointing to black and white photographs of the Charminar and the Assembly Building hanging on the restaurant wall, “this is the India they know”. It is, he believes, a false perspective. A belief that seems so deeply rooted in his soul that he has given up any conscious attempt to stay fully connected himself. The joy of India which fills the spirit of the mother from Mumbai is not present in him. He and his friend are simply here. Despite this, they frequent Hyderabad Rocks and Mezbaan Hyderabad for authentic flavored goshts and biriyanis. If put in a room with the mother from Mumbai, this would be the one thing they could all agree on, the authenticity of Indian food in Dubai. While these men believe their culture cannot be replicated, the food they believe can be. The spices, the meats, the vegetables, all are available.
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The manager of Rangoli Restaurant in Bur Dubai disagrees. While the engineers from Hyderabad and the mother from Mumbai believe Indian food in Dubai is “95% authentic”, the manager of Rangoli says it is only 80%. The chef at Rangoli is from Rajasthan. The high number of regular customers testifies to his talents in the kitchen. Yet the manager sadly states the food is not the same. “He gives his best always” the manager says, “and our customers know that.” According to him, the differences are due mainly to the water and the milk. Two ingredients so different in Dubai compared to India that they unavoidably alter the taste of many dishes he believes. Despite this, Indians from all regions, including the mother from Mumbai, frequent Rangoli. They come for the pani puri and the other delicious chaats. They come too for the Gujarati buffet.
Despite his declaration of 80% authenticity this man’s yearning for India surpasses even that of the mother from Mumbai. Yet for him, this love is expressed through sadness rather than joy. While the mother has a well-paying job and a husband and children, the manager has almost nothing. His pockets are relatively empty and his family and friends are all back home. It is “lonely, very lonely. I miss everything.” To get by, to survive the emptiness so evident in his eyes and voice he and his fellow Indians have “created a new family.” He is quick to state that no one can replace one’s real family, but that this new family, a group of 40 make life 10% easier. They cheer each other up with jokes and stories, anything to “forget the loneliness”. For him, the food at Rangoli and other authentic restaurants are vital to surviving the separation from India. He, like the engineers, is here for work experience, to get a little farther ahead. And like the engineers, he describes a Dubai revolving around the dirham. He says that before Dubai, he never worried about money. It never occurred to him that money could be more important to someone than family and yet that is now what he sees everyday.
While this cast of characters, the mother the engineers the restaurant managers, hold varying opinions on the quality of living in Dubai, they all voice the same opinion on the quality of Indian food. It is here, and for the most part is authentic. Whether they be dining for connection, for escape or simply to fill their bellies, they choose to frequent the restaurants offering the flavors of the homes they left behind.
Each described an India full of welcome, friendliness, openness, spirit; and a Dubai, to them, lacking in it all. “You cannot share your heart here.” It is thus with longing for something of the familiar, something pure and passionate and full that they turn to their food. The samosas, the curries, the pavs, the barfis, the parwal. Washing it all down with a mix of tears and sugarcane juice before returning to the daily grind.
Clinging to Culture
The hard-working mother from Mumbai looks at her children and at times is saddened by their inability to fully relate to their Indian heritage. No matter the number of trips to India, no matter the number of traditional Diwali or Holi parties, or meals of chole or pani puri, this mother struggles to fully instill the understanding of India into her children. “They do not get it...they laugh at me.” Not a cold laugh, but a laugh tinged with the indifference of youth. For her, a sincere love of country and culture knows no bounds. She works to keep traditions alive and meals authentic in hopes that someday her children will have a deeper understanding of their heritage.
Yet she is but one expat in Dubai. And as with every country, especially one as large and diverse as India, she is but one voice on the importance of culture and the role food in plays retaining a connection to one’s roots. Two single men from Hyderabad working as engineers grabbing a quick bite at Hyderabad Rocks have a different view. A more complacent view. They are sick of India and Indians. “There is no foreign country left for us to go” without Indians. “We are everywhere”. “We do not have to try very hard” to stay connected to India. For them, Dubai is a means to an end; a place where they can make a little more money and gain work experience. To them, Dubai is a young nation with a transient population, so much so that there is no passing on of heritage to the next generation. Be that generation Indian, Arab or what have you. They see Dubai as a place committed to the dirham, where work is all anyone does, so focused are they all on building their bank accounts. Over a quick lunch of Dum Biriyani whose authentic flavorings explode throughout the mouth and across the tongue, they speak of the differences between Dubai and Hyderabad. Because to them, the differences far outweigh any similarities.
Escaping one's Culture
“It is not possible to replicate the culture.” They say. “Every place is dead compared to India.” Dead because no place is as bustling, as populated, as alive. The Indian children raised in Dubai cannot possibly grasp the real India they say. When these children go back they are shocked, “in pain” because the India they grew to know from stories is not the real India. Pointing to black and white photographs of the Charminar and the Assembly Building hanging on the restaurant wall, “this is the India they know”. It is, he believes, a false perspective. A belief that seems so deeply rooted in his soul that he has given up any conscious attempt to stay fully connected himself. The joy of India which fills the spirit of the mother from Mumbai is not present in him. He and his friend are simply here. Despite this, they frequent Hyderabad Rocks and Mezbaan Hyderabad for authentic flavored goshts and biriyanis. If put in a room with the mother from Mumbai, this would be the one thing they could all agree on, the authenticity of Indian food in Dubai. While these men believe their culture cannot be replicated, the food they believe can be. The spices, the meats, the vegetables, all are available.
Booking.com
Desperate to Return
The manager of Rangoli Restaurant in Bur Dubai disagrees. While the engineers from Hyderabad and the mother from Mumbai believe Indian food in Dubai is “95% authentic”, the manager of Rangoli says it is only 80%. The chef at Rangoli is from Rajasthan. The high number of regular customers testifies to his talents in the kitchen. Yet the manager sadly states the food is not the same. “He gives his best always” the manager says, “and our customers know that.” According to him, the differences are due mainly to the water and the milk. Two ingredients so different in Dubai compared to India that they unavoidably alter the taste of many dishes he believes. Despite this, Indians from all regions, including the mother from Mumbai, frequent Rangoli. They come for the pani puri and the other delicious chaats. They come too for the Gujarati buffet.
Despite his declaration of 80% authenticity this man’s yearning for India surpasses even that of the mother from Mumbai. Yet for him, this love is expressed through sadness rather than joy. While the mother has a well-paying job and a husband and children, the manager has almost nothing. His pockets are relatively empty and his family and friends are all back home. It is “lonely, very lonely. I miss everything.” To get by, to survive the emptiness so evident in his eyes and voice he and his fellow Indians have “created a new family.” He is quick to state that no one can replace one’s real family, but that this new family, a group of 40 make life 10% easier. They cheer each other up with jokes and stories, anything to “forget the loneliness”. For him, the food at Rangoli and other authentic restaurants are vital to surviving the separation from India. He, like the engineers, is here for work experience, to get a little farther ahead. And like the engineers, he describes a Dubai revolving around the dirham. He says that before Dubai, he never worried about money. It never occurred to him that money could be more important to someone than family and yet that is now what he sees everyday.
While this cast of characters, the mother the engineers the restaurant managers, hold varying opinions on the quality of living in Dubai, they all voice the same opinion on the quality of Indian food. It is here, and for the most part is authentic. Whether they be dining for connection, for escape or simply to fill their bellies, they choose to frequent the restaurants offering the flavors of the homes they left behind.
Each described an India full of welcome, friendliness, openness, spirit; and a Dubai, to them, lacking in it all. “You cannot share your heart here.” It is thus with longing for something of the familiar, something pure and passionate and full that they turn to their food. The samosas, the curries, the pavs, the barfis, the parwal. Washing it all down with a mix of tears and sugarcane juice before returning to the daily grind.
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