VIRSA: A culinary journey from Agra to Karachi

117 Pages·2020·13.093 MB·English

by  Shehar Bano Rizvi

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VIRSA - A CULINARY JOURNEY FROM AGRA TO KARACHI by Shehar Bano Rizvi
First published in Pakistan in 2020
www.virsacookbook.com
Written and Photographed by
Shehar Bano Rizvi
@ThePMPmom
Book Layout & Design at Markings by
Tuba Arshad
Edited at Markings by
Raisa Vayani
©All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic or
mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval system - without
written permission of Shehar Bano Rizvi
ISBN: 978-969-9748-16-5
[email protected]
www.markings.com.pk
The original notebook in which I wrote down all of Ammi's recipes, right before my wedding
My mother, Cheena
Contents
INTRODUCTION 8
My Parents - The Reason Behind Writing This Book 10
How I Started My Journey Into The Kitchen 14
Stumbling Upon My Roots In Agra 16
Growing Up In A Foodie Family 18
My Journey Of Reinventing Myself 20
A Note From My Husband, Mohsin 21
A Letter From Ammi 22
GUIDES 24
RAITAS & CHUTNEYS 32
SNACKS 58
LENTILS 76
VEGETARIAN DISHES 94
MEATS (MUTTON, BEEF, CHICKEN, FISH) 130
RICE 174
BREADS 188
DESSERTS 200
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 226
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 232
INTRODUCTION
I am a Karachiite, and was born and raised in the city
of lights. My family originally hails from Agra, India;
the city of the Taj Mahal. Both my parents’ families
migrated to Karachi after the partition in 1948. My
Nana’s (Syed Haider Raza Rizvi) great grandfather’s
(Mir Zamin Ali Rizvi) mausoleum still stands tall in
Shahganj, Agra. I was fortunate to get an opportu-
nity to visit his grave in 2014, and it was one of the
most surreal experiences of my life.
I was born and brought up in a middle-class family
Ammi and I
in Karachi. I am the youngest of three siblings. My
siblings, Muslim Bhai & Rubina, moved out of Kara-
chi in the early 2000s to pursue their education and
careers. As the youngest child and the only one
staying at home with my parents, I always thought
to myself, ‘I will marry someone in Karachi and
settle down close to my parents.’ Although I met
my husband Mohsin in Karachi, destiny had another
plan. As soon as we got engaged, he got a job offer
from Qatar and decided to relocate. Once I moved
out after my wedding, my parents immigrated to My 5th birthday celebration at my Nana’s (maternal grandfather) home
Canada and moved in with my Bhai.
With my siblings on a family holiday in Northern Pakistan
Mohsin and I have been living in Doha, Qatar since
2004, and have three beautiful children; Amna,
Hamza, and Hassan.
For all my readers, whose first language is not
Urdu, let me start with a glossary of the Urdu
words for relations such as brother, sister, mom,
dad, etc. I use Urdu words for all the close rela-
tions in my life and this book because, for some
reason, they sound sweeter in Urdu.
Abbo – Dad Bari Phuppo - Dad’s elder sister Dadi – Paternal grandmother Mami – Mom’s brother’s wife
Ammi – Mom Bhai – Brother Nana – Maternal grandfather Mamu – Mom’s brother
Baji – Sister Dada – Paternal grandfather Nani - Maternal grandmother Khala – Mom’s sister
At Frere Hall, Karachi
10 11
Introduction
My Parents
the reason behind writing this book
I am the proud daughter of Dr. Hasan Rizvi, an Ophthal- ponder over every little detail and everything you
mologist by profession and a philanthropist at heart. could have and should have done to make them
Abbo worked for several years at the Henderson Eye proud. This thought triggered the idea of writing
Hospital (Red Cross) in Mirpur Khas, setting up free eye this book to make Ammi proud.
camps in the rural areas of Sindh. He was driven by his
passion for Ophthalmology and travelled the world to My Ammi’s name is Shehnaz Rizvi, but everyone
learn and gain experience in his field. He came back to calls her Cheena. Cheena was a nickname given to
Karachi in 1975. her as a child because she looked like a cheen ki
gurya (china doll). Ammi is a woman who got mar-
He worked in different hospitals in Karachi, while run- ried, moved into a big family of nine siblings, and
ning his private practice in the evenings. Abbo often said took care of everyone. She was the first daughter-
that medicine should not be a commercialised business, in-law and played a pivotal role in supporting Abbo
and healthcare should be a fundamental human right. and his family.
He firmly believed this and implemented it in his private
practice. When he built our home, he constructed a clinic
on one side of the house. He would spend his evenings
treating patients, and since we lived near a low-income
colony, Abbo could not bring himself to charge a fee
from the poor and the needy when they knocked on his
door for treatment. Abbo once told us that when he was
unsure, he observed the patient’s footwear, which helped
him determine if the patient could afford the fees.
He battled cancer for three years and passed away
peacefully in September 2014 in Toronto. His last wish
With my parents a couple of months before my wedding, around the time I
was to donate his eyes to someone in need. Unfortu- was compiling the recipes in a notebook
nately, due to the widespread infection, his cornea was Ammi is a fantastic cook! She inherits her culinary
deemed ineligible for donation. He was still trying to skills from my Nani. She is also an extremely
help people even after his death; that’s the kind of man organised homemaker, who managed not only one
he was. All Abbo earned in his life was a lot of goodwill but three entire households, including her father-
and prayers. I am so proud to be his daughter, and I wish in-law’s, her father’s (when my Nani passed away),
he was here today to see this book. and her own. My parents didn’t have it easy when
it came to finances. Moreover, Ammi married a
Losing a parent is a life-changing event. It makes you humanitarian at heart, and that doesn’t come easy.
My parents at their wedding
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write short stories and paint in her younger days. Her Abbo passed away. His passing left us all completely
aesthetic sense is impeccable. Even though our home devastated. We lost our North Star. However, instead
was a typical middle-class home in Karachi, it was of us siblings being Ammi’s support, she emerged as
very tastefully decorated. Her artwork adorned our our rock. She was standing strong for us even after
walls, and her painted silk cushions added life to our losing a partner of 45 years!
sofas. Her paintings are still the featured wall art in
my home office today. If I have any artistic talent or A few months later, Ammi was diagnosed with breast
sensibility, it’s undoubtedly from her genes. cancer. Within the first year of Abbo’s passing away,
she had gone through surgery and radiation at the
After Abbo’s retirement, my parents moved to Canada. same hospital by the same doctor. The trips to the
Shortly after, Abbo was diagnosed with lung cancer. same cancer hospital continued even after Abbo’s
He underwent surgery and fully recovered. However, radiation trips were behind her. I found it hard to
this experience took them to Pakistan to sell or give accompany her, but Ammi went through it with a
away everything material they owned, including the steely resolve and beat cancer. As a mother myself
one home they built together. They had put their blood, now, I derive my strength from Ammi. Today and
sweat, and tears into making that home. I can’t even always, I aspire to be the wise, sensible, and loving
begin to imagine how it must have felt to sell it. The mother that she is, to my three children as well.
Ammi & Abbo with my kids fact was that they had a sudden consciousness about
mortality, and since all their children were outside I always wished Abbo could see what his children
Ammi knew it and managed our finances with
Pakistan now, they wanted to make it easy for them. have become, and what his children have done to
prudence and wisdom. She never let us feel that
They had made this decision because they did not carry on his legacy after his demise. He would have
we couldn’t have what we wanted. She taught us
want to leave any hassle for us. Abbo knew what was been so happy. However, I want Ammi to be happy
contentment with less, but the best. My parents
coming. The cancer came back, and two years later, today and forever, so I wrote this book.
never had enough to invest in material things. They
invested all they had in their children.
Ironically the public perception in the family
was that we were pretty well-to-do. All three
of us siblings went to the best possible private
institutions for our education. We travelled and
had periodic family holidays. We ate out every
weekend, we wore the best clothes, we enter-
tained and hosted big parties. Ammi managed it,
as always, in her usual level-headed, resourceful,
and sensible manner. There is a beautiful Urdu
word for it; saleeqamand. For example, she never
stopped us from buying new clothes, but we would
buy the cloth, and she would stitch it herself.
Ammi also has an artistic sensibility; she used to
With Ammi and my siblings -
Muslim Bhai and Rubina, a few
years after Abbo’s demise Our last family picture as a family of five, before Abbo passed away
14 15
Introduction
How I Started
My Journey
into the kitchen
Growing up in Karachi, we always had domestic help and not a silent one. “At least go into the kitchen and see
for household chores. However, there was one thing HOW she is cooking it. How will writing recipes help you
that Ammi never delegated; that was cooking. Even when you have never stepped into the kitchen,” he would
when we had the large family dinner parties at our say. But I kept writing and writing, hoping for the best.
home, Ammi would take charge. My sister Rubina,
who is a great cook herself now, would always help My culinary skills (or lack thereof) were pretty much a
Ammi in the kitchen. My only job was to set the din- known fact in the extended family. Everyone was worried
ner table. I rarely stepped into the kitchen because: about what Mohsin would eat, because I couldn’t even
a) I never had to. boil rice without turning it into rice pudding! Mohsin, on
b) I had zero interest in doing so. the other hand, had faith in my cooking skills. When they
say “love is blind,” it was certainly true in this case. Ammi
Then I got married, and the reality struck. To make tried to manage his expectations and gave him a disclaim-
matters more real, we moved to Doha just a week af- er about my cooking skills, to which he replied, “Aunty iss
ter our wedding. I transitioned from being the spoilt, kay haath dekh kay lagta hai kay yeh acha khana pakaye
youngest sibling, to being a responsible homemaker, gi!” (Aunty, I can tell by looking at her hands that she will
all within a week. I knew this was coming, and I had cook well!). He is so filmi. I recall wanting to hide some-
started preparing for it. A couple of months before where when he uttered those words in front of Ammi.
the wedding, I started working on a recipe book.
I would ask Ammi to dictate all her recipes while To everyone’s surprise, however, (especially Abbo’s and
I wrote them down, annoying her with a thousand mine), I cooked pretty okay from day one. I started invit-
questions. Our typical conversations were as follows: ing friends soon for dinner and got a lot of praise for my
cooking. To be honest, I didn’t trust Mohsin’s word when it
Ammi: Put a little bit of salt. came to my cooking. I just thought he was being kind to
Me: How much is a little bit? How many teaspoons? his newly-wed wife with all his praise.
How am I supposed to know what is a little bit?
Ammi: Hmmm... maybe about one teaspoon. The secret sauce to my successful launch in the world
Me: Heaped or levelled? of cooking for a beginner like me was the recipe book I
compiled, full of Ammi’s ancestral family recipes.
We had this same conversation for EVERY ingredient, Sixteen years later, I still cannot cook without that book
of EVERY recipe Ammi taught me. Ammi had no writ- and would be completely lost without it. So here I am,
ten recipes. It was all practice and experience and finally compiling and publishing Ammi’s NO-FAIL recipes
that’s the kind of cook she is. Abbo was an observer for beginners like me and the foodies world over.
Ammi and I
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Introduction
Stumbling Upon My Roots
in Agra
In 2014, my husband, Mohsin, was travelling to India for
work. There was no way I would miss an opportunity to
visit India, mainly for the love of Bollywood, Indian sarees,
and the beautiful hand embroidered chikankari kurtas.
After a long wait to get through all the formalities of
The entrance to my grandfather’s great grandfather’s tomb
paperwork, we finally landed in India for Mohsin’s work trip
and our family holiday.
We visited Mumbai and Delhi, and I posted a few pictures
of our trip on social media. One of my Mamu’s in Karachi
messaged me and said if I planned to visit Agra, I should
visit the mausoleum of my Nana’s great grandfather, Mir
Zamin Ali. So, I was determined that the Taj Mahal was not
the only mausoleum that I wanted to visit in Agra. With
Mohsin’s work schedule, we could only manage a 24-hour
trip to Agra. We obviously couldn’t leave India without
seeing the Taj Mahal, and if I was going to Agra, I had to
visit the place my family originated from. I was a girl on
a mission! I had no address and only knew his name; Mir
Zamin Ali Rizvi. Thanks to technology, we were able to
locate his mausoleum on Google Maps. It wasn’t as easy
as finding the Taj Mahal, but we found it. The cab driver
thought I had lost my mind. He couldn’t understand where I My grandfather’s great grandfather’s tomb
was taking him, but I kept insisting.
Turns out he was actually quite a close relative. He had vis-
Long story short, we found the place. What next? I didn’t ited Karachi with his family for my Bari Phuppo’s wedding.
know anyone there, but I had this longing in my heart to He knew my entire family very well. He invited us over to
learn more about my roots. I started talking to the gate- his house, and we had a long conversation. It was one of the
keeper there and asked him about Mir Zamin Ali and his most bizarre and surreal experiences of my life.
family. He looked at me, perplexed, and said, “I’ll call Rizvi
sahab.” After a short wait, I saw an older man walking The visit to Agra was the highlight of my trip. I have to
towards us. As he was getting closer, Mohsin whispered admit, that the feeling of such close proximity with my
in my ear, “He has to be your relative… he has the same roots even overshadowed my visit to the Taj Mahal. It was
family face!” a very special day.
Mohsin and I at the Taj Mahal
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Introduction
Growing up in a
Foodie Family
Food is undoubtedly an essential part of the culture in
Pakistan. From Karachi to Khyber, the conversations
change from nihari to chapli kebabs, but they still
revolve around food. I won’t be exaggerating if I say that
Ammi’s side of the family is a big-time foodie family.
Their lives revolve around food and not just food, really
really good food. We have been blessed with a series of
great chefs like my Nani, my Nani’s sister, my Khala, my
Mamis, and of course, Ammi. They have set the bar so
high and spoiled the family so much, that I find it hard to
cook for them and get their nod of approval.
Ammi’s side of the family, especially my Mamus, are
always discussing food. At breakfast, they discuss
lunch, and at lunch they debate about the dinner menu.
When they plan picnics, the food menu is discussed and
decided before the location and logistics.
Abbo was an exception. He had no interest in food. He
always said about Ammi’s family, “These guys live to eat,
whereas I just eat to live.” My Nani Amma (grandmother)
Wajjo Khala – my Nani’s younger sister, My Nani Amma’s dinner set that was passed down
My Nana and Nani Amma and the best cook in our family to Ammi, who eventually passed it down to me
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