A culinary education across India
The table is already laid for lunch. Alongside deem begun, an aubergine-and-egg dish from his grandmother, there’s a traditional Bengali potato dish with poppy seeds (Aloo Posto) and, of course, rice. Beaming, Akorshi Sengupta asks if I’d like to eat with my hands, as is customary in India. The Open Science in Education specialist at the University Library explains how to mix the rice with aubergine and dal, place it on the upper part of your fingers, then gently push it into your mouth with your thumb. It’s delicious.
“I was born and raised in Guwahati, in northeast India. There, we only use the top half of our fingers,” he says. “But in Chennai, where I went to high school, people use their whole hand. That was quite a shock.”
To Akorshi Sengupta’s parents, education mattered greatly. His father would have liked to become a doctor, but was prevented by family circumstances. As an only child, Sengupta was to be given every opportunity, even if it meant moving more than 3,000 kilometres away at the age of just 13. In Chennai, in southeast India, education was better and more affordable.
“The south of India is very orthodox. I went to a co-ed school, but as a boy you were expected not to talk to girls. It was looked down upon. That was a culture shock for me. I did make friends with girls, but you were constantly monitored. I was punished for having a girlfriend. At the time I adapted, but only later did I realise the impact of that way of thinking.”
Nostalgia
Sengupta was raised more spiritually than religiously. “My parents were originally Hindu, but not practising idol worship. They meditated, and my father read texts from many different religions. That was his way of figuring things out. I grew up with their daily meditation rituals.
“My grandmother, who lived with us, was a devout Hindu. She would get up before sunrise, around 4.30 a.m. She’d have a cup of tea, meditate, perform a puja at her small altar with incense and offerings, and then start cooking. By the time I got up, at around seven, the food for the entire day was already prepared. I’d have breakfast—rice, fried vegetables and dal.”
He has warm memories of learning to cook by observing his grandmother and mother in the kitchen. “Sundays were special. Sometimes my grandmother would make my favourite dish for lunch: mutton. Just for the two of us, because my parents are vegetarian. It has a very rich aroma that reaches the street. The mix of garam masala and turmeric with the fat from the meat is such an inviting smell that you immediately want to eat it. For me it’s also a nostalgic smell. If I smell it on the street in India, I immediately feel at home.”
Food is central to life in India. “People just drop by, and no one leaves the house without eating something. That’s how I grew up. For example, if there was work going on near our house, my mother would cook for the labourers.”
The cuisine of the south
Instead of returning home after high school in Chennai, Sengupta went to study psychology in Delhi—still some 2,000 kilometres from his parents. “That’s where the good universities were.” He lived with family friends he’d known since childhood. “They’re like second parents to me; I call them uncle and aunty. My uncle loved cooking. Unfortunately he passed away in 2016. He introduced me to a different type of Indian food, so not the Bengali cuisine from the east, where my parents and grandmother are from, but from Bangalore in the south. That’s where he came from. He trained as a Bharatnatyam dancer [Indian classical dance] but got injured before he could make a career out of it, so he became a cameraman for the national television network. From him, I learnt to cook southern dishes like delicious dosa [thin pancakes made from rice and lentils], idli [a savoury steamed cake made from fermented rice] and urad dal [black lentils]. People in the south eat a lot of fermented food. I had a wonderful time there.”
Crossing borders
After Delhi, his educational journey was not yet over. His father wanted him to gain international experience. Sengupta’s deepest wish was to one day work for the United Nations, so he searched online for a UN university. That led him to the Master in Public Policy and Human Development at UNU-MERIT in Maastricht— a place he had never heard of before.
In 2018, he set foot in Europe for the first time, landing in Amsterdam. “The first thing I noticed was the silence: it’s never that quiet in India. It was a new start for me in many ways. The study programme was transforming; I had to unlearn things I had learnt for 25 years. Critical questioning, which Problem-Based Learning encourages, was completely new to me. In India, it’s not cultural practice to critically question your teacher; here, lecturers expect it.”
He has also grown fond of Dutch food culture. “Eating at 6 p.m. is healthier than eating late, as we do in India. My diet has changed too. I eat fewer carbohydrates, so less rice and smaller portions. I quite like potatoes, vegetables and meat. But sandwiches for lunch? Ugh. So dry. I can’t get used to that.” He recalls his excitement at seeing mangoes in the supermarket. “In India, we eat mango every day in summers, prepared in all sorts of ways. I took one bite and was so disappointed—the mango was chewy. In India, it melts on your tongue.”
Coming home
Sengupta is not thinking of returning, at least not yet. “I love my work here. But eventually I will go back, in 10 or 20 years. I know my parents depend on me. My work as an Open Science specialist is about making education accessible, which is something I could really make a difference with in India.”
One day, he hopes to combine both Indian and Dutch values in his own family. “I miss the togetherness of life in India. We lived in a typical Assam-style house, made of bamboo and mud with open spaces. I didn’t have my own room. Until well into my 20s, I slept in the same room as my parents; that’s completely normal there. The nice thing about it is we grow up as someone who is mindful of other’s need in our decisions which is not always the case here. At the same time, I’ve grown attached to the privacy and freedom you have here, as well as that Dutch directness. So for me, it’ll be a mix.”
Text Annelotte Huiskes
Photography Sem Shayne
