A dal, by any other name: Your ready reckoner to the confounding world of North Indian lentils

Clear, open and honest communication, as we all know, is the single most important aspect of the happily married life. So earlier this week as I was leaving for a nearby public library, just as I was proceeding through the front door, I paused, turned around, stuck my head back in and screamed in no particular direction: “DO YOU WANT ME TO BUY ANYTHING ON MY WAY BACK?”

To which my wife replied: “WHAT?”

“DO YOU WANT ME TO BUY ANYTHING ON MY WAY BACK?”

“WHAT, YOU KNOW WE CAN’T AFFORD A MAYBACH.”

After screaming multi-lingual abuse at a cloud I went back inside the house, confronted my wife and asked: “Do you want me to buy anything on my way back?”

She said she couldn’t think of anything, but would let me know on WhatsApp if anything came up. I left home, caught a bus, and went to the Central Library in Bromley where I sat down to do some reading, writing, taking notes, planning of novel, imagining of book launch, imagining of Booker Prize ceremony etc. Usual author things. (Incidentally Bromley is in London, and so am I, but that has no impact on the rest of this ready reckoner.)

And then two or three hours later I got up to stretch my legs and get some coffee. Oho, I thought, I have a WhatsApp message.

If clear, open and honest communication is the most important aspect, then the second most important aspect of a happily married life is: That 95 percent of this communication is only for rhetorical value and not at all to be taken seriously. When I say “We should clean out the fridge this weekend” do I actually mean “We should clean out the fridge this weekend”? NO. Mad or what.

So did I actually want to buy anything on my Maybach? No, for the love of god.

But the missus had dutifully send me a list: Bananas, oranges, sambar powder, Haldiram’s Bhujia and… pray for me baby Jesus… dal.

Just dal. “Dal”. She did not explain which one. Which is a huge problem because I am from Kerala and she is from the Delhi end of the Punjab Cultural Complex.

Now when I was growing up in Kerala and my grandmother said, “Sidin, go and buy lentils”, I went to the shop and said, “Hello, can I have some lentils”, the guy said, “Take these lentils”, and I came back home with lentils.

Because by and large the people of Kerala have decided that we are not going to spend our valuable time and our considerable intellectual horse-power on choosing lentils. We have two or three types of dal. The type that is used for making parippu curry, the type that is used for making parippu vada, and the type that is used for making parippu payasam. And then there is kadala of puttu fame.

And even then I strongly suspect they are all basically the same and you can do whatever you want because look we don’t have time for this lentil nonsense, flight is leaving tomorrow morning.

Not so in the Punjab Cultural Complex. Oh no. The people there have taken to lentils with an alacrity not dissimilar to that with which amoebiasis takes to the intestine.

Immediately I called up the missus: “Hello which dal do you want?”

“Get a mix. We need all types.” “Yaar…” “OK fine Sidin. Useless. Get Toor, Chana, Moong Dhuli, Guli Guli, Chuli Fuli, Kahaan Khuli, Haan Khuli, Zulf Bata Dey.”

So I went to our trusty local desi shop that is run by an adorable Sri Lankan couple who spend the entire day being passive-aggressive to each other.

“Hello,” I said, “I need some lentils”.

She: “You can find all the lentils in the corner.” He: “If you need any actual help just ask me ok?”

And so I walked to the lentil corner. And was faced with what can only be called an AR Rahman portfolio of lentils: hundreds upon hundreds of essentially identically packages, all very slightly different from each other.

This is moong. But that is also moong. But this is dhuli. But wait, what is chilka? Why is there an entire section dedicated to Toor dals. WHAT IS GOING ON? WHY AM I DOING THIS? HOW CAN A SOCIETY FUNCTION LIKE THIS?

Obviously there is no mobile phone signal in the desi shop. Maybe because of the lentils. So I went outside and called the missus.

“Hey. What is the English for Toor Dhuli? Many bags are export quality and have no Hindi.” “I said Moong Dhuli. There is nothing called Toor Dhuli.” “Can you send a list of all your dals with English names?” “No, look I am bathing the daughter. Can you please just Google it yourself?”

Which is when I decided that I had enough of this nonsense. I immediately went to a nearby coffee shop and drafted a ready reckoner to the bewildering world of North Indian lentils. Ever since then I have kept a copy of this list close to my person at all times. I am now ready, at any moment, to do lentil shopping for the family.

Whether you are an NRI trying to desperately procure lentils overseas, or a Malayali living outside Kerala trying to navigate through a strange shop in a strange land, I hope this ready reckoner will eradicate friction during your shopping trip.

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Hindi: Chana Dal English: Bengal gram, split and skinned Details: Used for making a variety of basic dal dishes.

Hindi: Kala Chana English: Bengal gram, whole and gently titillated Details: Used for making a variety of dishes that are basic.

Hindi: Dalia English: Bengal gram, roasted and split and unfairly prosecuted in cheque bouncing case Details: Popularly used to make dishes for convalescing patients who have no functioning sense of taste.

Hindi: Arhar Dal (See Dal, Toor)

Hindi: Toor Dal English: Pigeon peas, split and roasted and skinned but continues to not divulge any information Details: Exactly the same as Chana Dal but re-branded in some markets for legal reasons.

Hindi: Moong Dal Dhuli English: Green gram, stabbed and cremated Details: A dal with more than one use, but most commonly in un-complex delicacies

Hindi: Moong Dal Chilka English: Green gram, go-getter with strong ASP server skills. Microsoft certified. Details: Also known as Fotrawali mag ni dal in Gujurati, Mugachi dal in Marathi, Kannamoochi YenaDal in Tamil.

Hindi: Masoor Dal English: Red split lentils Details: An unusual but firm-fingered lentil that gives massages.

Hindi: Urad Dal English: Black gram, whole Details: Versatile lentils used for a variety of dishes that are not complex.

Hindi: Urad Dal Dhuli English: Black gram, home-schooled in the humanities Details: Most famously used for making ‘dosa batter’: a type of dough used for making idlis.

Hindi: Urad Dal Chilka English: Black gram, also a lake Details: Little is known about the mysterious Urad Dal Chilka except its nickname in the Mumbai underworld: Ghunghru Lafda.

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I sincerely hope that this ready reckoner will make your next trip to the supermarket a far more productive experience.