Faith of Flavour

FROM VARANASI TO AMRITSAR, A JOURNEY THROUGH CITIES WHERE FOOD BECOMES REFLECTION, RITUAL AND A DEEPER WAY OF UNDERSTANDING THE WORLD

- RANVEER BRAR

I HAVE OFTEN SAID THAT I travel for food. It sounds neat, understandable, and professional. But the truth is far more personal. I travel because somewhere between the first bite and the last sip, something inside me shifts. I return with recipes, yes, but more importantly, I return rearranged.

There are cities that feed your body, and then there are cities that feed your becoming. For me, those cities are Varanasi, Lucknow, Kolkata, Srinagar and Amritsar. They are not just destinations on a map. They are coordinates of my spirit.

It often begins in Varanasi. In this city, you do not simply eat, you receive. At dawn, when the ghats glow gold, and the Ganga carries both ash and hope, even a humble kachori feels sacred. The oil crackles like a chant. The chai steams like incense. Around you, life and death coexist without argument.

Food here tastes of impermanence. You stand by the river, watching flames rise from the cremation ghats, and then you bite into something hot, alive, immediate. It is impossible not to reflect. Varanasi does not allow you to remain untouched. It dissolves arrogance. It humbles you. The food feeds the soul because it reminds you that nothing is permanent. Not sorrow. Not success. Not even flavour. And when you truly understand impermanence, you begin to live and cook with deeper awareness.

From that surrender, I often find myself thinking of Lucknow. Lucknow shaped me long before I understood it was shaping me. This is a city where even disagreement is wrapped in courtesy, where food is not loud but persuasive. A galouti kebab does not shout. It melts. A biryani does not overwhelm. It unfolds.