How to tame the tangy sharpness of 'gongura'

In classes VI, VII, and VIII, I was a girl guide—part of the Bharat Scouts and Guides. We wore royal blue uniforms, neatly rolled scarves at our necks, and carried a belt with a rope, which we used to learn life-saving knots.

- NANDITA IYER

But beyond the practical skills, we also spent some of our Guide periods singing songs.

One song that my not-so-sharp memory still recalls is "Rail mein Chanana Chanana hoi re." (You can find several versions of this children's song on YouTube.) It was a playful tune about people from different regions travelling in a train compartment, each bringing a phrase or food characteristic of their culture. For example: "Rail mein baithe do Punjabi—rail me balle balle, balle balle hoi re!"

"Rail mein baithe do Madrasi—rail me idli sambar, idli sambar hoi re!"

I remember how, during one of these sing-alongs, my Telugu friend insisted that Andhra food's signature gongura pachadi deserved a spot in the lyrics. It was the first time I heard of gongura (roselle leaves), and though it would take me years to actually taste it, the memory of that song ensured that when I finally encountered it, it already carried the weight of cultural pride.

Gongura is deeply woven into Andhra Pradesh's culinary identity. While other regions like Odisha, Jharkhand, and Chhattisgarh also use it in their cooking, in Andhra, it is a symbol—much like mustard greens are to Punjab. The warm, humid climate makes it easy to grow, and its resilience means it thrives even in backyard gardens.