☕ Dad’s Rainy Day Pakoras — Crunch, Chai & Childhood

☕ Dad’s Rainy Day Pakoras — Crunch, Chai & Childhood

The first drop of rain always brings back a sound I’ll never forget — the soft sizzle of pakoras hitting hot oil. That’s when I knew Dad had taken over the kitchen. He was never one for recipes or measurements, but come monsoon, he became a chef with a mission: make everyone forget the storm outside.

Our old Delhi house had a tin roof, and every drizzle turned it into music. While most families waited for the rain to stop, ours began celebrating it. The moment clouds gathered, Dad would roll up his sleeves, smile at Mum, and say, “Time for some pakoras and chai, Neha?”

That was my cue to fetch the big blue bowl — the one that had seen more monsoons than I could count.

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🌧️ The Memory That Stays

I can still see him standing by the stove, the air thick with the scent of besan, onions, and green chilies. The windows fogged up, the fan hummed lazily, and the aroma of frying pakoras filled every corner of the house. I’d sit on the counter, swinging my legs, waiting for the first batch — the “tester” as he called it.

It was never perfectly round. Sometimes too crispy, sometimes soft — but always perfectly ours.

“Cooking’s like the rain, Neha,” he’d laugh, handing me a hot pakora wrapped in tissue. “You can’t control it, you just enjoy it.”

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🍽️ Ingredients

• Besan (gram flour) – 1 cup
• Onion – 1 large, thinly sliced
• Green chilies – 2, finely chopped
• Fresh coriander – 2 tbsp, chopped
• Carom seeds (ajwain) – ½ tsp
• Red chili powder – ½ tsp
• Turmeric – ¼ tsp
• Salt – to taste
• Water – as needed (for thick batter)
• Oil – for deep frying

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🔥 Method

1. Mix besan, spices, salt, and water to form a thick, smooth batter.
2. Stir in the onions, chilies, and coriander.
3. Heat oil in a deep pan over medium flame.
4. Drop spoonfuls of batter into the oil and fry until golden brown and crisp.
5. Remove onto paper towels and serve hot — with green chutney or ketchup.

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💛 Naha Tales Note

Even now, when the first rain hits my window, I automatically reach for besan. The crunch of a hot pakora and the sip of steaming masala chai bring Dad’s laughter back to the kitchen — echoing between thunderclaps and tea cups.

The recipe is simple, but it carries a whole childhood inside it. Because sometimes, food isn’t just about taste — it’s about time travel.

So next time it rains, don’t just watch it. Taste it. Fry a few pakoras, pour yourself a cup of chai, and let the memories drizzle in.