Is there an occasion where it would be inappropriate to serve biryani? I can’t think of one. For most families, and for many people from South Asia, the slow-cooked mix of rice, meat or vegetables, and spices, is the default dish for social gatherings, ideal for making in vast quantities. Formal or informal, happy or sad: whatever the event, biryani always hits the spot. We’d pair this feast with a fizzy glass of Coke and a cricket match or Bollywood classics blaring in the background.

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Biryani has been a fixture of family life for hundreds of years in the Indian subcontinent. It was invented during the 17th century, when India was part of the Mughal empire and ruled by a Muslim dynasty, although versions of the dish probably existed before. The story goes that Mumtaz Mahal, wife of the emperor Shah Jahan, met some hungry soldiers and instructed her chef to cook them a simple and nutritious meal. The Mughal cooks did her bidding, apparently adapting the recipe from pulao, a Persian rice dish.

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In recent years it has been dragged into the mire of Indian politics. Biryani has for centuries been enjoyed by Indians of all religions. According to Swiggy, a food-delivery app in India, biryani has been the most popular dish for five years running. In recent years, however, some Hindu nationalists have started to use “biryani-eater” as a term of abuse against Muslims, a minority in India, turning food into a political weapon.

The slur has its roots in the aftermath of the Islamist terror attacks in Mumbai in 2008, when the only surviving attacker, Mohammed Ajmal Kasab, was alleged to have rejected his prison rations and demanded mutton biryani instead. This claim turned out to be false – but it sparked a national debate about whether Islamist terrorists were being treated too softly by the authorities.

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Since then, biryani-eater has become an all-purpose smear for anyone who takes a dim view of the Hindu-nationalist government. In 2019 India’s ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) passed a controversial act offering amnesty to illegal immigrants from neighbouring countries so long as they weren’t Muslim. Demonstrations followed – and they branded the protesters “biryani-eaters”. When disgruntled farmers took to the streets last year to complain about agricultural reforms that might threaten their livelihoods, BJP claimed they were rogue agitators who had been bribed with biryani by Muslim extremists.

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Why would Hindu nationalists feel so threatened by a tasty rice dish? Perhaps because there’s no better metaphor for Indian multiculturalism than biryani. Thanks to conquering monarchs and roving pilgrims, biryani travelled to all corners of the subcontinent, evolving to suit the tastes of each region. It is a supremely versatile dish. It may have been developed in royal kitchens, but it used basic ingredients accessible to anyone. It is high-carb, high-protein and high-calorie, making it both filling and nutritious. Despite the slurs of Hindu nationalists, who present biryani as an affront to the vegetarianism they promote, there are many meatless versions available. The beauty of biryani lies in its adaptability.

 

One of the most famous iterations of the dish is the Hyderabadi biryani: extra spicy and garnished with fried onions and mint. The Kolkata biryani is milder. It is made with meat in a yogurt marinade, as well as potatoes and sometimes boiled eggs. Biryani from Thalassery, a coastal region, often uses seafood and local short-grain rice instead of meat and the standard basmati rice.

 

The beauty of biryani lies in its adaptability. Every household in the subcontinent has its own version and it’s fun to argue over whose is best, preferably over a steaming vat of yellow rice. That’s how it should be. For me, as for so many South Asians, biryani means togetherness. Perhaps it’s time to reclaim the term “biryani-eater”.