At a railway platform in Indore, the whistle of a departing train is interrupted by the clang of a metal spatula against an iron griddle. The vendor, his shirt dusted with turmeric and soot, scoops a steamy mound of golden-yellow flattened rice onto a waiting leaf-plate. The poha, flecked with mustard seeds and garnished with coriander, is crowned with a few glistening pomegranate seeds—juxtaposing the tart with the sweet. He hands it over, still warm, and the recipient nods in gratitude before balancing it with a cup of cutting chai.
If you ask a local, they’ll tell you that this is not just breakfast. This is sustenance. It’s memory. It’s culture you can hold in your hand. What we call poha today is the product of an ancient food science, a result of necessity, geography, and invention. But the history of this dish, like the grains themselves, has been pressed and flattened over centuries, layered with spice, politics, and migration. To understand poha, you have to start with its main character: flattened rice.
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