Chhaava starring actor Vicky Kaushal, is a historical action film based on the life of the Maratha emperor Sambhaji. (File Photo)
New DelhiFeb 21, 2025 18:06 IST First published on: Feb 21, 2025 at 18:06 IST
If internet theorists are to be believed, centuries before he became the subject of a hit film, the second Maratha emperor Sambhaji is said to have inspired another creation, which became a blockbuster at a whole other level. Chhaava, a historical action film based on the life of the emperor and starring Vicky Kaushal in the lead role, is on the verge of joining the Rs 300 crore club. At present, it is both the highest-grossing Indian film of the year, as well as the highest-grossing Hindi film. And then there is sambar, that tangy, spicy vegetable and lentil stew, believed by many to have been created in the royal kitchens of Thanjavur in the 17th century — when the region was part of the vast Maratha empire — with the then-ruler, Shahuji naming the dish as an act of homage to his illustrious predecessor.
Historians in Tamil Nadu have rubbished this origin story, pointing to descriptions of stews or soups very much like the modern sambar in primary sources that pre-date the Maratha presence in the region by at least a couple of hundred years. But the Sambhaji-sambar theory endures. After all, everyone loves a good story and there’s something very charming about the thought of a young royal pining for a food that he’s grown up eating (the Maharashtrian dal known as amti) and the kitchens coming up with something that can placate his nostalgia, even if they have to substitute a key ingredient (using tamarind, instead of kokum). And thus was born — drum roll — sambar!
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Or was it? There is no actual evidence that backs this story. The theory about sambar’s Maratha origins seems to rest almost entirely on how much the name of the preparation sounds like the name of the Maratha emperor. And if that is the case, then what about the sambaaram, a spiced buttermilk that has long been a much-loved summer drink in Kerala? This beverage’s connection to the hot stew that is served with idlis, vadas and rice is about as distant as the connection between the sweet and sour amti — which, with rice, is a classic comfort food in many Maharashtrian households —and sol kadhi, a spiced Konkani cooler made with coconut milk and kokum.
And how about the Gujarati sambharo, a stir-fried vegetable dish — almost a warm salad — typically made of cabbage? This one, just to be clear, has nothing to do with the Parsi sambhar masala, a vibrant mix of powdered spices that is used to flavour such dishes as dhansak and sambharya bheeda.
What is really interesting about the whole historical-onomastic morass that is the origin of the sambar is that by today’s standards of “authenticity” — a tyrannical descriptor that is truly good for nothing except guaranteeing some SEO hits — almost none of the ancient Tamil recipes would fit the bill either. Most of them miss a key ingredient here and there: Toor dal, for example, shows up only in the 13th century, much after the earliest mention of a sambar-like tangy stews going back to the Sangam period (3rd century BC to 2nd century AD). And let’s not overlook the fact that two important ingredients in most modern sambar recipes, chillies and tomatoes, only arrived on Indian shores with the Portuguese, from the 16th to the 17th centuries.
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Food is and always has been a battleground where history clashes with identity and community pride. Many beloved dishes, whether it’s hummus , over whose “ownership” Lebanon famously took Israel to court in 2008, or pho, over which both China and Vietnam stake a claim, have disputed origins. If there is anything remarkable about sambar, it is the breadth of history that is contained within one hot, aromatic bowl. With tomatoes and chillies that travelled all the way from South America to India via the Portuguese, asafoetida that came from Central Asia and other ingredients from near and far, sambar offers a quick snapshot of centuries of exchange and trade. As food histories go, it doesn’t get more authoritative — or “authentic” — than this.
pooja.pillai@expressindia.com
