On food, tradition, and creativity in the kitchen

I’ve been witnessing your love for food and cooking for ten years now. Tell me—where did it all begin?

I think it started really early. As a kid, I loved making tea for everyone before they woke up. That’s when I first felt a connection with the kitchen. Later I started experimenting—trying to cook rice properly, which I still think is one of the hardest things to do! If the rice isn’t good, no matter what you make with it, the meal feels off. So I kept practicing.

How old were you when you started?

When I was making tea, I was maybe in second or third standard. But using fire to actually cook—I was in tenth standard when I started making full meals like rice and curry.

Did anyone teach you? Were there people in your family you watched?

Definitely my mom. I used to love sitting by her while she cooked. She wouldn’t always let me help with knives and things, but I’d sit nearby and watch her—how she handled the vegetables, the spices. I still remember some dishes of hers that I don’t think I can ever cook the same way.

And when you moved away from home—how did that change your relationship to food? How did your cooking evolve once you left?

A lot, actually. In boarding school, I discovered so many dishes I’d never seen before. I grew up eating local Ladakhi food, so things like butter chicken or chicken curry were totally new to me. I remember sneaking into the hostel kitchen when the others were out playing. I’d “borrow” a papad or ask the cooks what spices they were using. Later, when I moved to Chandigarh and got a phone, I started watching YouTube videos. I learned so much from there—trying out recipes and adding my own twists. That’s when cooking became something really personal.

Do you have any food memories that really stayed with you?

Rajma Chawal (beans with rice). Always. At boarding school, every Sunday or Wednesday, we had rajma. I’d be excited all day just waiting for lunch—rajma, a little pickle, maybe some onion. Even now, I could eat it three times a day.

Now you work in a vegan restaurant even though you’re not vegan yourself—how has that changed your relationship to food?

I never planned to be a chef, but my love for food brought me here. Working in a vegan kitchen has been a totally new experience. I used to think of myself more as a non-veg specialist. But cooking vegan food pushed me to be more creative. And I’ve learned so much. A lot of people love the food I make, especially the way I balance spices. Indian food can be very heavy on chili, but I try to keep it mild so people can taste everything—not just heat.

What excites you most about cooking vegan food?

It’s actually really exciting. It challenges me to experiment with new ingredients and flavors. I enjoy making plant-based versions of traditional dishes and learning new techniques to get them just right. It’s like solving a puzzle—and it pushes me to grow as a cook.

You’have been cooking at the thali events for our yoga community in Bandha Works, where many of us are quite tuned into what we eat. Do you feel that when you cook? Yes, definitely. I think food—not only for people who do yoga— needs to feel good in the body, not just taste good. That’s why I’m careful with spice, oil, and even how I prepare things. It’s not only about filling the stomach. It should support people’s energy or in this case, yoga practice. A meal can bring comfort, stir memories, even help someone feel more grounded or connected. It promotes mindfulness—for the cook and for the person eating. Plus cooking is a way of caring. I put my love into the food I make, I hope it also transfers :)

How has Ladakhi food shaped the way you cook?

Ladakhi cuisine is a fascinating mix of Tibetan, Indian, and Central Asian influences. It’s shaped by the climate and the culture. For me, dishes like thukpa (noodle soup) with churpe (dried cheese) and momo—our Himalayan dumplings—are essential. If I had to introduce someone to Ladakh through food, I’d start there.

And Hungarian food—has that changed you?

Yes, it’s been interesting. I like kolbász, of course, but there are some Hungarian dishes that remind me of home—like a vegan ‘bácskai rizses hús’, which is a bit smoky and really comforting. It’s kind of like khichdi but with a different touch. It’s amazing to see how two different cultures can create something so similar.

Hungarian food is usually quite meat-heavy. How do you “veganize” those traditions?

There are a lot of great vegan substitutes now—soy, textured proteins, even vegan “meats” that are very close to the original. Sometimes they taste better! But I think instead of always trying to imitate meat, it’s sometimes better to focus on ingredients that are naturally vegan and celebrate them. In Ladakhi culture, eating meat is a matter of survival — at 4000 meters and in -30°C winters, not many vegetables can grow, but there are some Ladakhi dishes that are already vegan—like simple soups or skyu—and they don’t need anything added or changed.

What’s your dream for the future? Would you like to continue cooking professionally?

Yes. My dream is to open a small, farm-to-table restaurant in Ladakh. Nothing fancy—just something manageable, personal, a place where I can cook food from the heart. I’d like to make food that respects the traditions, like real Ladakhi meals the way they’ve been cooked for centuries— but also make it accessible for people from other cultures. Food that reflects all the places I’ve lived and cooked in. I don’t want to change the soul of the food. Just share it. I also love dumplings. So maybe a little momo place too—nothing fancy, small selection but great flavours, made with heart.

Last question—if you had to eat only one dish for the rest of your life?

Always Rajma Chawal. With a little bit of pickle. Always.