No one I know seems to be familiar with the writings of Colin Wilson. I stumbled upon him quite by accident while browsing in a college library – one of those afternoons when you’re not looking for anything in particular, just drifting along the shelves. A slim paperback caught my eye: The Outsider. I started reading, and within a few pages, I was hooked.

Wilson was young when he wrote it – barely in his twenties -but he wrote as if he’d already lived several intense lives. He was asking the kind of questions that had been buzzing faintly in my own head but that few people around me seemed to take seriously: Why do some people feel life so deeply, almost painfully, while others drift through it half-asleep? Why do we sometimes experience sudden flashes of meaning, only to lose them again in the dullness of routine?

What fascinated me was the way he connected philosophy, literature, and lived experience. He wrote about Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, Van Gogh, T.E. Lawrence – all these “outsiders” who couldn’t quite fit into the world because they saw and felt too much. But Wilson wasn’t just analysing them; he was trying to understand how we could all wake up to that same intensity of life – what he later called “Faculty X”, a kind of higher consciousness or expanded awareness.

Over the years I found that Wilson had written about almost everything -existentialism, mysticism, crime, even the occult – all with the same fierce curiosity and restless energy. Reading him felt like being in conversation with someone who refused to accept the limits of ordinary thought.

I later discovered that he wasn’t alone in this quest. Aldous Huxley had written about similar awakenings in The Doors of Perception. Hermann Hesse, in Steppenwolf and Siddhartha, explored the inner journeys of seekers and misfits. Alan Watts brought in the wisdom of the East, showing that enlightenment could be found not in grand gestures but in everyday awareness…

“Religion, mysticism and magic all spring from the same basic ‘feeling’ about the universe: a sudden feeling of meaning, which human beings sometimes ‘pick up’ accidentally, as your radio might pick up some unknown station. Poets feel that we are cut off from meaning by a thick, lead wall, and that sometimes for no reason we can understand the wall seems to vanish and we are suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of the infinite interestingness of things.” – Colin Wilson, The Occult

The true genius of traditional Indian medicine and cuisine lies not just in recognizing the medicinal properties of wild plants, but in the meticulous preparation methods that unlock their healing potential while neutralizing potential toxins.

When you forage, the preparation is half the remedy. Here is a look at the traditional ways these wild vegetables are transformed, moving them from the forest floor to the traditional pharmacy and kitchen, with regional variations highlighted for a broader understanding of India’s diverse culinary heritage:

1. Decoction (Kwath) & Infusion: The Healing Drink
   For internal medicinal use, boiling or steeping the plant material is the most common method. This process, known as a decoction (kwath) or infusion (tea), extracts the water-soluble therapeutic compounds. Regional adaptations often incorporate local spices or pairings to enhance flavors and efficacy.
   • Clerodendrum (Bharangi): The roots and leaves are traditionally used to make a decoction (boiling them in water) to treat respiratory ailments like asthma and chronic cough, helping to clear excess mucus. In Ayurvedic practices from North India (e.g., Uttar Pradesh), it’s often combined with ginger for added warmth, resulting in a mildly bitter and spicy brew; while in tribal regions of Odisha and Chhattisgarh, it’s infused with honey for soothing throat infections, yielding a subtly sweet and earthy flavor. 30 31
   • Green Amaranth (Chaulai): For treating indigestion or for its cooling effect, the leaves are often used to make a simple tea or boiled in water, sometimes alongside the seeds. In Himalayan regions like Uttarakhand, it’s infused with local herbs for a nutrient-rich winter tonic with a mild, grassy taste; whereas in Bengal, a lighter infusion pairs with jaggery for digestive relief, offering a subtly sweet and earthy profile. 10 17
   • Karonda (Wild): The leaves are boiled into a decoction to aid digestion and improve appetite. In Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh, this is enhanced with ajwain (carom seeds) for carminative effects, creating a pungent, aromatic infusion; while in South Indian tribal communities (e.g., Andhra Pradesh), it’s steeped with turmeric for anti-inflammatory benefits, imparting a warm, slightly bitter and earthy flavor. 50 57
2. Paste (Lepa): The External Healer
   The raw or dried plant parts are crushed, ground, or mixed with a medium (like water, honey, or ghee) to create a paste for external application. Across regions, carriers like coconut oil in the South or mustard oil in the North add localized therapeutic twists.
   • Green Amaranth (Chaulai): A leaf paste is applied externally to minor wounds, insect bites, or skin inflammations for its anti-inflammatory and cooling properties. In Goa, it’s mixed with coconut for a soothing coastal remedy with a fresh, nutty aroma; while in Maharashtra, turmeric is added for enhanced antimicrobial effects, lending a warm, spicy scent. 11 18
   • Clerodendrum (Bharangi): The leaf paste is applied topically to relieve joint pain and swelling. A root paste can also be applied externally to manage headaches or promote wound healing. In Kerala, it’s blended with neem for skin issues, resulting in a bitter, herbal paste; contrasting with North Indian versions using sesame oil for rheumatism, which have a nutty, warming profile. 34 35
   • Wood Sorrel (Changeri): The leaf paste is used on the skin to treat acne, boils, and minor skin infections. In Andhra Pradesh, it’s combined with yogurt for a cooling face pack with a tangy, creamy texture; while in Tamil Nadu, aloe vera enhances its hydrating properties for sunburn relief, offering a fresh, soothing feel. 73 76
3. Neutralizing Toxins: The Art of Safe Cooking
   Certain wild edibles contain natural compounds, like oxalates in Colocasia leaves, that can cause severe irritation or itching if consumed improperly. Traditional methods are specifically designed to neutralize these irritants, with regional ingredients reflecting local biodiversity and tastes: Plant Preparation Method for Safety/Consumption Key Traditional Ingredients Used Regional Variations Colocasia Leaves (Arbi ke Patte / Alu chi Paan) Steaming and Boiling are critical. The leaves are often layered with a spiced chickpea flour (besan) paste, rolled, and steamed (Aluwadi/Patra in Maharashtra/Gujarat) or boiled in a curry. Sour Agents (Tamarind/Kokum): These acidic ingredients are universally added to Colocasia dishes to neutralize the sharp, irritating calcium oxalate crystals, making the dish safe and palatable. In Odisha, it’s prepared as Saru Patra Tarkari with mustard seeds, offering a tangy, spicy, and herbaceous flavor with subtle sweetness; in Tamil Nadu, as Sodhi with coconut milk, yielding a mild, creamy, and subtly sweet coconut-infused taste; in Karnataka, as Kesavu curry with regional spices, featuring a mildly earthy, nutty, and tangy-spicy profile; and in Konkani cuisine (Goa/Karnataka), as Alvati with coconut and red chilies, delivering a spicy, tangy, creamy, and silky smooth flavor.

0 1 4 10 11 5 9 30 33 | | Shevla (Wild Banana Flower) (Kelyache Phool) | Boiling and Stir-frying. The flower stalk is cleaned, chopped, and usually boiled once or twice, with the water discarded, to remove any remaining irritants or bitterness. | Tamarind/Sour Fruit: Similar to Colocasia, a souring agent is often used during cooking to ensure safety and flavor. | In Bengal, it’s Mochar Ghonto with potatoes and coconut, providing a delicately spiced, subtly sweet, and coconut-flavored dish with hints of ginger and garam masala; in Tamil Nadu, Vazhaipoo Poriyal with lentils, offering a mild, nutty, and slightly tangy taste with aromatic spices; in Kerala, as Thoran with grated coconut, yielding a fresh, crunchy, and mildly spiced coconut-infused flavor; in Assam, as Koldil with meat or veggies, featuring an earthy, warm, and aromatic profile with whole spices; and in Hyderabad, as a chutney or sukka, delivering a tangy, spicy, and earthy taste with sour notes. 15 17 18 20 23 24 35 27 40 43 | | Pigweed (Bathua) | Cooked as Saag or combined with lentils/flour. It is rarely eaten raw and is safely consumed after being boiled or sautéed into a savory vegetable dish (like Bathua Raita or Saag). | Spices, Ghee, and Lentils: The high iron content is often paired with Vitamin C (like lemon juice) for better absorption. | Predominantly North Indian (e.g., Punjab’s bathu saag with a slightly salty, earthy, and astringent taste; Uttar Pradesh’s parantha with a hearty, spiced, and nutty flavor); in Odisha, as Bathua Saag-Dal curry with a savory, mildly spiced, and comforting lentil-infused profile; and in Rajasthan, mixed into winter soups or rotis for a nutty, tangy twist with subtle saltiness. 65 68 45 46 50 55 57 |

4. Culinary Medley: Integrating with Daily Diet
   For many greens, the medicinal benefits are integrated into the daily diet by cooking them as a sabzi (dry vegetable dish) or mixing them with lentils (dal). Regional cuisines adapt these with local staples, from rice in the South to rotis in the North.
   • Green Amaranth (Chaulai): Often cooked into a simple saag (curried greens) with garlic, onion, and spices, or cooked with lentils (dal) to boost the meal’s nutritional value (iron). In Tamil Nadu, it’s mulaikeerai poriyal with coconut, offering a lightly seasoned, gently cooked taste that’s fresh and mildly bitter if overcooked; in Odisha, as aloo-chaulia tikkis, yielding a spicy, crisp, and flavorful profile with potato; and in Goa, as a mild-spiced sabzi or foogath, providing a succulent, moist, and coconut-flavored dish with subtle spices. 70 73 75 60 62
   • Purslane (Kulfa): Eaten as a salad (raw in small amounts) or stir-fried quickly with minimal spices to preserve its high content of omega-3 fatty acids and antioxidants. In Hyderabad, it’s Kulfa Gosht or dal, featuring a succulent, spicy, and tangy flavor with earthy undertones; in Maharashtra, as Chival Bhaji with bhakri, offering a crunchy, juicy, slightly salty, and sour taste; and in Kashmir/North, as a light saag or raita, providing a tangy, earthy, and mildly tart profile. 80 84 85 86 105 107
   • Curry Leaves (Kadi Patta): Beyond tempering, they are often chewed raw or consumed in a decoction to specifically treat dysentery and support blood sugar control. In South India (Kerala/Tamil Nadu), they’re key in rasam or sambar, imparting a tangy, mildly sweet, and aromatic flavor with peppery notes; in West Bengal/Assam, used in fish curries for a warm, spiced, and earthy taste with mustard or coconut base; and in North Indian dals for subtle aroma, adding a fragrant, nutty, and mildly bitter enhancement to the lentil’s earthy profile. 90 91 93 95 97 100 102

This deep-rooted understanding of preparation is the foundation of traditional Indian wellness, ensuring that the bounty of the wild is consumed safely and effectively across the nation’s varied landscapes.

Indian cuisine is a vibrant tapestry of flavors, where spices are not just seasonings but the soul of every dish. Regional variations stem from local ingredients, climate, cultural influences, and historical trade routes, leading to unique spice pairings that balance heat, aroma, sweetness, sourness, and umami. These pairings often follow Ayurvedic principles of harmony, where spices are chosen for their medicinal properties as well as taste – warming spices in cooler northern regions, cooling or tangy ones in the humid south. Below, we explore key regional spice pairings, drawing from traditional blends and examples. While generalizations exist, household variations add personal flair.

North Indian Spice Pairings

North Indian cuisine, influenced by Mughal and Persian traditions, emphasizes rich, creamy gravies with warming, aromatic spices that create depth and comfort, especially in colder climates. Common pairings include:

• Coriander + Cumin + Turmeric: A foundational trio for earthy base flavors; often bloomed in ghee or oil, then layered with dairy like yogurt or cream to mellow the intensity.
• Garam Masala Blend (Cinnamon + Cloves + Cardamom + Black Pepper): Added toward the end of cooking for warmth and aroma; pairs with onion-tomato bases for balanced heat.
• Kashmiri Chili + Saffron: Provides mild spice and vibrant color; saffron adds floral notes, often infused in milk or water. Example dishes: Butter chicken (garam masala with cream for richness) 3 6 ; Rogan josh (Kashmiri chili with yogurt for tangy depth) 6 .

South Indian Spice Pairings

South Indian flavors are bold, tangy, and vegetarian-leaning, with coastal influences leading to fresh, tempered spices that release aromas through quick frying (tadka). Heat comes from chilies, balanced by coconut or tamarind for cooling effects.

• Mustard Seeds + Curry Leaves + Fenugreek: Tempered in oil for nutty, bitter pops; pairs with asafoetida (hing) to mimic onion-garlic in Jain or sattvic dishes.
• Sambar Powder (Coriander Seeds + Cumin + Red Chilies + Mustard): Ground blend for earthy heat; often with tamarind for sourness and toor dal for creaminess.
• Coconut + Black Pepper: Adds sweetness and mild spice; black pepper provides sharpness without overwhelming heat. Example dishes: Sambar (sambar powder with vegetables and tamarind for tangy stew) 3 6 ; Rasam (black pepper with cumin and curry leaves for peppery broth) 7 .

East Indian Spice Pairings

Eastern cuisine, particularly Bengali and Odia, focuses on subtle, mustard-infused flavors with fish and sweets, using minimal oil for lighter profiles. Spices are often whole or freshly ground for freshness.

• Panch Phoron (Cumin + Mustard + Fenugreek + Fennel + Nigella): Whole seeds tempered together for aromatic, slightly bitter bursts; pairs with mustard oil for pungency.
• Turmeric + Red Chili + Ginger: Basic paste for heat and color; ginger adds freshness, often balanced with sugar or jaggery in sweets-savory dishes.
• Fennel + Nigella: Adds licorice-like sweetness to temper bitterness; commonly in pickles or vegetable stir-fries. Example dishes: Shorshe Ilish (mustard paste with panch phoron for spicy fish curry) 3 ; Cholar Dal (fennel and coconut with lentils for sweet-earthy flavor) 5 .

West Indian Spice Pairings

Western regions like Gujarat and Maharashtra blend sweet, sour, and spicy elements, influenced by vegetarian Jain and Parsi traditions. Spices are vibrant, often with jaggery or tamarind for balance.

• Coriander + Cumin + Mustard Seeds + Turmeric: Ground for everyday masalas; pairs with kokum or tamarind for sour tang and jaggery for subtle sweetness.
• Godha Masala (Cinnamon + Cloves + Sesame + Coconut): Regional blend for nutty depth; used in stuffed vegetables or rice.
• Asafoetida + Red Chili: Replaces garlic-onion in fasting dishes; provides umami and heat. Example dishes: Undhiyu (mixed vegetables with coriander-cumin and jaggery for sweet-sour harmony) 3 ; Vada Pav (chili with coriander for spicy chutney pairing) 7 .

Northeast Indian Spice Pairings

Though less detailed in sources, Northeast cuisine is fermentation-heavy and subtle, with influences from Bhutan and Myanmar. Spices are minimal, focusing on fresh herbs.

• Bhut Jolokia (Ghost Chili) + Ginger + Garlic: Intense heat paired with fresh roots for bold, simple flavors in meats.
• Bamboo Shoot + Fermented Soy + Cumin: Adds sour-umami; cumin provides earthiness in tribal dishes. Example: Pork with bamboo shoot (cumin-ginger for smoky heat) 5 .

General Guidelines for Spice Pairings

Across regions, rules include:

• Blooming/Tempering: Heat whole spices first to release oils (e.g., cumin + mustard in tadka) 7 .
• Layering: Start with base (coriander + cumin), add heat (chili), finish with aroma (garam masala) 6 .
• Balance: Pair opposites—sweet (cardamom) with bitter (fenugreek), hot (chili) with cooling (coconut). Experiment based on ingredients: Meats with warming spices, veggies with tangy ones. For authenticity, toast and grind fresh for potency.

In India, traditions are everywhere – in the lighting of a diya at dusk, in the tying of a rakhi, in the gathering of families for festivals. They weave through daily life, often so quietly that we forget how much they shape us. Yet the question lingers: do these traditions still carry the weight of meaningful bonding, or have they thinned into little more than low-cost symbols?

Our philosophical inheritance offers both reverence and caution. The Rig Veda saw ritual as a way of maintaining ṛta, the cosmic order. Tradition was not ornament but alignment – a bridge between human life and universal rhythm. The Upanishads, however, warned against mistaking ritual for its essence. They reminded seekers that it is not the act itself, but the awareness behind it, that opens the way to truth.

This tension between form and meaning recurs throughout Indian thought. Śankaracharya accepted ritual as a necessary preparation but insisted that liberation lay in self-knowledge. Kabir mocked the emptiness of mechanical practice, preferring the grinding stone that feeds the world to a stone idol worshipped without understanding. Tagore saw festivals as “a rhythmic reawakening of the human spirit,” a phrase that captures how traditions, when lived consciously, renew rather than repeat. And Gandhi, in his own way, echoed this when he spoke of tradition not as blind inheritance but as the living pursuit of truth.

If the thinkers remind us of the depth that traditions can hold, daily life reminds us of their fragility. In modern India, a WhatsApp message often replaces a personal visit; a selfie in ethnic attire may count as “celebrating” a festival; a hurried puja fits into a busy workday. The forms survive, but the bonds may not. This is what the Bhagavad Gita cautions against when it speaks of action done without awareness: the act continues, but its spirit is lost.

For Indians abroad, however, traditions often function differently. Within the diaspora, they are less about continuity of practice and more about the preservation of identity. In multicultural societies, traditions become markers of difference – visible signals of belonging to an imagined homeland. The Diwali mela in London or the Ganesh festival in New Jersey is not only a religious event but also an act of cultural assertion: a way of saying “we are here, and this is who we are.”

This dynamic also explains why NRIs sometimes cling more fiercely to traditions than families in India itself. For them, traditions serve as anchors in unfamiliar cultural landscapes, reinforcing ties to language, memory, and heritage. But this investment often collides with the generational gap. The first-generation immigrant may view rituals as vital acts of cultural survival, while the second generation, shaped by the social norms of their host country, may see them as optional or even burdensome. What the parent considers heritage, the child may interpret as nostalgia.

Scholars of diaspora studies describe this as the “selective preservation” of culture – where certain rituals and festivals are amplified because they provide visible, easily shared markers of identity, while more nuanced aspects of tradition fade away. Thus, festivals become more public, grander than they might be in India, while everyday practices may quietly erode. This creates a paradox: traditions gain visibility but lose intimacy.

And yet, even in these reconfigured forms, traditions continue to matter. They provide diaspora communities with cohesion, a sense of belonging in a foreign land. For children of immigrants, even if the rituals feel distant, they still serve as cultural reference points -threads that can be picked up later in life.

The most striking comparison lies in how traditions adapt differently in India and abroad. In India, where traditions surround us in abundance, familiarity often breeds casualness – they risk becoming hurried, low-cost gestures. In the diaspora, where traditions are scarce, they are amplified for visibility, sometimes at the cost of depth. Abundance makes them ordinary; scarcity makes them ornamental.

Traditions are only as meaningful as the consciousness we bring to them. Without that, they are what the Upanishads warned against centuries ago – wheels that turn, but carry no cart.

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There are two kinds of people in this world: those who want the spotlight, and those who are happy standing just close enough to steal some of its glow. The first are the “luminaries,” convinced the universe has been waiting breathlessly for their performance. The second are the “reflectors,” orbiting nearby like moons, thrilled to bask in borrowed wattage.

For both, life is a never-ending red carpet. They measure success in Instagram stories, speaking slots, and how often their name appears in a footnote to someone else’s achievement. As Andy Warhol promised, “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.”

Contrast this with the joy of being a fly on the wall. No need for rehearsed humility, no need to perfect the “serious-but-visionary” pose for photographs. The fly knows the real show is not the speech, but the scramble to be in the group photo; not the idea, but the rush to claim credit for it.

Oscar Wilde observed, “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.” The fly nods in agreement, safely plastered to the wallpaper, watching people elbow for visibility in rooms where no one is looking.

While the limelight-hunters exhaust themselves, the fly acquires the one thing they never will: perspective. It sees the hunger in the eyes of those who crave to be noticed, and the faint desperation of those who cannot risk being forgotten. The fly doesn’t need followers, likes, or panel invitations. Its reward is the sweetest of human entertainments -,unfiltered truth.

So, let the stars and their satellites chase the glow. The fly on the wall sits back and savours the spectacle. After all, someone has to enjoy the comedy — and the best seat is always just out of sight.

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The English word “God” carries heavy baggage. It often conjures the image of an all-powerful being, usually male, sitting above creation and watching over human affairs. The word “religion” too carries its own weight – evoking sects, boundaries, and institutions rather than lived experience.

Yet many of the world’s greatest sages and teachers spoke of realities that cannot be reduced to either “God” or “religion.” The Upanishads described Brahman – not a deity, but the boundless essence of existence. Guru Nanak proclaimed Ik Onkar – the One Reality, timeless and formless, both immanent in creation and beyond it. Islamic mystics invoked Al-Haqq, the Truth that underlies all. Christian mystics like Meister Eckhart spoke of a Godhead beyond God – pure Being itself.

The poet-saint Kabir stripped away ritual and dogma with uncompromising clarity. “Between the seeker and the sought,” he said, “there is no ‘two’.” For him, the Divine was neither Hindu Ram nor Muslim Rahim, but the living truth pulsing within all – the breath inside the breath. Similarly, the great Sufi teachers like Rumi and Ibn Arabi spoke of a Beloved beyond names, a Reality that can only be tasted through love and annihilation of the ego.

These visions point not to a being but to Being itself. They are not about dogma or ritual but about direct experience – of unity, truth, and transcendence. They cannot be neatly contained within categories of religion, nor can they be fully translated into the limited word “God.”

In losing this depth of language, we risk reducing profound truths to sectarian labels. What these traditions actually reveal is the timeless, formless source of all that is – a reality that unites rather than divides, liberates rather than confines.

Perhaps our task today is to recover this deeper understanding: to look beyond words and boundaries, and to hear once again the wisdom that points us to our shared origin and our shared humanity.

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When I was young, playtime meant freedom. It was time spent with friends, far from the gaze of adults. We invented games out of nothing, turned ordinary places into kingdoms, and resolved quarrels in our own clumsy ways. Mischief was inevitable, sometimes fights too, but it was our world, and adults were politely shut out.

Even when our children grew up, the essence of play remained unchanged. They too experienced the thrill of unsupervised afternoons – the joy of conspiracies whispered in corners, the independence of choosing how to spend their time, the responsibility of handling the consequences of their adventures. That freedom was messy, imperfect, but deeply formative.

Today, I see a stark difference. What passes for “playtime” is often scheduled on calendars, confined to organised activities, and closely supervised by adults. Football of Tennis practice, music lessons, coding workshops – all under watchful eyes, with goals and outcomes attached. Even leisure has become a performance.

This change troubles me. For if children no longer learn to negotiate on their own, how will they build resilience? If every conflict is mediated by adults, how will they develop empathy or fairness? If every game is structured, when will they learn the beauty of chaos and imagination?

Play has always been more than fun. It is training for life – a rehearsal space where children test boundaries, experiment with leadership, face failure, and stumble toward self-discovery. When adults intrude, they may believe they are guiding, but too often they are only curating childhood, turning it into a hollow experience.

The irony is that in our attempt to protect children, we may be robbing them of the very skills they will need to stand on their own. Perhaps the most loving thing adults can do is to let go – to allow children the gift of unsupervised play, with all its risks and rewards.

After all, childhood is not something to be managed. It is something to be lived.

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