Creamy rice kheer, the dense and milky barfi, melt-in-your-mouth laddoo, and the sticky gulub jamun; Indian sweetmeats, known as mithai – a cross between dessert, snack and confection – are as entrenched in Diwali celebrations as a lit-up pine tree at Christmas. They go a step further than serving as the culinary climax of the Hindu festival (though, undoubtedly, they certainly are); rather, sweetmeats capture the Indian food psyche more than any other single dish.
“My earliest memories of Diwali are that of my Mum making gajrela, or gajjar (carrot) halwa,” recalls Indian-Australian chef Viktant Kapoor. “My father was a tea planter in Assam. We used to live in large bungalows that had their own backyard and veggie patch. The carrots (the red variety, not the orange ones) were almost always from our veggie patch. The gardener, my sister and I would spend the morning harvesting, which was later processed by the cook’s helper, and then Mum would cook them with milk, khoa (dried milk), nuts and ghee to make halwa.”
Milk sweet is usually eaten on its own, but it makes a lovely garnish for this .
Source: Chris Chen
Peda, a semi-soft milky confection sometimes flavoured with saffron or cardamom; the ball-shaped laddoo; seviyan, a vermicelli-based sweet; and the syrupy gulab jamun were some of the other sweetmeats the Kapoors would labour over.
“By far, my favourite was a sweet dessert pudding called gajrela; it’s warm, nutty, gooey, and slightly chewy at the same time.”
Widely considered as the most significant Hindu festival, Diwali, or Deepavali, is also celebrated by Sikhs and Jains throughout the world. While the cultural fete holds individual meanings across different communities, the one commonality is the celebration of the triumph of good over evil.
“As told to me by my parents Deepavali is a row of lights that symbolises the victory of good over evil, light over darkness, and knowledge over ignorance,” Kapoor explains. “For Hindus, darkness represents ignorance and light is a metaphor for knowledge. Therefore, lighting a lamp symbolises the destruction – through knowledge – of all negative forces such as violence, lust, anger, envy and greed, etc.”
Born and educated in Dehradun, a sleepy northern Indian town near the Himalayan foothills, Kapoor studied at the country’s premier cooking school before landing his first job at the Taj Mahal Hotel. From there, he went onto work for a hotel group in Baghdad, before repatriating to Mumbai’s Hotel Searock Sheraton during the first Gulf War. After a stint at Singapore’s fine dining The Tiffin Room at the Raffles Hotel, Kapoor arrived in Australia and launched the elegant restaurant with his brothers in Sydney’s Darling Harbour in 1998.
Viktant Kapoor: the festival stands for friendship, hope and harmony. Source: Supplied
“The rest is history,” the chef says.
As a child growing up in Dehradun, Kapoor fondly recalls the yearly rituals of Diwali starting early in the day.
“First up would be a royal scrub, as this was an auspicious occasion,” he remembers. “We would get dressed in our best Indian attire of Kurta Pyjama.”
Come nightfall, the Kapoors would light diyas (earthen clay pot lamps) around the house with cotton wickers dipped in ghee, before assembling at the mandir (temple) to pray for knowledge, health and peace.
“After that, we would visit neighbours and exchange sweets and other treats,” Kapoor says. “Our relatives would be invited in the later part of the evening to celebrate the occasion with pomp and ceremony.”
Diwali in India: millions of oil lamps are lit during the festival each year. Source: Getty Images
The chef recounts childhood contests between his cousins and neighbours into the early hours of the morning to see whose firecrackers, sparklers and skyrockets exploded loudest.
“The whole atmosphere would have a sulphuric odour from the excessive indulgence,” he tells. “And we’d always take little breaks to gorge on the sweetmeats.”
Drawing on Hindu tradition and given the holiness of the date, a vegetarian meal would often be enjoyed during celebrations. Daal shikhampuris (chickpea kebabs), a spicy snack called raj kachori, aloo tikki (potato croquettes), lauki koftas and mattar pulao (pea rice) are some of the dishes the Kapoors would feast on.
“Even though there is always a meal, the significance of sweets on this day is greater,” the chef says. “Because we offer the same to God and he blesses it as Prasad (an offering) for us to share with our families and friends.
“There was always plenty of sweetmeats prepared at home for Deepavali, and many were also bought in; rice kheer (rice pudding), ladoo (round semolina sweets), the web-shaped jalebi, petha (soft candy) and so many more.”
Today, LED lights are used to ignite the diya at home instead of ghee-soaked wickers, and sparklers have replaced the firecrackers, but Kapoor continues to celebrate Diwali with his family.
“At home, my family offers prayers the same way as we did in India, and we also go to the local temple,” he says. “We still enjoy a wide range of sweetmeats; this year, we’ll make some gajrela and seviyan (vermicelli) kheer for our guests, which we will give out on the day.
“The kids play and hear us adults talk about the significance of this festival and the way we used to celebrate in India. We also extoll that in the current global scenario, the festival of lights really stands for a lot more, such as an affirmation of hope; friendship; religious tolerance; peace and harmony; and most importantly, the simple joys of life.”
