Through her love of South Indian cuisine, writer and curator Yoshiko Nagai discovers how pulses, rice, cotton, birds and insects are all part of a healthy ecosystem at Oshadi Collective.

Starting with ‘meals’

It was more than 15 years ago that I first encountered the traditional South Indian ‘meals’. And it was not in a restaurant either. It was when I was in charge of an exhibition of the South Indian artist N.S. Harsha at the gallery where I was working at the time. Through his paintings he depicted Indian society with its diverse mix of values. On large canvases, he painted large numbers of people in their everyday behaviour, sleeping, eating, playing music, etc. When you pull back, the crowd looks like a single pattern, but when you get closer, each person has a completely different expression and behaviour. If you look more closely, you can see not only people, but also animals, gods and other creatures you have never seen before. The painting depicts the uniqueness, freedom, conflict and harmony that can be seen and felt in such chaos. 

 

At the time, he was supposed to create a new work for the exhibition. The artist wanted to use the subject of ‘meals’, a typical dish in South India, where he was born and brought up.  ‘Meals’ is a kind of set meal found in various regions of South India, served on a banana leaf with rice, several sauces, pickles and side dishes, and is usually eaten for lunch. Instead of depicting this in paintings, he wanted to make them out of food samples made of plastic, which is particular to Japan.  It turned out this was not a matter of reproducing one or two, but of making a hundred of them, each one a unique eating experience. The reason for this, he says, is that he has long felt that the many different ways people eat ‘meals’ are symbolic of South Indian society and culture. Some people make a hole in the rice first, some split the rice in two, some start by nibbling on the small side dishes around them, some suddenly start eating bananas, and so on, and the methods are endless. 

In this way, as production began, Harsha sent us some photos of the meals. He had organised an actual lunch with a group of people to take photos of the meals that were about to be eaten. I saw that there were several kinds of curry on a green banana leaf, with a little fried food, spice powder or pickles-like paste on the side. Unlike Japanese rice, the rice looked so dry that it seemed to spill out if you tilted the leaf. Then there were small bananas, unlike the kind often seen in Japan. I let my imagination run wild as I looked at the photos, but I couldn't understand the taste and texture just by looking at them. I thought I had to try it first, so I searched for one of the few South Indian restaurants in Tokyo, where I was living at the time. Even so, I was filled with a sense of uncertainty as to whether the food I ate at the restaurants I managed to find was the ‘right’ food. For example, some restaurants served fried ‘wadas’, which were crispy, while others served fluffy ones. The orange candy-like snacks were shown in photos sent from India, but were rarely found in South Indian restaurants in Japan. The more I ate, the more the mystery deepened. I wasn't looking for the ‘right answer’, but I wanted something that made sense to my body. 

 

Eating is a strange thing. We have so much understanding of our daily food in our minds and bodies that we never think about the context and meaning of the land in which the food is prepared.

Eating is a strange thing. We have so much understanding of our daily food in our minds and bodies that we never think about the context and meaning of the land in which the food is prepared. However, when we have never eaten a particular dish before, neither our minds nor our bodies are able to get a sense of it. It seems to be just a photograph, just a sculpture. 

Eating involves a much larger landscape that cannot be explained by the food or the ingredients presented in front of you. The plants that grow vibrantly in the land eventually come into contact with human hands and become ingredients, which are then cooked in a way that has been devised so that they can be successfully digested. Therefore, when you eat ‘Meals’ you are taking the whole of the land of South India into your body through your mouth. In this sense, eating the local cuisine means experiencing the daily lives of the people living there. 

Many years have passed since then. Without knowing, South Indian food was gradually coming closer and closer to me.

Visitors from South India 

I met Nishanth and Vaishali in April 2024 through a mutual friend. The young couple run a cotton-growing and cloth-making company in South India, and as they were coming to Japan for the first time, my friend asked me if I would be interested in showing them around. Of course, I immediately replied. Visitors from abroad are always like apostles who bring new values. 

This is how I met with them. As we were supposed to have dinner when they arrived in Japan, I asked them about their diet. And they told me that they were vegetarians, eating no meat, fish or eggs. I really wanted to show them some Japanese food, but there are various restrictions. 

At the time, I was living in Kyoto and enjoyed going to the few South Indian restaurants in town. The vegetable-only dishes were particularly tasty and satisfying, and above all, the variety of dishes was rich and diverse. I was fascinated by this particular world of food that I could not imagine by name, but which I could understand only after I had eaten it. 

I wondered whether it would be a good idea to take them to a South Indian restaurant when they had come all the way to Japan, but I also wanted to learn more about the cuisine from the locals. When I suggested it to them, they said, without hesitation, that they would love to go. 

The South Indian restaurant I often went to was run by a woman called Haruhi. She travelled to South India almost every year to learn about local home cooking. She introduced me to South Indian cuisine that I had never seen or heard of, and my interest in this unknown world of flavours grew. Indeed, Haruhi's restaurant was always crowded with Indian customers working in Kyoto, so I assumed that this must be as close to the local taste as I could get. 

I took my visitors from South India there. Nishanth and Vaishali entered the restaurant, smiled and immediately sat cross-legged on the chairs at the counter. When Haruhi handed them the menu with a slightly nervous look on her face, they ordered one dish from the top without any hesitation. Haruhi told them that it would take some time until the food was ready, and she went about her cooking as if she was completing her tasks one by one. Nishanth and Vaishali received the dishes as they came out, their eyes shining in surprise at the Japanese cook recreating their daily lives in a distant place, and they ate one dish at a time. No, to be precise, they ordered one dish and added the next dish to the one before it. Using the plate as a palette, they seemed to be tracing and mixing the dishes with their fingers, eventually creating one more new dish. Haruhi waits nervously. Nishanth and Vaishali silently eat. I ate in silence too. After a while, they wiped the plate with their fingers and said: ‘This is what we eat in South India.’ 

Nishanth then asked Haruhi a lot of questions about how she learnt to cook this dish. When she replied that she was interested in home cooking, he told her about the rice and millet they grow in their fields back home. He explained that there is a type of rice native to South India, and that as well as growing cotton, they also grow millet, pulses and castor oil seeds, which provide food for insects and birds. This way, not only is the cotton not damaged, but also a lot of other crops are harvested to enrich the human table. And that the soil comes back to life. 

As well as growing cotton, they also grow millet, pulses and castor oil seeds, which provide food for insects and birds. This way, not only is the cotton not damaged, but also a lot of other crops are harvested to enrich the human table.

How do these people know so much about crops when they are supposed to be growing cotton and making cloth? What does it mean that the soil comes to life? These questions came to mind, but at the same time, their daily routine, in which their daily diet is linked to making things, seemed to make a lot of sense. This is what it means to be clear. Their stories fell into my stomach. I had decided that my next trip would be to South India. I had a feeling that there was a more fundamental reason for my being so fascinated by the cuisine. There must be something unique to the locality that would be the reason why the cuisine was created. As I leaned forward to listen to the stories about the local cuisine, hoping to find out what it was, Nishanth said: ‘Now I really want you to try my mother's food.’ 

Now I knew where to go.

The Soil and Tamil Nadu 

Tamil Nadu means ‘Tamil land’. The state is located in the south-east of the Indian continent and its state capital is Chennai. The climate is tropical, with an average maximum temperature of 30°C from December to January and 38°C from May to June. Erode, where Nishanth is based, takes four and a half hours by express train to the west from Chennai. The train heads inland through forests of banana trees and palm trees, with mountains made of large blocks of stone. The train left in the early afternoon, but by the time it reached its destination it was night. Erode Junction station was busier than I had imagined, and many people were coming and going, even though it was already dark. I felt the city was powered by a large industrial force. 

 

Oshadi Collective, run by Nishanth Chopra, was established in 2016. As the company name Oshadi translates as ‘healing plant’, they try to restore the exhausted power of the soil through making things, while practicing agricultural methods that have been rooted in the land for a long time. 

 

To understand Oshadi's practice, it is essential to know the history of the soil of Erode. Why has its soil become exhausted? Tamil Nadu was originally a land of agriculture and fishing, but when India gained independence from the United Kingdom in 1947, it quickly moved towards industrialisation. In order to produce more food for the growing population, agriculture using chemical fertilisers and genetically modified seeds was promoted. The so-called ‘Green Revolution’.  

The Green Revolution was a policy of increased food production across India in the 1960s and 1970s. The idea was to end hunger by growing varieties of crops that were better suited to harvest more cereals. However, the seeds of these varieties required large amounts of chemical fertilisers and depleted the soil’s nutrients. This was followed in the 2000s by an increase in the number of fast-fashion industry factory bases from Europe and the USA. Industrial effluents containing chemicals in dyes and other products polluted the water and soil. Thus, the whole region around Erode has been described as ‘the most polluted city’, according to Nishanth.

Born and raised there, he remembers that as a child there were still rivers and lakes with clear water. When he returned to India after studying at university in the UK and saw his home town, where the water and air were so polluted, he knew he could not continue to live here unless some changes were made. 

The small company, which started in a bedroom in Nishanth in 2016, rented its first four acres of land in 2019 and started farming, mainly cotton. Having no knowledge of agriculture, their practice was to revive the old farming practices on the land by asking farmers who knew them before the ‘Green Revolution’. At the same time, they provided the farmers with the necessary materials, such as seeds and organic fertilisers, free of charge, and in return they bought the cotton they harvested. The system was designed to be low-risk for farmers, who had to invest in seeds and fertilisers every year, as they were dependent on the changing climate and did not always earn enough to sell their harvests. As they worked with the soil through trial and error and grew cotton and other crops, the soil began to respond and the yield increased. At the same time, the number of farmers who agree with Oshadi's philosophy and participate in cotton cultivation has increased, and by 2025, 250 acres of fields are being managed hand in hand with farmers from neighbouring villages. 

 

Listening to the voice of every creature 

The traditional method of farming on the land is simple. First, to prevent the soil from becoming too nutrient-deficient, several types of crops are grown in rotation, such as rice, peanuts, bananas and tobacco, in addition to cotton. If cotton is the main crop, cotton is planted in rows in the middle of the field, with blackgram planted in between to ensure that the soil is not dominated by one type of crop. Then, crops favoured by birds and insects that may damage the cotton are planted around them. For example, caster leaves attract insects and cereals provide food for birds. That way, the central cotton is protected by the plants favoured by insects and birds and is not harmed. Then, importantly, you must plant for the soil. These plants are turned back to the soil just before flowering for fertiliser. 

Here, I would like to consider pests. Any creature that destroys crops grown by humans is considered a pest, but insects are also in the midst of a struggle for survival. They have to live. Therefore, by growing plants that satisfy the insects' hunger, they can live their entire lives as insects. In addition, planting rows of flowers such as marigolds in the middle of cotton fields invites bees and helps them to pollinate the cotton flowers. Inviting collaborators to help the crop grow in this way not only helps to build a relationship between each plant, but also adds a yellow colour to the middle of a  green field. The daily farm work that makes sense creates beautiful rural landscapes. Cotton for whom, vegetables for whom? When we take a big step away from the human perspective, we can see that all life is connected like a spider thread. 

Cotton for whom, vegetables for whom? When we take a big step away from the human perspective, we can see that all life is connected like a spider thread. 

 

A number of cows graze in the fields slowly, next to people harvesting crops. They are slender, humped, ears hanging down, and are indigenous to India. During the day, the cows graze freely in the pasture and return to their stables at sunset. The next morning, the cow manure collected in the stables is carefully collected and drained through a ditch in the corner into a nearby tank. It is then exposed to the soil, where it decomposes into compost after a couple of weeks. It is mixed with caster and neem seeds, which insects don't like, to provide additional insect protection, and made into home-made manure. It is all part of the agricultural wisdom that has been practised on the land for centuries.

 

The manure used for fertiliser cannot be from any kind of cow, but must be from a cow indigenous to India. The bacteria in the cow's stomach work to suit the land as they break down the grass. Plants that have grown with the nutrients of the soil are prepared to eventually return to the soil, even after harvested as crops and taken into the bodies of us. In this sense, our stomachs may be working in the same way as the soil. 

Nutritious water  

Regenerative means to restore, and regenerative agriculture means that the whole ecosystem is restored through the production of agricultural products. Not only plants and animals, but also bacteria, water, air and other things invisible to the human eye, all fulfill their functions and roles and provide someone somewhere with the elements they need to live.

 

If we go through this way of farming, paying attention to all species, we can harvest a wide variety of different crops as a result. In the cultivation of cotton alone, by planting crops for insects, birds and soil, humans also get the rest. As well as this, different crops are planted each season for the health of the soil, so in addition to cotton, there are harvests of diverse types of crops such as rice, peanuts, bananas and tobacco. 

 

Seeds from the diverse crops growing on the farm including cotton, cow pea and millet

These harvests support the lives of the farmers and other people living on the land. After harvesting, Oshadi buys cotton from contract farmers. The millet and pulses harvested during the same period are used by the farmers as staple food, sold as a source of income, and consumed by the community around the company by using them to feed the people working in the office and distributing them. In a small kitchen in the Oshadi office, a chef uses produce from the fields to prepare meals for staff. 

I recall that it was my interest in South Indian cuisine that brought me to this land. I didn't need to confirm this, perhaps because I was served dishes made from crops from the fields every day in the Oshadi office. Blackgram from the fields was used to make dosa and idli flour, moong dal and peanuts were used to make gravy, and a local native rice called Sheeraga Samba was a daily staple. All dishes were powered by vegetables. They were pickled, mashed, steamed, baked, fermented and cooked in a number of ways, with spices acting as a multiplier to give them a rich flavour. I could clearly envision how these ingredients grew in the soil of the fields that form part of the landscape of Erode, and they were harvested, cooked and transformed into this dish. It was as if the landscape of the fields was being painted by the South Indian 'meals'. 

My knowledge of South Indian cuisine was updated daily whenever I visited the Oshadi office. Whenever I showed interest in the food being brought to me, the people working in the office or at the factory would explain it to me. In their spare time, everyone talked about food. Everyone had a different background, whether it is where they came from, their religion, if they were vegetarian or not, etc., and had different thoughts about the food. 

 

Nishanth and Vaishali's mothers in particular conveyed this through their cooking. When I visited them in their kitchen and watched them at work, even I, who had no knowledge of the local cooking methods, could see how much labour they put in. Nishanth's mother told us that the kitchen is the family hospital, and introduced us to handmade seasonings and other ingredients that are not overly greasy, do not use too much sugar and are made with natural flavours. She also told us about various interactions, such as how this ingredient cools the body, which region a special vegetable is from, whose favourite food it is. She told us that a vast amount of knowledge, wisdom and experience is packed into something that will eventually disappear after you eat it. With a bit of creativity, they are turned into dishes and brought to the table, where they become one in the plates of the people who eat them. When I scooped the finished dish into my mouth with my fingers, it was as if I was putting nourishing water into my body. 

 

This is how culture is created in human society through the repetition of daily cooking. This is also possible because of the produce nurtured by the soil. Agriculture that cares for all life enriches the tables of those who live beside it. To achieve this, it is necessary to see things from the perspective of non-human beings. To see the world as a whole. Working at Oshadi means that as a human being you are part of the cereals, birds, insects, bees and cows that surround the cotton. Life surrounding the soil in good condition is a condition for fertile soil. For this, no one creature is indispensable. Someone's enemy is another's friend. The longer you look at it, the more you realise that there is no such thing as an unnecessary creature. This spreads to humans and leads to community-building. 

If you encounter something that you find disturbing, look at it from a different perspective. Do not leave the connection broken. Perhaps the dishes placed on the banana leaf show this way of looking at the world. It is about combining and mixing small dishes and creating a big, spacious world with your own hands. 

Yoshiko Nagai is a curator, writer and founder of Materia Prima @mate_prima