Healing, purity, and revitalization: A tour of Kashmiri staple spices

“So, Adi, what do you want to know about spices?”

These were the words that started my evening at Iqbal’s, an old family friend and professor of management at UMass Amherst alongside my parents. Although his department is that of economics, his expertise, in my opinion, lies in the realm of authentic Kashmiri cooking. He taught me and my parents how food is traditionally eaten by hand in India, how they were often served in large, metal bowls in which the individual components of the meal were free to mix, and now (at the behest of my parents) I’d come to learn about the nuances of spice in Iqbal’s cultural background. Admittedly, I had no idea what questions to ask or where to start, but thankfully Iqbal came prepared for this lesson. He opened a large drawer underneath the counter, revealing countless honey-jars repurposed for spice containment.

“In just about all religions, spices have been used as disinfectant,” Iqbal tells me as he passes me a handful of cloves, prompting me to take a whiff. “You ever wonder why you always see those swinging smoke pots in Catholic churches? The smoke kills bacteria, which is really quite useful when you’re in a crowded place of worship.” The cloves he’s handed me are often burned in Kashmiri death rituals to purify the space, and are commonly utilized in the households of high social/caste status, presumably to eradicate the risk of infection when handling the dead or simply to ritually cleanse the house.

In that same vein, he shows me some other Kashmiri spices recognized for their medicinal value. The strong, stingy scent of black cumin, or Kala Jeera, is evidently imbued with the ability to reduce asthma symptoms and help users lose weight. The licorice tasting Fennel is distributed after meals to, as Iqbal puts it, “make the gas disappear” upon chewing. He even presents me with two pill bottles of medicinally used spices, Gokshura and Arjuna, used for “men’s wellness” and cardiac health respectively. None of them, however, came close to the dense miasma of Asafateeta, a spice I can only describe as garlic and onions rowdy lovechild, which surprised my nostrils in it’s sheer density. The smell itself was enticing for a garlic lover such as myself, but the sheer magnitude of sensation was utterly repulsive, causing me to remove my nose from the jar as fast as I could. Iqbal laughed as he stated the spice is often regarded as an aphrodisiac in Kashmiri culture.

In Diane Ackerman’s A natural history of the senses, she brings up the social and cognitive powers of scent and taste, senses that are conjoined in function ad form. Smells are memorable in ways that our other senses aren’t, and tastes are associated with social connection, family cohesion, and love. Spices lie in between these two senses, providing distinct tastes and smells that can’t be found in vegetables, meats, and other staple foodstuffs. Food brings us to the table because we’re hungry, but spices keep us on our toes and force us to appreciate the meal in ways beyond the satisfaction of indulgence. The smoke of incense and cloves make spaces special, and the pungent, sour tastes of Kala Jeera and Asafateeta make Kashmiri meals a trip worth taking. If you were to ask me, both uses make the experience holy in ways beyond what we can see, hear, and touch.