Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Divya Desams Part 4

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Pundarikakshan Perumal Koil, Thiruvellarai, Tamil Nadu
Located in Thiruvellarai, a village 15 km northwest of Tiruchirappalli in Tamil Nadu, the Pundarikakshan Perumal Temple is one of the 108 Divya Desams, sacred Vishnu sites praised by the Alvars. The name means “white rock,” from the pale granite hills around it. Here, the goddess gets first honours in worship, flipping the usual order. Some say it’s older than Srirangam, but archaeology points to 8th-century caves, not millions of years.​​

Legends start with King Sibi Chakravarthy of Ayodhya. Hunting demons, he camped here. A white boar dashed past and hid in an anthill. Sage Markandeya, doing penance nearby, told Sibi to pour milk into the hole. Vishnu emerged as Pundarikakshan, the lotus-eyed lord. The sage said build a temple, but bring 3700 Vaishnavites from the north to do it right. Sibi did. But one worker died en route. Short 3700, the king worried. Vishnu slipped in disguised as Pundarikakshan, the 3700th. That’s why the deity faces west, watching the road the migrants came from. Another tale has Lakshmi doing penance here. Vishnu appeared as Sengamala Kannan. She became Pankajavalli, the lotus lady. Shiva, as Neelivaneswarar, worshipped here to shed Brahma’s severed head sin.​​

Pallavas carved the rock-cut caves in the late 8th century, under Nandivarman II and Dantivarman. Inscriptions prove it. Cholas added later, like Parakesarivarman endowing Krishna’s shrine around 950 CE. The Pandyas, Hoysalas, Vijayanagara kings layered on halls and walls. A 1262 flood wrecked it; a merchant rebuilt it. Ramanuja spent time here, teaching. Uyyakondar, his disciple, was born nearby. Thirukurukai Piran Pillai too. That ties it to Sri Vaishnava roots. Unique spot: 100-pillar hall, rare in smaller Divya Desams. White rocks gave the name, but also shaped early digging, nature forced the builders’ hand.

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Dravidian style rules: granite walls, three-tier rajagopuram at the gate. Complex spreads over a low hill, with Pundarikaksha Theertham tank for rituals. Main sanctum holds west-facing Pundarikakshan, seated. Pankajavalli shrine separate but central. 100-pillar mandapam stands out with carvings of avatars, dancers, and lotuses. Rock-cut caves from Pallavas hold old inscriptions. Later gopurams mix Chola bulk with Nayak flair. No wild innovations, but tight layout on rocky ground shows smart adaptation. Pillars tell epics; walls mix gods and beasts.

The temple features six daily pujas: alangaram, naivedyam, and deepa aradanai. Nagaswaram and tavil play, with the priests chanting the Vedas. The goddess goes first: Pankajavalli gets decorated, fed, lit before her lord, a rare switch.

The Brahmotsavam in Panguni (Mar-Apr) takes place over 10 days, with Garuda Sevai and processions. Vaikunta Ekadasi opens the gates of paradise while Panguni Uthiram allows worshippers to witness the divine wedding. Chariot festival key, a community feast, is unique and centuries old. It is believed that a dip in the tank during the month of Karthigai in November enhances fertility.

From Trichy, buses or autos cover 15 km on flat roads past fields and the Kollidam river. The Alvars sang 11 paasurams here, baked into Nalayira Divya Prabandham. Ramanuja’s stay shaped commentaries while hymns fuelled songs, and dances at festivals.

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The temple is managed by the Hindu Religious and Endowments Board and is affiliated with the Srirangam administration. The temple gopuram was recently restored using ancient methods with the help of IIT Madras, which they also documented. The festivals mostly draw a local crowd, with not many tourists here. Online bookings help, though demographics show more than 80% visitors are devotees and the rest are history fans.

Thiruvellarai anchors the Divya Desam net as a quiet elder. Myths test kings and gods; history stacks layers from cave to tower. The goddess-first worship questions male-led norms. The temple is small, but packed; it shows heritage thrives in villages, not just cities.

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Vadivaḻagiya Nambi Perumal Koil, Anbil, Tamil Nadu
The Vadivazhaga Nambi Perumal Temple stands in Anbil village on the north bank of the Kollidam River, just 12 km from Tiruchirappalli in Tamil Nadu. Known also as Sundararaja Perumal Temple, it ranks among the 108 Divya Desams, sacred Vishnu abodes praised by the Alvars. Vishnu reclines here as the strikingly handsome Sundararajan, flanked by Sundaravalli Thayar. Thirumangai Alvar dedicated one hymn to it. Some claim idols date to Pandava times, but Chola inscriptions from the 8th century provide the firmest evidence.

Legends centre on Brahma’s pride in his creation. Arrogant about his beauty, he earned Vishnu’s curse to live as a mortal. Brahma performed penance at Anbil. Vishnu appeared in irresistible splendour, lifting the curse. Hence the name Sundararajan, the lord of beauty. The site earned “Anbil,” meaning “not agreed,” from a debate where even sage Valmiki disputed Vishnu’s finest form until the deity resolved it here.

Another tale features sage Manduka meditating underwater. Sage Durvasa cursed him into frog form for neglect. The frog worshipped Vishnu and regained human shape. The demon Kalanerai harassed rishis Bhrigu and Markandeya. Vishnu slew it as an arasa maram tree, then reclined on Adisesha. Shiva arrived seeking relief from his curse, the Brahma head stuck to his hand dropped after Vishnu offered rice.

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These accounts overlap and contradict. Was Brahma cursed once or twice? Demons shift names. Myths prioritise themes over timelines: beauty humbles the creator, devotion redeems the cursed, and grace crosses sects as Shiva bows to Vishnu. If beauty dissolves pride, it challenges hierarchies in Vaishnava lore. Frog-to-sage underscores form yields to faith.

Medieval Cholas constructed the core structure in the late 8th century. Copper plates record their land grants and endowments. Vijayanagara kings and Madurai Nayaks expanded it later with halls and inscriptions detailing donations and festivals. Floods ravaged it in the 1260s, prompting local rebuilds. Unlike Srirangam’s raids, Anbil faced mainly river threats, yet survived through community effort. Thirumangai Alvar’s paasuram secured its Divya Desam status around the 8th century. Ties to Ramanuja’s Tenkalai tradition strengthened its Vaishnava role. Its unique location near the Grand Anicut, the Cholas’ irrigation feat, links temple life to agriculture. Rulers funded it as a power symbol; floods remind us that nature, not just kings, shapes survival.

Standard Dravidian granite buildings span 1.5 acres. A three-tier east-facing rajagopuram marks the entrance. In the sanctum, Sundararajan reclines on Adisesha with Sridevi, Bhoodevi, and Brahma at his feet. The Tharaka Vimanam roof echoes the gopuram shape, a subtle innovation. Subsidiary shrines honour the 12 Alvars, Narasimha, Venugopalar, Lakshmi Narasimha, and Hanuman. Carvings depict epics and lotuses on pillars and walls. The Pushkarini tank supports ritual baths.

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Six daily pujas follow the Tenkalai style: alangaram for decoration, neivethanam for food offerings, and deepa aradanai for lamps. Nagaswaram pipes and tavil drums accompany Vedic chants. The temple Brahmotsavam spans 10 days in Chittirai (April-May) with processions. The Maasi Tirthavari (February-March) features river baths for the deity, while Vaikunta Ekadashi draws crowds.

One can reach Anbil by bus or auto from Trichy, tracing the Kollidam through fields. Village lanes lined with flower vendors lead to the temple gate. Remove shoes for darshan, often under 30 minutes during off-peak times.

Today, the TNHR&CE Board oversees operations with annadhanam feeding devotees daily. Flood defences continue, including raised walls and drainage fixes. The temple festivals pull locals mainly, with not many tourists drifting off the tourist circuit.

The Vadivazhaga Nambi Perumal Temple at Anbil holds its place in the Divya Desam circuit as a quiet riverside survivor. Its myths show gods humbled by beauty and devotion, while history reveals layers from Chola foundations to Nayak expansions, tested by relentless floods. The compact Dravidian design and village-scale rituals keep it grounded in daily life, far from grand temple-cities. This temple proves the circuit’s strength lies in such modest spots, weaving farm rhythms and river threats into India’s spiritual fabric. Visit to walk the Kollidam banks, ponder pride’s fall, and feel grace etched in reclining stone. In the end, Anbil reminds us that enduring faith thrives not in spectacle, but in steady flow.

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Appakkudathaan Perumal Koil, Koviladi, Tamil Nadu
Located on the south bank of the Cauvery River, in Koviladi village, about 16 km from Tiruchirapalli in Tamil Nadu, the Appakkudathaan Perumal Temple is one of the 108 Divya Desams. Lord Vishnu is enshrined here as Appakkudathaan, forever holding a pot of sweet appam in his right hand. This site ranks among the five Pancharanga Kshetrams along the river, with legends claiming it predates even Srirangam upstream. But Chola inscriptions from the 9th century provide the earliest solid evidence, while floods have repeatedly challenged its survival.​

The main legend tells of King Uparisravasu, who accidentally killed a brahmin while hunting. The sin of brahmahatti dosha gripped him, worsened by Sage Durvasa’s curse that sapped his strength. To atone, the king fed thousands daily; accounts vary between 10,000 and 100,000. One day, Vishnu arrived disguised as a starving old man, devoured all the food, and requested a pot of appam. The king obliged. Vishnu revealed his form, lifted the curses, and stayed reclined with the pot as a reminder of grace through simple service.​

Sage Markandeya faced death at 16 from Yama. He prayed here, and Vishnu intervened, also humbling Indra’s arrogance. Another story positions Appala Ranganatha as pacing the steps toward Srirangam, earning the name Koviladi, the “first temple.” Periazhwar sang his final mangalasasanam here before ascending to Vaikunta. These tales overlap in details, like feast numbers or curse sources.

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Cholas laid the foundations in the 9th-10th centuries. Aditya Chola’s inscriptions: numbers 283, 300, 301, 303 from 1901, detail donations for halls and Vedic scholars. Later Cholas, Pandyas, Vijayanagara rulers, and Nayaks expanded with prakarams and shrines. Unlike raided giants, Koviladi endured the Anglo-French wars nearby without noted damage, though the Cauvery floods demanded repeated rebuilds.​

Alvars, including Nammalvar, Periazhwar, and Thirumangai, immortalised it in paasurams. It served as a Vedic learning centre, drawing scholars. Periazhwar’s final praise marks it for moksha seekers. Downstream from Srirangam, it forms a river-linked chain, not an isolated outpost. History shows adaptation: rulers endowed, floods rebuilt, saints embedded it in faith networks.​

Granite Dravidian style hugs the riverbank. A three-tier Rajagopuram looms after 21 steps up. Inside, east-facing Appakkudathaan reclines on Adisesha in the sanctum, appam pot gripped tight, accompanied by Sridevi and Bhoodevi. Sowmya Nayaki claims a separate shrine. Prakarams encircle with sub-shrines for Alvars, Venugopala, and others. The vimana stays modest, echoing early Chola restraint.​ Pillars bear epic carvings, lotuses, and dancers. The Cauvery pushkarini enables ritual baths. No radical breaks from style, but systematic subsidies mirror Srirangam, 9th-10th century hallmarks. Compact form suits flood-prone ground, prioritising endurance over scale.​

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Daily rhythm follows six pujas: alangaram dresses the deities, neivedyam offers food topped by appam, the only Divya Desam to do so daily, and deepa aradanai waves lamps amid nagaswaram, tavil, and Vedic chants. Brahmotsavam lights up Panguni with processions. Vaikunta Ekadashi opens paradise gates. Periazhwar Utsavam honours his departure. Locals stir appam pots, fund annadhanam, and line streets; threads of community weave the rites.​

Buses from Trichy cross the Cauvery through paddy fields, dropping at village paths lined with flower stalls. Climb to the gate, shed shoes, and find darshan swift on weekdays. Festival river dips cleanse body and spirit. Locals pour tea, recount Periazhwar’s ascent: “Pray here for a straight path to Vaikunta.” Flood scars linger in tales: “The Lord stemmed the waters once.” Quiet banks invite chants, reflection amid flowing river life.​

Nine Alvar paasurams echo in the Nalayira Divya Prabandham, recited in every puja. Periazhwar’s closing praise fuels songs and dances at festivals. Appam lore peppers village stories, Vedic past shapes farm rituals. Weddings and fairs orbit the temple, anchoring identity. Less spotlight than upstream kin, but it pulses through Koviladi’s daily beat, faith as staple, like its namesake sweet.​

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Appakkudathaan claims its Divya Desam spot as Cauvery’s quiet link. Myths feed grace through appam pots; history stacks Chola stones atop flood-tested bases to Nayak crowns. Village intimacy endures where giants might falter. Pre-Srirangam boasts falter against inscriptions. Yet it binds the circuit, farms flooded, prayers offered, river flowing. Visit to savor appam prasadam, trace banks, balance legend with granite truth. Heritage endures not in towering claims, but pots of plain devotion.

In My Hands Today…

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I Seek a Kind Person: My Father, Seven Children and the Adverts that Helped Them Escape the Holocaust – Julian Borger

In 1938, Jewish families are scrambling to flee Vienna. Desperate, they take out adverts offering their children into the safe keeping of readers of a British newspaper, the Manchester Guardian. The right words in the right order could mean the difference between life and death. Eighty-three years later, Guardian journalist Julian Borger comes across the advert that saved his father, Robert, from the Nazis. Robert had kept this a secret, like almost everything else about his traumatic Viennese childhood, until he took his own life.

Drawn to the shadows of his family’s past and starting with nothing but a page of newspaper adverts, Borger traces the remarkable stories of his father, the other advertised children and their families, each thrown into the maelstrom of a world at war. From a Viennese radio shop to the Shanghai ghetto, internment camps and family homes across Britain, the deep forests and concentration camps of Nazi Germany, smugglers saving Jewish lives in Holland, an improbable French Resistance cell, and a redemptive story of survival in New York, Borger unearths the astonishing journeys of the children at the hands of fate, their stories of trauma and the kindness of strangers.

Rethinking Donald Super’s Life-Career Rainbow: A Theory That Still Speaks, Even If Life Has Outgrown It

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Career theories often try to explain far more than they can. Donald Super’s Life-Career Rainbow is one of those ideas that has stayed popular long after its time. It has a simple appeal: our lives sit across many roles, and our careers grow and shift as these roles take shape. At a glance, the rainbow makes sense. It shows how childhood, work, family, and later life all blend into one long arc. And because the visual is clean, the idea feels clean. But life is not clean. And this is where the tension begins.

Super’s central point is that we move through life carrying different roles, each one taking up more or less space depending on age and circumstance. Child, student, worker, caregiver, partner, citizen. He treats these not as boxes but as changing identities that guide our decisions. This part of the theory still holds. Most of us have lived seasons where one role dominates everything else. And we’ve had moments where we realise that a role we once carried lightly has become heavy.

Super’s refusal to isolate “career” from “life” is one of his greatest contributions. Too many career models act as if work happens in a vacuum. It doesn’t. A crisis at home disrupts how you show up at work. A supportive family changes what you dare to attempt. A lack of resources shapes your path long before you realise it. Super saw all this early, and that makes the rainbow more honest than many newer models.

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But once you move past the broad message, the details feel dated. Super imagined life unfolding in stages: growth, exploration, establishment, maintenance, and decline. The sequence may have made sense in mid-20th-century societies built on stable jobs and rigid roles. It does not map cleanly onto modern life. Many people today establish a career only to tear it down and rebuild it. Exploration is no longer a youthful phase; it’s a recurring part of adulthood. And the idea of “decline” in later years assumes that work becomes smaller rather than different. That assumption says more about the era than human potential.

Super also leaned heavily on self-concept: the idea that we choose careers based on how we see ourselves. This is true to a point. Identity influences the work we enjoy and the goals we chase. But Super underplayed how much our self-concept is shaped by forces outside us. Culture, class, gender expectations, race, and money all press in. They limit choices long before personal identity enters the conversation. Someone may know precisely who they are and what they want, yet be locked out of opportunities for reasons the theory barely addresses.

This is the first major crack: the rainbow shows roles but not power. It shows movement but not struggle.

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Super also assumed a level of stability that many people do not have. His model suggests that people can make choices freely as they move across stages. But plenty of lives do not follow that arc. Some people shoulder adult responsibilities as children. Some have to work early to support their families. Some experience sudden disruptions that collapse multiple roles at once. And modern work does not stay still long enough for the rainbow to feel realistic. Industries shift faster than human development ever could.

Yet the theory still has one enduring strength: it treats career change as normal. Not a crisis. Not a personal failure. Just a part of being human. Super framed development as a cycle rather than a straight climb. Every time we face a transition, we revisit earlier phases. We explore again. We test again. We rebuild again. This cyclical view feels accurate today, especially when careers stretch across so many reinventions.

But here’s the part we often ignore: Super’s model still presumes choice at every turn. It does not fully account for exhaustion, burnout, caregiving strain, financial pressure, or structural inequality. It looks at roles from above, as shapes on a chart. It does not show how some people live in tension between roles for years. Or how some cannot grow one role without sacrificing another.

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If the rainbow wants to represent real lives, it needs to show constraint alongside possibility.

The rainbow also struggles with the speed of modern change. People now move between roles quickly. A person can be a student, freelancer, caregiver, and volunteer within the same week. Technology amplifies the pace, and careers shift almost as fast as personal identity. The rainbow’s arcs feel too slow for that reality. They assume predictable movement in a world that rarely gives us anything predictable.

Still, the model gives us something useful: a reason to pause and look at which role is driving our life right now. Not the role we’re supposed to prioritise. The one that actually takes our time, energy, and mental space. Many people get stuck because their lived reality does not match their self-image. They think they are still in an “establishment” mode when they are actually deep in exploration again. Or they act as if they have endless capacity when another role has already consumed half of it.

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Super’s theory helps name that gap, even if it cannot solve it.

What do we do with a theory that is partly true, partly outdated, and partly blind to the world we live in? We use it with clear boundaries. We take what helps: the view of life as multi-layered, the idea that identity evolves, and the acceptance that career paths are not linear. And we challenge the rest. We reject the timelines that no longer match reality. We question the idea that exploration belongs only to the young. We expand the concept of roles to include the complexity of modern work, migration, caregiving, and economic survival.

Super didn’t foresee global movement, gig work, AI, or the collapse of lifetime employment. He couldn’t. But his theory still gives us a way to think about the long arc of living and working. It reminds us that careers don’t start and end at the office door. They stretch into our personal lives, our values, our responsibilities, and our hopes. And they are shaped by both our choices and our limits.

If we were to update the rainbow today, we would soften the edges, blur the lines, and allow overlap without implying sequence. We would acknowledge that some roles grow not by desire but by necessity. We would show that identity shifts not once but many times. And we would treat life not as stages, but as seasons that return in different forms.

But even without rewriting it, the rainbow still asks a useful question: Who are you becoming, and how is that influencing your choices? It’s a question worth revisiting at every major change, not to fit ourselves into a model, but to understand the model we’re unconsciously living.

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Super’s rainbow is not perfect. It isn’t even close. But it gives us language for moments we don’t always know how to describe: the unease of outgrowing roles, the tension of conflicting responsibilities, and the need to rebuild ourselves midstream. If a career theory can help us see these things more clearly, it remains valuable, even with its flaws.

And that may be the most practical way to use it today: take the clarity, leave the assumptions, and keep your eyes on the real world, the one where no rainbow runs in a straight line.

In My Hands Today…

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Story of a Murder: The Wives, the Mistress, and Dr. Crippen – Hallie Rubenhold

This is the story of a murder, not a murderer . . .

In Story of a Murder, bestselling author of The Five and celebrated historian Hallie Rubenhold reexamines the events leading up to the infamous Crippen murder from the perspectives of the three women at the center of it all.

When Belle Elmore’s remains were discovered in the basement of London’s 39 Hilldrop Crescent in July 1910, the larger-than-life vaudevillian performer was launched into stardom she never achieved on the stage.

Story of a Murder provides an intricately plotted, intimate look into the lives of three multifaceted women living during a time of electric progress and stifling Crippen’s first wife, Charlotte, who died under mysterious circumstances; his mistress, Ethel, who claimed ignorance of his crime even as she escaped with Crippen disguised as his son; and Belle, the woman whose life Crippen took.

Throughout the twentieth century, the infamous Crippen murder was told in such a way as to cast doubt on Crippen’s guilt and to victim-blame his wife Cora for her own murder. It also astonishingly depicted Crippen’s younger mistress, Ethel, as innocent of any involvement in the killing of her love rival.

But new evidence unearthed by Rubenhold completely subverts this famous history, unravelling assumptions about the crime and deconstructing Edwardian beliefs about women, class aspiration, and the transatlantic world, ultimately proving that Charlotte, Belle, and Ethel were so much more than the passive victims history has portrayed them as.

Recipes: Chikkad Chole

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I had come across Chikkad Chole in a few reels and videos and had been intrigued by it enough that I wanted to try it. Also known as Chikkar Chole, Chikkad Chole is a traditional Punjabi chickpea curry beloved across the India-Pakistan border, with deep historical roots and cultural significance.

Chikkad Chole’s history is intertwined with Punjabi and Lahori culinary traditions. The name “chikkad” or “chikar” refers to the dish’s thick, mud-like consistency, achieved by mashing the chickpeas during cooking. It’s believed that the use of chickpeas, native to the Indian subcontinent and the Middle East, spread through ancient trade routes and became a staple in North Indian cuisine. Over centuries, chickpeas were adopted into Mughal kitchens, where the combination of spices and slow-cooking techniques developed into rich gravies that define today’s Chole recipes.

Many culinary legends suggest chole recipes gained prominence during the Mughal era, especially as royal cooks experimented with locally available pulses and spices. As communities moved due to the partition of India in 1947, food traditions like Chikkad Chole also migrated and became popular in cities like Delhi and Lahore, bringing comfort to families amidst upheaval. Famous eateries and individuals, such as Peshori Lal Lamba of Kwality Restaurant or street vendors in Paharganj, Delhi, played pivotal roles in popularising variations of Chole across urban India after the partition.

Chikkad Chole is more than just a dish; it’s a symbol of Punjabi hospitality and celebration. It’s a staple during festivals, gatherings, and community events, often enjoyed alongside bhature, naan, or rice. The tangy, spicy flavours, achieved with amchur, anardana, cardamom, and black salt, reflect the agricultural richness and multicultural influences of the Punjab region.

In Lahore, Chikar Cholay is cherished as a popular street food, with vendors serving thick, aromatic chickpea curry on bustling corners. Culinary techniques, such as adding black tea and dried amla, have become characteristic of the region’s style, giving the curry its unique colour and depth of flavour.

While the dish’s core ingredients remain chickpeas and spice blends, every household and city has its nuanced twist, from the amount of mashing to the combination of souring agents. The addition of anardana (pomegranate powder) and amchur (dried mango powder) is a relatively modern adaptation, providing the requisite tang available in today’s kitchens. With changing times, the recipe continues to evolve, adapting to personal preferences and regional ingredients while maintaining its legacy of bold taste and comforting texture.

Chikkad Chole

Ingredients:

  • 1.5 cups dried chickpeas (white kabuli or black chana), soaked overnight
  • 2 tea bags (for colour, optional)
  • 4 pieces dried Indian gooseberry (amla), optional
  • Salt to taste
  • 2 medium onions, finely chopped
  • 3 medium tomatoes, pureed
  • 2 medium-sized potatoes, peeled
  • 1-2 green chillies, slit
  • 1 inch ginger, cut into julienne plus extra for garnish
  • Oil for frying
  • ¼ tsp garam masala (optional, for garnish)

For the Chikkad Chole Masala

  • 1 black cardamom
  • 3 cloves
  • 1-inch cinnamon stick
  • ¼ tsp ajwain (carom seeds)
  • 1 tsp cumin powder
  • 1 tbsp coriander powder
  • ½ tsp red chilli powder
  • ¼ tsp black pepper powder
  • 1 tsp kasuri methi (dried fenugreek leaves)
  • 1 tsp amchur (dry mango powder)
  • 1 tsp anardana (pomegranate powder; optional, skip if avoiding)
  • 1 tsp kala namak (black salt)

Method:

  • For the masala, dry roast the spices until aromatic, then cool and grind into a fine powder.
  • Soak chickpeas overnight in plenty of water.
  • Drain and transfer to a pressure cooker. Add tea bags (for deep colour), potatoes and dried amla (if using) with water and salt.
  • Pressure cook until soft (usually 15-20 minutes, or 4-5 whistles).
  • In a heavy-bottomed pan, heat oil and sauté onions until golden brown.
  • Add julienned ginger and green chillies. Sauté for a minute.
  • Add pureed tomatoes and cook until the oil separates and the tomatoes are fully cooked.
  • Add the prepared Chikkad Chole masala blend and sauté for 2-3 minutes until fragrant.
  • Once the pressure reduces, drain the boiled chickpeas, reserve the water, and take about 3-4 tbsp of the cooked chole into a blender along with the boiled potatoes and blend into a smooth paste.
  • Add the paste into the pan and stir well.
  • Once it comes to a boil, add the cooked chickpeas, and mix everything together.
  • Add salt to taste and pour in some of the reserved water to achieve a thick consistency.
  • Simmer on low heat for 20-30 minutes, mashing some chickpeas to make the gravy thick.
  • Add garam masala and kasuri methi and mix before serving.
  • Add more ginger julienne and chopped coriander leaves before serving.
  • Serve piping hot with bhature, kulcha, naan, or rice for an authentic experience.

Notes:

  • Pomegranate powder (anardana) adds a distinct tang. If omitting, increase the dry mango powder slightly for tartness, or use just amchur instead.
  • The black tea bags and dried amla are for colour only, not essential for flavour.
  • For an even thicker, richer gravy, mash some chickpeas directly in the pan as the curry simmers.