LFC Mumbai | October 2025 | By Rishaya Palkhivala
Across cities, my most frequent phrase at the sabji vendor was “Yeh kya hai?” I was persistent in my procurement of the unseen and uneaten for my cauliflower- and French bean-ordering family.
While pursuing my Master’s at the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad in 2016, it was buying my own vegetables that introduced me to regional favourites like Gunda (Gum Berry) and varieties of mangoes like Gola, that I had never heard of. During the Covid-19 lockdown in 2020, I moved back to Mumbai. I began to dive deep into cooking experiments, and the Grant Road market became a constant.
In 2023, I moved out of my family home and began cooking for myself. I found it surprisingly enjoyable. Dadar railway station, whose crushing crowds once made it seem so ominous to me, became a daily means of transport. It was where I accidentally traipsed into a whole new world.
Though it may be an extension of the Dadar Market, calling it a “market” would be a stretch. It was a 5-6 metre stretch of inclined walkway up to the station. Elbowing through the crowd, running for the train, one might ignore the sellers on each side of the path. Thankfully, my eyes were always peeled, always curious.
When the monsoon arrived, this makeshift market burst into life.
I could not recognise many of the verdant vegetables on display, but asking the lady sellers would give me a vague indication. However, what I heard rarely corresponded to the exact name. After a few online searches, I generally came to some conclusion. Recipes, articles, and information such as scientific or common names for many of the vegetables on display were limited. Yet, I considered myself lucky to get my hands on them, and through my eager discoveries, a plethora of wild foods opened up to me.
These were not just local and seasonal. They were uncultivated and foraged. Many of the sellers came to Dadar station from Saphale, about a 100 kilometres away, with foraged foods of the day, and went back by mid-day. When I returned in the evening, I was faced with the sight of mundane produce once more.
My introduction to wild foods only led to more curiosity. I sometimes questioned if consuming hyper local and seasonal ingredients was depriving the rightful owners of their bounty, as the gap between tribal foragers and urban consumers felt glaringly conspicuous.
Still, I was eager to taste the freshly foraged vegetables of the day and witness a plate that evolved with the seasons, being a Mumbaikar who barely feels the earth beneath her feet.
I no longer live in Dadar, but I often find myself longing to walk that path once again, buying vegetables from the hands of those who foraged them.
The inclined walkway leading to Dadar railway station in Mumbai is the mini-market of my dreams. I would stuff my bags full with fresh greens, often sold by volume, not weight. The vegetable vendors always obliged my use of re-usable bags over plastic ones, confused as they were by the request.
While the greens are often easier to cook, the calcium oxalate crystals in Colocasia can irritate the mouth and throat when not prepared correctly. Bamboo Shoots also need careful preparation to reduce their bitterness. Takla is easy to work with and versatile. I have got my hands on it multiple times; beyond the regular stir-fry and dal, we have also made theplas with Takla instead of Methi.
I cooked Kurdu with mustard seeds and some spices, but Phodshi had a grassy, slightly bitter aftertaste which was mitigated by adding masalas, sugar, amchur, grated coconut, and peanuts. I later realised it may have been due to my limited knowledge of the ingredient, as many recipes recommend removing some of the bottom white section to avoid bitterness.
Bharangi (Blue Glory) is primarily used in Ayurveda. Unfortunately, I cannot remember its taste, because I only found it once.
Kantola (Teasle or Spine Gourd) is a vegetable from the Cucurbit family that tastes slightly bitter-sweet when cooked. This is the first wild food I tasted, easily found during the rains in markets across Mumbai. Kantola is delicious when thinly sliced and lightly fried with amchur and chilli.
The Navdhari Bhendi is bigger, lighter in colour, less sticky and more fibrous than regular Bhendi.
Dinde was a fascinating discovery for me—a plant’s stem that must be peeled and cooked. My grandmother’s caretaker, Anju, recognised it, and helped me prepare it according to her recipe—chopping it into small discs and stir-frying it with minimal spices. I have still not found an English or scientific name for Dinde, emphasising the hyper local nature of the stem.
My attempt at cooking Bamboo Shoots wasn’t entirely successful. While I boiled and then soaked the shoots for days, I still had to mask the bitterness with sweetness and spice. I can’t recall the rest of the dishes on the plate, but I suspect the raita is made with Mogri (radish pods), another lesser known vegetable that can be eaten cooked or raw.
Learn more about ingredients like bamboo shoots, spine gourd, okra, and cluster beans on Know Your Desi Ingredients, The Locavore’s ever-expanding repository of knowledge about ingredients that are native to the Indian subcontinent and have been adapted into mainstream culinary narratives of people, places, and cultures.
Rishaya Palkhivala is a writer, filmmaker, and yoga teacher who spends most of her time thinking of food.
If you have similar stories about your experiments with indigenous produce, please write to us at connect@localfoodclub.in—we would love to feature you.