Gadbad Ghotala, ‘Mess of Stuff’

Growing up in Wichita, Kansas in the 1980’s, my family was one of only a handful of families that was Indian. My parents immigrated to the United States from India in the mid-1970’s to work as young physicians. A few years later they married and once they had my brother and I, my dad worked during the day while my mom worked nights at the hospital to make ends meet. After completing their medical residencies in New York and Cleveland, they wanted to find a small community - something different than the bustling upbringing they had in Bombay -  to build a new life for my brother and I. When I was one, we moved to an under-developed neighborhood in Wichita and my dad’s parents joined us shortly after. 

The three generations in our household had different belief systems that directly related to where they landed on the Indian-American spectrum, and each generation challenged the others daily. Through school and interactions with friends, my brother and I were the most entrenched in the American culture, and we frequently rebelled against the cultural norms in order to fit in. My grandparents had a fully Indian point of view and often pulled us in the other direction. My parents worked hard to assimilate to America, while also retaining the most coveted parts of our Indian culture. We cultivated our Indian-American family each weekend.  

Monday through Thursday was very structured, and the emphasis was on school and work. We always had Indian food during the week, but on Friday evenings, it felt more relaxed. My mom usually made enchiladas or another Mexican dish she invented called gadbad ghotala, ‘mess of stuff’. She placed crushed tortilla chips, cheese, beans, tomatoes, onions, peppers, spinach and whatever else she could find in the fridge in a dish, and cooked it in the oven. My mom made delicious guacamole that paired perfectly with both dishes. She mashed the avocados and mixed the lime juice, garlic, pico de gallo and salt by hand. There was something about the way my mom mashed the avocados by hand that made the guacamole taste even better.  Sometimes we ate in front of the TV watching “Full House”. It was the time in the week when my brother and I lived out our American side in the house. 

We always joked that my mom made more food than is necessary, but she had enough to feed the many friends who frequently dropped by unannounced. This propensity to prepare for guests goes back to her time in India. Living in apartments in Bombay, it was customary for neighbors to drop by unexpectedly and join for a meal. 

Many stories were told at the dinner table, including those by my grandfather, my dad’s dad. He had a management career in the oil and gas industry in South India, and being the oldest of his siblings, was immensely respected by his family.  He told us stories about the war, my dad’s childhood, and raising his siblings after his own father passed. These stories connected me to my South Indian roots, while the type of food we ate, the Indian friends we had, and the language I spoke connected me to my mom’s heritage in the state of Gujarat.

Later in the evening, we spent time as a family watching a movie or playing games. One of my favorite games was Carrom, an Indian tabletop board game similar to pool. The object was to flick a white disc to get your pieces into pockets around the large board. My dad usually won, but I loved playing regardless.  Recently, my parents were about to give the game away to family friends, but I objected because of my sentimental attachment to it and still proudly store the game under my bed in my parents’ house.

Each Saturday we spent visiting a different family friend’s house. These planned get-togethers usually consisted of eating, talking, and Balvihaar cultural classes. We heard stories of the Hindu religion, learned Hindi words, and did hands-on activities like making samosas. We filled triangular pieces of dough with a vegetable filling and folded over the edges. We used a toothpick to make designs on the outside of the dough. I remember tasting the samosas that we made and thinking they didn’t come close to the taste of my mom’s samosas. 

We now refer to this handful of original Indian families as the founding fathers of Wichita because they built the first temple and started the cultural holidays. There are now over 500 Indian families living in Wichita and the Balvihaar classes have expanded to be more formalized for the community.

It is those special Sunday mornings, waking earlier than normal to the savory smell of dosa, my comfort food, that sticks out most in my mind.  Each time, I ran down the stairs to the kitchen, declaring, “I want dosa!”  By the time I got to the kitchen, my mom had already spent the time to grind the dal, dried lentils, rice, and water in the blender and let the batter sit for an hour. Instead of equal parts of those ingredients, as the South Indian recipe traditionally calls for, my mom, who always searched for ways to make everything more nutritious for her family, opted for a higher portion of dal. Once the batter was ready, she heated the skillet until it reached the precise temperature, and used the ladle to pour the batter into the skillet. Using the bottom of the ladle, she quickly guided the batter in one continuous motion, inside out, evenly dispersing all the batter into a perfect circle. She knew exactly when the first side fried to perfection and masterfully flipped it. She monitored the temperature of the pan to ensure that it didn’t get too hot or cold. With each new dosa, she removed the skillet completely, poured and distributed the batter evenly in a circle and then put it back on the heat with ease. To this day, when I am home, I am instantly starving upon the smell of dosa.

We danced together on the weekend to “Footloose”, “Flashdance”, and Bollywood tunes. My mom’s love of dance became mine on these days and I too, became a dancer, starting at age 3 and lasting through college. My dad always followed us around, holding the handle of his clunky video camera and capturing the joy on film of us all dancing while sneaking in some moves himself. As the years passed, my brother stopped dancing with us, but when we sat on my parents’ bed and turned on the projector, the proof was on the wall. “She’s a Maniac” was playing in our minds as we watched the silent video of my brother at age 3 doing the running man on the coffee table while I at age 18 months followed suit, and in these moments, we were young again.

Sundays were usually quiet and focused more on the preparation for the week ahead. We had family conferences each Sunday evening. This was dedicated time to talk and learn informally as a family.  It was a bit like a team meeting, in the sense that we were treated like peers. My dad taught us to manage finances. We learned to save our allowance, deposit it in our bank account, write checks, and balance a checkbook. My parents made sure we were responsible, understood the value of money, and that we spent our money on the important things in life. Each year we pulled out maps to plan where we would travel, learned about the culture of the people living there, and made all the necessary preparations together. In the end though, it was my dad’s detailed research and planning on index cards that made the trip. These family conferences taught us the importance of family time, and ensured we always supported each other. 

40 years after moving in, my parents still live in the same house in Wichita. Everything that we did each weekend revolved around creating a whole new life from scratch -- one that preserved our Indian culture while also allowing us to become Americans. How we ate, what we ate, and who was there all had cultural nuances. All the time I spent rebelling as a teenager was futile, because as an adult I came to realize that I am most proud of being Indian, and that it is being Indian that helps me be so close to my family and to better contribute to the American story. And when I make guacamole, I always mash the avocados with my hands. 

By Anisha Raghavan 

Anisha Raghavan is a senior marketing executive in the beauty industry and a graduate of Harvard Business School. She resides in San Francisco and outside of family time teaches dance and is a passionate whale watcher, nature lover and volunteer for child advocacy.