There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made.

~The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien

In the beginning there was a river. The river became a road and the road branched out to the whole world. And because the road was once a river it was always hungry.

~the famished road, Ben Okri

[ karhi. ]

1/4 tsp. rye
1/4 tsp. zeera
1/2 tsp. lassan
karhi patta (about 5-6 leaves)
1 green chilly (fat, uncut, stemmed: the non-"chilly" variety.)
1/2 tsp. haldi
1/4 tsp. red chilly powder
oil
salt

Batter
1/2 cup dahi*
3/4 cup besan
1 tsp. salt

*preferably just a little tangy, borderline sour. the kind which can cause a bit of a tingle in that area at the back of your mouth.. the space between the ear and the jaw bone... where it is always nice to kiss and be kissed.
put the ingredients for the batter into a mixing bowl and add two cups of water. process the mixture anyway you like- fork, spoons, whisks, electric beaters, food processor- as long as you've got the lumps out.

heat oil in pan. considering you're going to be pouring in a good three four cups of water, make sure the pan is large. and make sure its hot. and make sure the oil is just the right amount, at just the right temperature. three-four tablespoons at medium heat for five mins should do it.
at this point, you reach a crucial juncture in family history. my mother only likes onions in moderation. my father was weaned on them. so my dadi would always throw in half a small chopped onion at this point until it turns from coral-pink-white to transparent-honey. in my opinion onions add great texture to just about anything, but if you dont agree, proceed to the next step.
toss in the rye and zeera. the flame should be low at this point, so as not to burn the stuff. add lassan paste. stir for a bit, then throw in the fat chilly. at this point something or the other is almost always burning, so add a bit of water. add red chilly powder and haldi, and then pour the contents of the batter while stirring. add another cup of water.
and then we add the karhi patta.
if you live in some far flung corner of the world that does not have karhi patta growing just about everywhere, youre going to have to settle for a dried/fried variety. drying and frying, while both excellent ways of preserving flavour, cannot compare to fresh karhi patta plucked from your (or the neighbour's) garden. unfortunately, this is where instructions cannot guide you anymore. to know how much karhi patta it will take to make the perfect karhi, you have to rely on intuition. does it smell powerful, potent- does the scent rub off on your fingers? does it kiss the back of your throat? then three or four big leaves will suffice. do you have to lean in, close your eyes, open your mouth and inhale before you can taste that faraway flavour of heat, lemon and spice? then you should throw in at least 6 leaves. it all depends.
stir the karhi for a minute. then leave it on a slow fire to cook, covered. check after five-ten minutes, it should thicken. check for salt, and then leave to cook for another twenty minutes. serve with rice, khichri* or eat plain, with bits of bread.

*for best results, scoop khichri into a mound on your plate. very carefully create a hole in the centre of the mound, to make a well. pour karhi into the well. and then mash the whole thing up.
while it is uncertain whether this does anything for the taste, two 3-year-olds (now 20) will testify that it does enhance the experience.