On the days when Donald Trump was elected and the House of Representatives passed a bill banning refugees from settling in Australia for life, India was gripped by ‘demonetisation’. What this meant was that the government had outlawed the 500 and 1000 rupee notes with less than 24 hours notice. In a cash heavy economy where these two denominations count for 86% of all notes in circulation, there was chaos as people struggled to exchange their money at post-offices, railway stations, banks and other official places. It had been introduced to flush out ‘dark money’, to counter corruption as it plagued the country and supported terrorism. 

Demonetisation represented the largest bureaucratic intervention the state had undertaken for some time. Even national elections do not happen on a single day, so the immediate cessation of the notes represented a logistical and conceptual challenge. People struggled to pay for food and many businesses were deserted, leaving the already marginalised, which includes the 400 million people who live on less than 100 rupees ($2) per day, in an altogether more precarious situation as if that could be imagined. A week after its introduction, there were 33 related reported deaths.  

As I sat waiting for my dinner on the first night of this financial crisis, several people tried to pay with 500 rupee notes even though they were no longer legal tender. Our hosts were gracious and explained the situation, before pointing out that they would be open tomorrow when the bills could be settled. I had been coming to this restaurant at least once a week since I arrived in Kochi. The menu was North Indian with dishes that are recognisable the world over – palak paneer, butter chicken, roti, gulab jamun, mango lassi. To be certain, the cooking is homely and stylish, just like the restaurant’s interior, which is open and airy and has a wall adorned with immaculate, stretched checked dhotis. Other places offer multiple cuisines – Chinese, Western, ‘Continental’, Tibetan, Portuguese, Italian and, of course, North and South Indian. But this place specialises in high quality meals from a Mughlai tradition. There is nowhere else like it in Kochi. 

India is, of course, a vast and varied country, a place of contrasts and diversity that is connected by the rupee. But one divide that lingers is between North and South. Delhi is in the North, Bombay in the middle, and Kochi firmly in the South, rooted in its Malayalam language and influenced by the Tamils with their homeland further east, both of which provide a Dravidian bulwark against outside incursions. Although this matters as a frame of reference, in this restaurant identity is rooted in more specificity, in the memory of dishes from childhood. This was the food of youth. This was comfort food. These were the flavours of a distant home, transplanted now so that people the world over could share in such deliciousness and try to forget the chaos that meant ATMs were empty and queues stretched around the block from banks and post offices. 

Key among this comfort food is the biryani, which originates in Persia even as there are versions of it in South India too. For example, Hyderabadi biryani is famous nationwide and will often be punctuated by chicken, egg and mutton, like a hepped up dry risotto that floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee. Here in Kochi, there are other places that make biryani – Kayee’s in Matancherry is a place that locals flock to claiming it is ‘cheap, clean and delicious’ and my Palestinian neighbour entertains people from the corner mosque with a preserved lemon and saffron version that couples a pillowy basmati with caramel-burnt onion, cardamom and stringy mutton. Here though, as I sat cautiously counting my money and trying to avoid the meaning of a Trump victory, I could smell the biryani before it was brought to me. Served in a brass dish and studded with spice, it reminds me of a fantasy place of palaces and possibilities, with dancing and festivity. There is something special about it and not only because it encourages romance in the face of the adversity that is everywhere out the doors of restaurants. 

Although Dhal Roti specialises in food that has crossed boundaries and combined traditions, it is nevertheless rooted in an Indian Ocean locale. They make kati rolls using local ingredients and spice mixes reminiscent of Kerala fish fry, suggesting a way forward that negotiates a North-South divide. Down the end of their street is a parade ground where soldiers once marched and children now play sports. In the morning, groups of men gather to exercise here and stare at the women who brave this space to walk to work or simply around the grass itself. But from this place, you can see the water where there are fishing boats coming back with the night’s catch and container ships heading to ports all over the world – Hong Kong, Singapore, Cape Town, Jakarta, Fremantle. This place is a place where one can ask questions of what identity is, what the story of belonging can be. And it is through food that we can all become closer still, despite the borders our politicians would want us to believe are unfailingly real and closed to only an entitled few. They are people who live the truth of the saying that ‘if you have more, build a longer table not a higher fence’ and welcomed those in a demonetised India to eat first and worry about the money later.