Monica Saigal Besan, or gram flour, is the quiet hero of my kitchen (and I suspect many other Indian-origin kitchens too!) It thickens gravies, binds fritters, and transforms into savory pancakes. Growing up, I would watch my aunt mix besan with water, spices, and fresh herbs, then spread it onto a hot griddle to make chillas (they are like thin savory crepes.. absolutely delicious). They would sizzle as they hit the iron, filling the kitchen with the fragrance of ajwain (one of the most underrated spices) and green chilies. She always made me the first one: soft at the center, crisp at the edges and served with a dollop of pickle on the side. On rainy afternoons, pakoras (deep fried fritters) were non-negotiable. Onions sliced thin, dipped in spiced besan batter, and fried until golden. I am still not sure how fritters and the monsoon rains go together but they do! Somehow the sound of rain was never complete without the crackle of pakoras in hot oil.
Besan’s gifts go well beyond taste. It is naturally gluten-free, packed with protein, and versatile enough to take on both sweet and savory avatars. In our home, ladoos made of roasted besan, ghee, and sugar were rolled by hand into perfect spheres and my cousins and I would try to sneak them while they were still warm. Then there was kadhi, a Punjabi staple in our family: a yogurt-and-besan curry, tangy and comforting, often ladled over rice. Each dish showed besan’s adaptability and the fact that it could be indulgent or everyday, celebratory or soothing.
Across India, besan takes on regional personalities. In Rajasthan, it is shaped into gatte—dumplings simmered in spiced yogurt sauce. In Gujarat, it becomes the base for dhokla, those airy, tangy cakes that are steamed and finished with mustard seeds and curry leaves. In Maharashtra, it turns into zhunka, a quick and rustic stir-fry with onions, green chilies, and a generous splash of oil. Even the humble pitthi ke parathe of Uttar Pradesh (flatbreads stuffed with spiced besan) show how deeply it is woven into daily meals.
And besan has always lived in the space between food and wellness. My grandmother swore by her besan face masks (prepared with turmeric and sometimes a touch of rosewater) for glowing skin before festivals and weddings. I used to roll my eyes when she would smear the mixture on me, but secretly I loved the cooling touch and the smell of turmeric and flour mingling on my skin. It was her way of saying that food could heal us, inside and out.
Besan binds flavors, memories, and traditions together: one pakora, one curry, one sweet ladoo at a time.
For perfect texture, try Laxmi Besan (Chickpea Flour). It’s finely milled and makes both chillas and sweets light yet hearty.