Every year, on November 1st, Karnataka comes alive in a riot of red and yellow as the state celebrates Karnataka Rajyotsava. Across the state, schools echo with the words of the state anthem, “Jaya Bharata Jananiya Tanujate”, and citizens pause to honour the rich history, culture, and identity of Karnataka. Yet beneath this display of festivity lies a quieter, more complex reality: despite its rich heritage, Karnataka—and Bengaluru in particular—remains woefully under-marketed and underappreciated. The state’s tourism tagline, “One State, Many Worlds”, captures the diversity of Karnataka but fails to convey the depth of its stories, its culinary history, and the layered narrative of its capital.

Take Bengaluru, India’s modern-day tech and startup hub. Millions recognize it as the Silicon Valley of India, yet few are aware of the man who founded the city: Kempe Gowda. His name is emblazoned at the airport, greeting visitors as they arrive, yet the general public knows little of his life, vision, or legacy. A young vassal of the powerful Vijayanagara Empire, Kempe Gowda established a mud fort in 1537 in what is now the old pete area, naming it Bengaluru. The fort, remarkably, still stands today, a quiet sentinel to a city that has grown far beyond its original walls.

Legend holds that Kempe Gowda was inspired to establish his city during a hunting expedition near Hesaraghatta. Observing a tiny hare chasing a hound, he perceived the land as a “gandu bhoomi”—a land of heroism. That night, he dreamt of the goddess Lakshmi, interpreting the vision as a divine sign to build his city. His ambitions were both youthful and monumental: to carve an identity in a land of opportunity, a vision that would shape the destiny of the Deccan Plateau.

Yet building a city was not without its trials. Astrologers reportedly warned that the south wall of the fort would collapse unless a human sacrifice was made. Though Kempe Gowda opposed the idea, a tragic twist unfolded when his pregnant daughter-in-law, Lakshmamma, took her own life to appease the spirits. A temple in her honour still stands today, a reminder of the human sacrifices entwined with the city’s origin.

The Land That Nurtured a City

Bengaluru occupies a unique spot on the Deccan Plateau, characterised by its Peninsular gneiss, one of the oldest rock formations on Earth. The city has no natural rivers or mountains to define or nurture it. Instead, its survival and growth depended on the fertile red soil, locally called kempu. This loamy, nutrient-rich earth provided the foundation upon which the city’s first inhabitants cultivated crops and built settlements.

Later rulers, including Haider Ali and Tipu Sultan, recognised Bengaluru’s agricultural potential and embarked on ambitious planting initiatives, importing fruit trees and flowering plants from around the world. This layering of influences—local and imported—gave Bengaluru a unique ecological and cultural mosaic, much like the layered complexity of a biryani.

The Early Diet of Bengaluru’s Inhabitants

While today Bengaluru is famous for idlis, dosas, and Mughlai delicacies, the city’s earliest residents ate functional, high-energy foods designed for sustenance and endurance. Rice, now a staple, was once considered a luxury. Instead, the diet relied heavily on millets such as ragi, jowar, and bajra—grains that continue to appear in traditional Karnataka cuisine.

Interestingly, food was sometimes weaponised during times of resistance. During the freedom struggle, women would scatter ragi on the streets when British officers inspected their areas. Horses would slip, and local wrestlers, training in garadi manes (wrestling arenas) in the old pete, would overpower the British. Food, it seems, was as much a tool of survival and resistance as it was nourishment.

Daily meals were simple yet deliberate. Early Bangaloreans gathered around women serving mudde and saaru—thick millet balls accompanied by thin, protein-rich soups made from locally available pulses such as huruli (horsegram), avare (hyacinth bean), and thogari (tuvar dal). Greens, often foraged from nearby gardens, were added to these meals, giving them both nutrition and flavour. Today, we might call this practice “foraging,” but for the early inhabitants, it was simply a way to survive and thrive in a fledgling city.

The spices used were minimal but meaningful. The bydegi chili, now synonymous with Kannada cuisine, had yet to arrive from the Americas. Instead, black pepper (kari menasu) provided the heat—a warmer, slower-burning spice that gave early dishes a subtle, lingering warmth rather than the sharp bite of modern chilies. Meat, particularly mutton or chicken, was reserved for martial communities or special occasions, leaving the majority of the diet plant-based and energy-dense.

Despite this simplicity, there was sophistication in their cooking. Meals were carefully balanced: pulses provided protein, millets gave sustained energy, greens added freshness and vitamins, and spices enhanced flavour. This early diet was fuel for a city in the making, sustaining builders and warriors, farmers and craftsmen alike, as they laid the foundations of modern Bengaluru.

Culinary Sophistication in Simplicity

Even in the absence of exotic ingredients or rich Mughlai sauces, Bengaluru’s early cuisine displayed a nuanced understanding of flavour, texture, and nutrition. The interplay of earthy millets, warming pepper, tender pulses, and fresh greens created a balance that was both functional and pleasing to the palate. Meals were designed to energise, fortify, and sustain—a reflection of a society engaged in the monumental task of city-building.

The story of Bengaluru’s culinary history reminds us that food is never just sustenance; it is culture, identity, and resilience. The city’s early inhabitants demonstrated ingenuity in making the most of what the land offered, crafting meals that were modest in ingredients but rich in purpose and flavour.

From Past to Present

Today, Bengaluru is celebrated as a global tech hub, a city of cafes, startups, and international cuisine. Yet beneath the modern skyline lies a legacy of resourcefulness, resilience, and culinary heritage that stretches back to Kempe Gowda and the first settlers of the pete. Understanding this history gives us a richer sense of the city—not just as India’s IT capital, but as a place built by people who foraged, cultivated, and innovated to create a living, breathing urban space from scratch.

Karnataka Rajyotsava, then, is more than just a festival. It is a reminder of the city’s origins, of the people who lived off the red soil, nurtured by millets and pulses, inspired by dreams and divinity, and sustained by the clever use of local resources. In celebrating the state, we honour both the grandeur of its past rulers and the everyday ingenuity of its first inhabitants, who foraged for their pulse—literally and metaphorically—while laying the foundations of what Bengaluru would become.

Bengaluru’s culinary and cultural journey—from mudde and saaru to idlis and biryanis, from Kempe Gowda’s fort to Silicon Valley of India—is a story of adaptation, survival, and sophistication. It is a layered, complex narrative, much like the city itself: humble yet ambitious, rustic yet refined, local yet cosmopolitan.