If you know me at all, you know I adore food—honestly, at this point, people attend my training sessions purely for the food-themed icebreakers. So really, no one should be shocked that I’m explaining marriage using a menu of my favourite dishes. I mean, I grew up with my father’s golden rule: eat when you’re happy, and eat even more when you’re sad or sick. Basically, in our house, emotions came with a side of snacks. Food gives me joy, it gives me comfort, and clearly, it’s also given me the perfect way to talk about marriage!
Marriage is often described as a journey, but in India, where life itself is seasoned with flavours, aromas, and spices, it may be more fitting to describe marriage as a feast. As the years simmer, relationships change—deepening, sweetening, occasionally spicing up, and sometimes demanding a slow stir.
Here’s a delicious comparison of Indian dishes to the stages of being wedded: 5 years, 10 years, 15 years, and 20 years & beyond.
🌶️Five years of marriage: Pani Puri — Exciting, Unpredictable, Addictive
The first five years of marriage resemble pani puri—bursting with excitement, crisp with novelty, and spiced with the thrill of discovering each other.
Pani puri is the ultimate Indian street-food thrill ride—tiny, crispy, hollow puris that look innocent until they explode with flavour. Each puri is cracked open and stuffed with a mix of spiced potatoes, chickpeas, and tangy chutneys, then dunked into chilled, spicy-tangy pani (flavoured water) made with mint, tamarind, coriander, and masalas that know exactly how to wake your taste buds.
The real magic is in the experience: you pop one whole into your mouth, and it bursts instantly—crunch, spice, tang, and sweetness all performing in perfect chaos. It’s messy, refreshing, addictive, and over far too quickly, which is precisely why you always want “one more.”
In India, pani puri isn’t just a snack—it’s a mood, a memory, a bonding ritual, and sometimes even a friendly (or competitive!) race to see who can handle the spiciest pani without tearing up.
Every interaction feels like that crunchy puri filled with tangy water: unexpected, sometimes too spicy, sometimes too sweet—but always leaving you wanting more.
You’re still learning each other’s quirks, still surprised by how they take their tea or how they leave towels on chairs. Arguments flare quickly but dissolve just as fast—like the burst of flavour in your mouth. It’s messy, fun, and deliciously chaotic.
🍛Ten years of marriage: Dum Biryani — Layered, Complex, Aromatic
A decade into marriage, the relationship transforms into a dum biryani—richly layered and slow-cooked.
Dum biryani is basically the royalty of Indian cuisine—slow-cooked, dramatic, and always arriving with enough attitude to make every other dish question its existence. It’s made by sealing rice, masala, and marinated meat or veggies in a pot so tightly that even the aromas need permission to escape. And when that lid finally opens, the steam rises like it’s making a grand, Bollywood-style entrance.
The rice is fluffy, the spices are flirting with each other, the onions are caramelised to perfection, and every bite feels like the universe briefly decided to bless your taste buds.
Incidentally, it was while demolishing a plate of this glorious dum biryani—so good it made me rethink my life decisions—that the idea for this article struck me. Maybe it was the spices, maybe it was divine intervention, or maybe biryani just has a way of making me feel philosophical between mouthfuls.
By now, couples have learned the art of patience—just as biryani reveals its true flavour only when allowed to simmer.
Trust becomes the fragrant basmati rice. Shared memories become tender pieces of marinated meat or vegetables. And the caramelized onions? Those are the inside jokes that continue to sweeten the experience.
There’s depth, warmth, and a certain assurance: even if conflicts arise, they blend back beautifully—much like spices in a well-made biryani.
🥘Fifteen years of marriage: Dal Makhani — Slow-Cooked Comfort and Consistency
Fifteen years in, marriage resembles dal makhani—creamy, comforting, and perfected only with slow cooking and dedication.
Dal makhani is the ultimate comfort diva of Indian cuisine—slow-cooked for hours (sometimes what feels like geological time) until the lentils are so soft they practically melt out of sheer laziness. It’s creamy, it’s buttery, and it’s that one dish that shows up to every North Indian meal acting like it’s the star of the show… and honestly, it usually is.
This legendary dal doesn’t believe in rushing. No, no—dal makhani takes its own sweet time, simmering away like it’s meditating on the meaning of life. By the time it’s done, it has the kind of rich, silky personality that makes you question why you ever bothered with any other dal.
It’s the food equivalent of a long hug, a soft blanket, and someone telling you “don’t worry, everything is going to be fine… just have another serving.” And you do. Because resisting dal makhani is like resisting gravity—technically possible, but why?
This phase is less about fireworks and more about quiet warmth.
Consistency becomes the ultimate luxury. You now understand each other without speaking. You know when to add “butter” and when to reduce “heat.”
It’s the kind of comfort food you return to after a long day—rich, familiar, and satisfying. You’ve built routines, yes, but they feel like home rather than monotony.
🍲Twenty years & beyond: Sambar — Balanced, Nourishing, and Timeless
Two decades of marriage and beyond is nothing short of sambar—a dish that is endlessly adaptable, nourishing, and deeply rooted in tradition.
Sambar (also spelled sambhar) is a popular South Indian dish known for its comforting, tangy, and mildly spicy flavor. Sambar is a lentil-based vegetable stew, traditionally made with: Toor dal (pigeon pea lentils), Tamarind for tanginess, Mixed vegetables like drumstick (moringa), pumpkin, carrot, brinjal (eggplant), okra, potato, or beans, a special spice blend called sambar powder.
It is seasoned with an aromatic tempering (tadka) of mustard seeds, curry leaves, dried red chilies, and sometimes asafoetida (hing).
Sambar isn’t flashy—it doesn’t need to be. Its greatness lies in its balance.
Similarly, couples at this stage have mastered the delicate blend of companionship, respect, humour, and acceptance.
Life may throw in new vegetables—children growing up, changing careers, ageing parents—but the relationship adjusts, absorbs, and continues simmering with resilience.
Years of shared life have given the bond a timeless stability—like sambar, whose taste subtly improves as it rests, gaining depth day after day.
A feast of love
Marriage, like Indian cuisine, thrives on variety, balance, and a willingness to experiment.
Whether bubbling with excitement like pani puri, rich like biryani, comforting like dal makhani, or timeless like sambar, each stage has its own flavour worth savouring.
In the end, love—much like cooking—isn’t about perfection.
It’s about showing up every day, stirring gently, and sharing the meal together.
