Heritage
Shevga: the tree in every Maharashtrian backyard
Ask anyone who grew up in a Maharashtrian village where the shevga tree stood, and they'll point to a corner of the yard. It was the tree nobody planted on purpose and everybody used. It grew fast, needed little water, and shrugged off the summer heat.
The pods, shevgyachya shenga, went into amti and sambar, and children learned early to scrape the soft flesh off the fibrous skin with their teeth. In the monsoon, when the tree pushed out fresh leaves, those went into a quick bhaji with garlic and onion, or got kneaded into thalipeeth dough. The flowers, briefly, became a fritter.
A food, before it was a "superfood"
None of this was called nutrition. It was simply what was growing. But kitchens across India had settled on something modern labs now confirm: the leaves of this tree are unusually rich in protein, calcium and iron for a green vegetable.
Sanskrit texts call the tree shigru, and list it among foods and kitchen herbs. In the south it's murungai, in the east sajna, in the north sahjan. The same tree, eaten in a dozen different ways.
What changed
As families moved to cities, the backyard tree didn't come with them. Fresh leaves are hard to find in a city market and wilt within a day. Drying and milling the leaf solves that: it turns a seasonal, fragile green into something that keeps for months in a kitchen cupboard.
That's all Palavi is, really. Not a new discovery, but a way to bring the backyard tree back into the city kitchen, carefully dried and tested.