How Mauritius keeps Indian imprints alive in its culture, heritage and cuisine

But what truly stunned us was the equally massive figure of Mangal Mahadev, trident in hand, appearing nearby. So colossal, we wondered how we had missed him. Standing at the edge of the lake, it felt like a scene lifted straight from the stories we grew up reading, of the Hindu pantheon dwelling in faraway, mist-covered realms.

We were at Ganga Talao, the sacred crater lake nestled in the misty highlands of Mauritius. These twin sentinels — Durga and Mangal Mahadev — stand tall around it, anchoring the serene and spiritual Ganga Talao, the island’s most sacred Hindu site, and a must-visit for travellers tracing the Indian cultural imprint on Mauritius.

According to local legend, Pandit Jhummun Giri of Triolet (a northern town in Mauritius), had a dream in the late 1890s. In it, another pandit urged him to seek out a forgotten sacred lake in the island’s south. He followed this divine vision, journeyed across the island, and eventually reached this crater lake, where he offered prayers to Lord Shiva.

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In 1897, he is believed to have undertaken the first ‘Kanwar Yatra’ from Triolet to the lake, a pilgrimage that has since become an annual tradition for Mauritian Hindus during the weeklong Maha Shivaratri celebrations. Then in 1972, the then Prime Minister of Mauritius, Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam, brought holy water from Gaumukh, the source of the Ganges in India, and poured it into the lake, sanctifying it as Ganga Talao.

Now if you think it is a one-off presence in a distant land, you are in for a surprise just as we were. “There’s a 108-feet-tall statue of Lord Venkateshwara at Hari Hara Devasthanam, a temple dedicated to Draupadi that’s believed to be Mauritius’s very first Hindu temple — along with many other unique sacred spaces,” said Tejal Seebhujan, a Gujarati home-baker who juggles part-time work in the tourism sector with life on the island, where she is married to a local.

A multicultural speck in the Indian Ocean

The East African island nation of Mauritius, just off the coast of Madagascar and near Réunion, may sell itself as a tropical escape, but it is far more than beaches and blue lagoons. It is a vibrant whirl of colour, various cultures, and cuisine, shaped by centuries of migration, resilience, and reinvention.

Named Dina Arobi by the Arabs, Mauritius passed through many colonial hands — Portuguese, Dutch, French, and finally British. It was under French rule in 1736 that the island’s capital, Port Louis, was founded and its harbour developed.

Today, from French-style châteaux and intricately carved Hindu temples to buzzing spice markets and sugarcane fields that sway like green oceans from afar, Mauritius stands as a living, if sometimes sombre, archive of global movement of people and cultural fusion.

Where Indenture began

Mauritius may be a tiny speck in the Indian Ocean, but it is steeped in Indian memory and cultural imprint, layered into its food, faith, and festivals. Nearly 70% of the island’s 1.2 million people are of Indian origin, and their presence is palpable at every turn.

How did these Indian migrants land in Mauritius, bringing with them the flavours and rituals of the Indian subcontinent? I found the answer on a short visit to the UNESCO heritage site of Aapravasi Ghat, located on the bay of Trou Fanfaron in Port Louis. It was here, at Aapravasi Ghat, that close to half a million Indians first set foot in Mauritius, many as early as 1829, having signed contracts with colonial agents back home — in pursuit of better prospects in a land said to lie just a little beyond India. Contrary to that promise, they were sent on an arduous sea journey, far from home, to what the contractors called Marich Desh.

The labourers who survived the voyage disembarked at this immigration depot, the structural remains of which can still be seen. These labourers were not called ‘slaves’, for slavery had just been abolished. Instead, they were dubbed ‘indentured labourers’, a “glossy” term coined by the British to sanitise what was, in effect, bonded servitude. The period between the 1830s and early 1900s is now remembered as the Age of Indenture.

Upon arrival in Marich Desh, the new immigrants ascended the iconic ‘16 steps’ of Aapravasi Ghat, only to be packed into cramped barracks with poor sanitation while their immigration paperwork was processed. Next came a medical screening — those suspected of carrying cholera, malaria or other diseases were dispatched to northern islands off Mauritius’s coast like Flat Island, then a quarantine station (locally known as a lazaretto), now a biodiverse tourism hotspot.

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Here, the Indian labourers were joined by others from China and Africa. With minimal care and grim conditions, many never made it beyond this stage. Those who did survive were sent to toil on the island’s sugarcane plantations for meagre wages.

Even today, much of the agricultural land here is covered by sugarcane fields owned by French people but enriched by the sweat of migrants and the island’s red volcanic soil, informed Tejal. The indentured labourers who once worked on these plantations largely consisted of people from India’s Bihar and Tamil Nadu, apart from workers from Africa and China.

Mandirams built by Telugu immigrants, kovils by Tamilians, mandirs by Biharis, and pagodas by the Chinese now dot this African islet, frequented by locals, and increasingly, by cultural enthusiasts and curious visitors.

Flavours of migration

The prosperity of Mauritius has in many ways been built on the backs of migrants, particularly Indians, whose sweat and sacrifice helped shape the nation. Today, their influence runs deep — in the island’s food, language, and festivals. Many now lead its economy and define its culinary identity.

The Dutch introduced sugarcane, tobacco, citrus fruits, and even wild boar and deer, while famously hunting the dodo into extinction. The French taught the islanders the art of breadmaking and stews. The Chinese brought stir-fried noodles, sauces, and dumplings (boulettes). And the Indian labourers came with pickles, lentils, and recipes for countless curries or cari.

At the bustling Caudan Waterfront in Port Louis — an upscale esplanade and a favourite of Indian filmmakers, street food stalls hum with activity. Vendors effortlessly switch between Creole, French, and Bhojpuri as they dish out flaky dholl puri with tangy atchar and crispy gateaux piment (protein-packed dough balls), evoking southern Indian masala vadai. These are often enjoyed with a glass of alouda, Mauritius’s chilled take on faluda.

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The Tamil-style Mauritian sept cari is another culinary signature and a sensory feast — seven vegetarian curries arranged around a mound of rice and pooris, served on banana leaves and eaten by fingers sans cutlery, during festivals like Thaipoosam Cavadee, weddings and other special occasions. It echoes Tamil Nadu’s arusuvai unavu, the celebration of six fundamental tastes. “It’s a cuisine inspired by India but rooted in Mauritius,” said Makend, a local Mauritian of Indian-Bihari ancestry and one of the few cooks to have mastered this distinctive fusion.

During his cooking class, he walked us through the making of the Mauritian sept cari, a traditional spread that includes rougaille (a Creole tomato sauce reimagined with Indian spices and vegetables), dal brinzel (a take on Tamil brinjal sambhar), haricots masala (green beans in a fragrant spice blend), cari banane (a turmeric-laced raw banana stir-fry akin to Chettinad’s dry stir-fry poriyal), masala pommes de terre or spiced potato curry, cari zak (stir-fried shredded raw jackfruit), and touffe giraumon (spiced pumpkin). The meal is rounded out with local condiments like kutcha and achard légume.

“The Tamil sept cari has a coconut flavour running through its dishes,” added Tejal Seebhujan, who accompanied us to Makend’s cooking class, “while the Hindu [non-Tamil] meal hardly uses any grated coconut”.

After tasting dholl puri, bhojpuri, sept cari, and even the so-called Palm Heart Salad, nicknamed the millionaire’s salad, I realised Mauritius’s food scene is truly an Indo-African potpourri. At the heart of Mauritius’s kitchens lies a cuisine shaped by journeys—often painful, sometimes hopeful. Every dholl puri and sept cari carries a story of indenture, adaptation, and endurance. And while every wave of arrival, from Arab and Dutch traders to French and British colonisers, left its imprint, it is the bold, lingering flavours of Indian, Chinese, and African migrants that define the island’s daily plate.

Endurance and reclamation

These stories of indentured labourers shipped across seas and bent to the will of colonial exploiters lingered long after I left Mauritius. For days after visiting Aapravasi Ghat, I could not look at white sugar the same way. But beyond the hardship, what stayed with me was their quiet endurance.

In temples like Ganga Talao they built, in the festivals they preserved, and in the food they reinvented, I saw not just survival, but reclamation. Mauritius does not just remember its migrants, it stands because of them.