Chicken Changezi and Noor Indian Fusion Kitchen: A Legacy of Love, Loss and Craftsmanship

The girl in the spring floral dress softly said, “Chicken Changezi.” I repeated it, letting the name roll over my tongue. She whispered it again, “Chicken Changezi.” The bartender looked up, confirming, “Changezi.” That’s the most popular dish from the oven of Noor Indian Kitchen. 

Suddenly, the restaurant felt like an alcove tucked away in the narrow, bustling cobblestone streets of Old Delhi in 1221, where the tandoori chicken dish was first named. I’ve read that the waters of the Indus River were heavy, so cooks sourced spices like coriander, cloves, cumin, cinnamon, and cardamom from South India to make the dishes easier to digest. 

I thought of the city across the banks of the mighty river, where Changez Khan’s army camped and dreamed up flavors to enhance their chicken cooked in makeshift tandoors. The compelling names of Mughlai dishes have always intrigued me —Murgh Mussalam, Tunde Ke Kebab, Seekh Kebab, Shikampuri Kebab (from Hyderabad), and Murgh Jahangiri. 

One gentleman I know caused quite a stir at a fine dining restaurant in Delhi when his Shami Kebab arrived smaller than expected. And don’t even get me started on what he would have done had he ordered Bihari Kebabs—chunks of meat roasted over an open flame. I am certain it would not be unfit to name a kebab in his honor—perhaps “Tantrum Starters.” 

So, in this rush of gustatory memories, despite being a vegetarian, Chicken Changezi compelled me to write about this brave woman restaurateur, Nity Jaiswal, a mother of two little girls. Like any young mother, she has faced challenges in balancing family life with work and has confessed to dissolving into tears when leaving her infant at home.

Her younger daughter had just celebrated her Annaprashan (a ritual weaning ceremony). I visited Noor Indian Fusion Kitchen in Berkeley for a Women’s Day celebration. Over the last two years, I have tasted food at Indian establishments all over the Bay Area, from highfalutin Michelin-starred places like Kopra, Rasa, Essence, and Etan to dhaba-style joints like Vik’s, Mylapore, Appa Chi Kadai, and more. 

Some have delighted my subtle palate, while others have disappointed me. But I walked into Noor Indian with an open mind. The owner, Nity Jaiswal, explained that she took pride in mixing and grinding her own spices, and the recipes came from her father’s side. 

Noor India in Berkeley offers a mouthwatering array of traditional Indian entrees (both vegetarian and non-vegetarian). Chicken Changezi sparked my writing. Though I’ve been a vegan/vegetarian for years, I once enjoyed the pleasures of herb-marinated chicken as a child. While my mother and great-grandmother were the foundation of my vegetarianism—one through her flavorful dishes and the other with persuasive stories about the dangers of eating meat—there was still a part of me drawn to the rhythmic cadence of Chicken Changezi.

The Paneer Lababdar was creamy and succulent, each bite a beautiful blend of soft paneer in a rich tomato-based sauce. The Seekh Kebabs were smoky and perfectly spiced, and the pakoras were crispy on the outside, soft on the inside—not soggy with oil.

I remember sitting at the dinner table with my father, watching him tear tender morsels of chicken and feed them to me. His love for me permeated every bite. I didn’t think much about it then, but that small familial ritual later shaped how I would embrace food and enjoy sharing it with family and friends. I am sure my dad would have relished Chicken Changezi.

The name itself rolled off my tongue like a spell. “Changezi,” I whispered, half-expecting Genghis Khan himself to emerge from behind the tandoor, swords drawn, attempting to cross the Indus River into the flourishing metropolis of Delhi. Another time, during my travels in Venice, after days of pasta and pizza, I found myself ordering a chicken sandwich at a McDonald’s—breaded, slathered with melting cheese, and drenched in mayonnaise. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was comforting—a reminder that food, no matter how mundane, often grounds us in ways we least expect.

Fast forward to Berkeley, and Chicken Changezi found me again. Noor Indian Kitchen had come a long way from its beginnings as a cloud kitchen. The space buzzed with energy, its warm ambiance making it feel more like a home than a restaurant. The delicate aroma of spices in the air, paired with a live guitarist strumming soft melodies, made it feel like a special occasion. A celebration. 

At Noor Indian Kitchen, the flavors didn’t just fill the room; they told a story. Nity and her three sisters sat on the counter of her mother’s kitchen in India as she rolled out rotis. Nity moved to America when she was 18 for undergraduate studies. She called home several times asking her parents for recipes, and when she cooked, the flavors helped her stay close to her family. She cooked with her dad over FaceTime during the COVID pandemic, while pregnant with her younger daughter, Noora. Sadly, Nity’s father succumbed to the virus. 

After his passing, Nity dreamed of keeping his legacy alive. Her husband Bishal encouraged her to open a restaurant. They named it Noor, after her daughter and to honor her father’s love for cooking. Some families grow apart with a loss… others come together. No wonder the food was so delectable. 

The Paneer Lababdar was creamy and succulent, each bite a beautiful blend of soft paneer in a rich tomato-based sauce. The Seekh Kebabs were smoky and perfectly spiced, and the pakoras were crispy on the outside, soft on the inside—not soggy with oil. The Blackened Pindi Cholle was a revelation—tangy, spicy, and bursting with flavor, yet not oily or heavy. And the buttery naan? It was flaky and lightly charred, the kind you could keep eating until you forgot what else was on the table. 

Then, of course, there was Mughlai Chicken Changezi. A recipe passed down through generations, now reimagined in a way that felt both familiar and nostalgic. The chicken legs were slow-cooked in a tandoor, marinated to perfection, infused with smoky flavors, and finished off with ghee and burning charcoal for intense depth. And the gravy! Rich and creamy, bursting with flavor. Garnished with green leaves of coriander and served with fresh naan. 

But it wasn’t just the food—it was the experience. Noor India Kitchen offered an entire sensory journey. The venue, adorned with fresh flowers, candles, murals, Indonesian lamps, and modern accessories, was inviting. The hostess mingled with the guests. Laughter and warmth filled the air. Henna tattoos being applied in the corner contributed to the gaiety. We washed down the meal with non-alcoholic champagne, smooth mango lassi, masala chai, and filter coffee from Katha Coffee. 

I thanked the founder, Joshua, whose parents have a cardamom plantation in Kerala. After we enjoyed the meal and were ready for our siestas, the chef served chilled saffron-infused kheer for dessert. It was “not too sweet,” with cardamom perfectly stirred into the creamy milk. This woman-owned business was more than just a place to eat—it was a space where stories were told, recipes carried forward, and love and craftsmanship were celebrated with every dish. 

The Chicken Changezi, like Noor Indian Kitchen itself, wasn’t just about food. It was about a legacy—a story of resilience, transformation, and connection. Their signature dish, Chicken Changezi, reminds us that food, much like life, is never truly about what we leave behind. It’s about how we carry it forward—one plate, one story, and one unforgettable meal at a time.

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.