Delhi hums differently when the lights of Avartana come on. There’s a hush that descends upon the corridors of ITC Hotels’ Maurya, as if even the marble knows something sacred is about to be served. The scent of curry leaf and coconut milk folds into the air like a hymn. Brass gleams against banana-leaf geometry, and each table glows like an altar to appetite. Here, India’s culinary soul is being reborn — plated with poetry, precision, and pride.

Avartana, born in Chennai and now breathing in Delhi , is not merely a restaurant. It is resurrection disguised as dinner. It’s the echo of a civilization that once cooked in riddles and metaphors, now rediscovering its own modern lexicon. Flavour here isn’t shouted; it’s sung. The textures shift from silk to smoke, from soil to salt, from me

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