English

I was irritated after the dinner party. Or more like, hangry. After hours of chatting and drinking wine, our hosts served us measly portions of dal, chawal, and chicken curry at midnight. I shovelled spoons into my mouth and glared at my husband – they were his friends after all. I couldn’t enjoy the meal; all I kept thinking was – How could they call us over and feed us so little ... — Sangeetha Bhaskaran

I discovered the term ‘pice hotel’ when I started writing my research proposal on food and public eating in Kolkata. Before that, it had only been ‘bhaat-er hotel,’ ‘rice hotel’, a place where rice is the staple on the menu. Living a hundred kilometres away from Kolkata, my first experience of eating in a pice hotel was clearly purpose-driven: a KVPY (Kishore Vaigyanik Protsahan Yojana) entrance when I was still in school, for which I had to travel to Kolkata, the examination centre closest to... — Srijita Biswas

It was always the coconut trees that signaled it, but you had to pay attention. The oppressive heat and stifling torpor of a summer afternoon in Madras were enough to mute the incessant cawing of crows and still the wind into submission. But around 3 or 4 pm, you could sense the palm fronds stirring listlessly, just for a few seconds. It was ... — Karpagam Rajagopal

Growing up in the 2000s, I never quite understood my grandmother’s complaints about the saag and makki ki roti my mom prepared during winters. To me, the combination of saag with generous amounts of white butter was nothing short of heavenly. Changes in the taste of pulses or vegetables were elusive concepts, and it wasn’t until recently that I began to truly appreciate ... — Tanishqa Vaish

Mr. Singh slowed down as the crowd started to get thicker in the market area of Sector 15 but he was still moving faster than the crowd in general, stopping only to look back with raised eyebrows for someone who might be following him. He had been walking briskly, running almost, for the last fifteen minutes or so, crossing the entire stretch of the relatively deserted GV Road. He was in his late fifties and this ... — Rahul Singh

‘How far is he?’ Rahul asked. Arun looked at his phone. ‘He’ll be there in five minutes. I’m so hungry.’ ‘Me too.’ Arun felt his mouth water as he thought about the parotta and beef fry they had ordered. He couldn’t wait to dig in. He looked at his phone again. The food delivery app was open, and it seemed like the delivery person was getting delayed. ‘I can’t wait to try it ... — Nileena Sunil

Mangai boiled milk, gazing out of the window. The jasmine creeper by the kitchen ledge was in full bloom. The mild smell of the flowers mingled with the smell of coffee. She rinsed the coffee cup in the backyard tap and walked to the thicket at the far end of the garden. Gathering white and magenta bougainvillea, she arranged them in a dark corner of the living room. Removing all other ... — Uma Gowrishankar

Farishta Anjirbag's comic, Patil's Breakfast is a personal as well as culinary tribute to Mumbai's favourite vada pav ... — Farishta Anjirbag

At the window of a ground floor flat in Calcutta (this was 1966), a very small child with big eyes sits, biting into a thin arrowroot biscuit. She is engrossed in the life bustling right outside the window. When the crow alights onto the window sill, she freezes. The crow is as large as she is. In a blink, the bird has grabbed the biscuit through the window grille and has made its ... — Manjari Chakravarti