Panta Bhaat

Weekends are my perfect lyadh days. While I line up multiple tasks that need my attention on weekends, I don’t strive to complete them with the same efficiency and speed as I would on other working days.

I do things at my own pace.

And, my pace could be slow for many, but it is stubborn and persistent. It helps me meet my deadlines at work and lets me stay focused on my targets. Most importantly, it helps me take a back seat on the weekends. That’s when I feel more at ease, with myself and my surroundings.

‘Lyadh’ – in colloquial Bangla, means just that.

It means the art of doing nothing at all, of lazing around. Or it could mean taking your own sweet time in doing things. I fall into the latter categorisation.

Lyadh means different things to different people.

It could mean aimlessly watching the world pass by through your little window, gazing up at the clouds and making stories, striking up a conversation with the stars, rewatching mindless comedy classics, or simply putting your feet up and reading a book or listening to your favourite music, and dreaming away.

Basically, ‘Lyadh’ can be anything and everything that lets you unwind fully, where you don’t engage much at the cerebral level.

My idea of Lyadh-ing on a lazy summer Sunday is to have a leisurely brunch of ‘Panta Bhaat’, followed by an afternoon siesta.

What pure bliss that is.

Of late, Panta Bhaat has become a staple food in our household during the summers. It has made its way to our home through me – or so I would like to believe.

While my parents enjoy Panta Bhaat, they are not fixated on having the fermented meal every summer weekend as I am. My love for Panta Bhaat has deepened over the last few years, especially because it tastes good, makes my tummy happy and lyadh-ing post that, feels even more justified.

This rice dish has many versions and is known by different names in different regions of India - Panta Bhaat in West Bengal, Pakhala in Odisha, Poita Bhaat in Assam, Geel Bhaat in Bihar, Pazhamkanji in Kerala, among others.

The first step in preparing Panta Bhaat (Bengali version) is the fermentation process. Usually, the leftover parboiled rice is soaked in water overnight, which then ferments the next day. A dash of lemon, preferably Gondhoraj lebu (a type of lemon grown in Bengal), is squeezed into the rice and is mashed with a bit of mustard oil and salt. It can then be had with onions and green chillies.

Along with this, there are several accompaniments to go with Panta Bhaat, like mashed potatoes, batter-fried vegetables, lentil fritters, and fried fish.

This mildly fermented rice dish was born out of utilitarian needs. Back in the day, when refrigerators were not so common, this was a meal meant for the working people. Moreover, the process left no food waste, as leftover rice was made into a dish that sustained them for a long time.

The oldest historical record of this fermented meal, which is widely reported, dates back to the 17th century. It is attributed to the Portuguese traveller Fray Sebastián Manrique, who visited Bengal and noted that Panta Bhaat, accompanied by salt and green, leafy vegetables, was the main meal for people across all communities.

While it’s evident that we have been consuming fermented foods since ancient times, their popularity has surged only recently. Did we recognise their health benefits too late?

I have been having fermented food items in my diet for many years now. Some of my preferred fermented Indian food items are: Idli (fermented rice cakes), Dosa (made from fermented batter of rice and lentils), Kanji (fermented drink made from black carrots and spices), Pickles (aachar in Hindi, made from fermented vegetables or fruits) and my all-time favourite – Dhokla (fermented snack made from chickpea flour). All these are rich in probiotics, fibre and essential micronutrients that promote gut health.

But ‘Panta Bhaat’ tops my list of favourite summer foods. Its high-water content makes it a hydrating meal, perfect for the scorching heat of Delhi-NCR. And, for me, it goes even deeper. It feels as though my soul immerses itself in a bowl of Panta Bhaat, relishing its cooling properties.

I know it sounds a bit exaggerated and surreal, but that’s exactly what I feel.

Here is a picture of what my plate of soul food looked like last weekend. The add-ons included - bhaaja, or fried lentil and seasonal vegetables, alu makha, or mashed potatoes with mustard oil and green chillies, and fried Ilish (hilsa) fish.

If Wim Wenders’ Oscar-nominated Japanese drama “Perfect Days” ever gets made into an Indian version, I propose that the filmmaker include the often-called ‘peasant's meal’ in the narrative.

Panta Bhaat and lyadh-ing go in “perfect” sync with the theme of the film.

They all make a compelling case for a life that is simple, slow, light, and easy.

Published on WION website: July 20, 2025

Of chores, arguments, and a deep connection

Another birthday went by. Just like every year, I received phone calls from well-meaning associates. They repeated their wish of wanting to see me married, and I again brushed it off, saying that there is still some more time. Some went ahead to certify that my biological clock isn’t ticking anymore, and it might have stopped. I told them that it doesn’t mean anything to me now.

Deep in my heart, I know it means quite a bit at this stage. No, not the biological clock, but a solid companionship. A companionship that would provide me with comfort, peace and freedom. 

All my life I have lived with my parents and a younger sibling. We love each other to the core but argue at every possible instance. We have different worldviews, but the same values bind the four of us together. Some days, when I don’t win the major arguments, I tell them that I will pack my bags and leave the house. I have come so close to doing so, but I just can’t seem to take down the heavy suitcases from the attic and fill them with my favourite things. Because all my favourite things can't be packed in the good old sturdy luggage bags or even the mauve one, which I bought some time ago.

The list of my favourite things is endless. They may be some material as old as the many audio cassettes of my recitation recordings or the customary studio visits for a picture dedicated to every occasion. They may also be a variety of emotions – undefined emotions that can only be felt in the presence of one’s parents. Then, there are also the things that I dislike. For instance, I don’t want to live up to the moral science textbooks all the time. 

But I have realised that my likes are quite solid in nature and often dwarf my dislikes. Now, when I travel out for shoots to another city for 2-3 days – I should be mentally kicked about it as I always was, but the fact is, I am not. It has nothing to do with work/shoots, which I am still quite passionate about. It has to do with not being able to see my parents on the days I am out. I may be in touch with them all the time over the phone, but I feel a strange sense of comfort when they are within my gaze.

This behavioural change has happened over time. With age, I have grown fonder of them – as my parents and as a couple. As a couple, they do most things together. Both have retired from their beloved services and now have each other’s company all the time. They cook and do other household chores together. When they have arguments, they stop speaking with each other and also don’t watch their scheduled TV shows. But this silence doesn’t last for long. In fact, it doesn't last for more than 3-4 hours. They make it up to each other very soon. I find it absolutely adorable how each time they let go of things easily without holding anything against each other. 

And, here I am – fretting over my relationship because I had some sort of a sane expectation, but things did not work out my way. I pause for a moment and think: why is ‘my way’ always more important than the other person’s opinion or way? I never get a satisfactory answer to that.

Maybe someday, I will.

That day, we will live together as one big family – his favourite humans, my favourite humans, his favourite things, my favourite things and the many intricate emotions of real existence.

That day, my way and his way won’t collide. And, even if they do, we will still stick together and find the middle ground where I will savour Old Monk, and he will make do with a Lemonade Breezer.

Until that happens, I am happily ageing up in the company of this endearing couple that still believes in old-fashioned romance - where love conquers everything, even the silliest or hardest of all arguments.

My mother proclaims – “Love is not loud. It is silent. It is important to understand its beauty and strength amid everyday chaos”. My father nods in agreement.

They keep my hopes alive. 

Year after year.

Piku: Holy sh*t!

I know my system quite well. A good night’s sleep and a glass of lukewarm water, is all I need to take a satisfying dump every morning. This activity is very different for different people. Some go to the toilet at any time of the day when the pressure is right and do their business like it’s no big deal. Some have a set pattern like the way I have. And for some, it is an insanely tough task. Tough to the extent that their entire energy in life is directed towards the amount of stool they push themselves to purge. They seldom feel the euphoria that arises after taking an adequate unload.

My mother (Maani) falls in this category. She has been suffering from constipation for the past one year. We are fortunate that it’s not a chronic one for her, but I know the distress she undergoes every single day for this one chore alone. The preparation for this starts from a night before, as she dutifully drinks a glass of warm milk with Isabgol, in all anticipation that she will be able to relieve herself well in time the next day. Sometimes, it works wonders. Sometimes, it does not. The times when it does not, we all realize it without her shouting it aloud. She tends to become a little sluggish and cranky. We just have to see her face to make out whether or not she had it easy that day. And, the times when it is effortless for her, we all revel in celebration. After all – ‘Insaan ka emotion uske motion se judha hua he!’ We know that better. Seriously!

Shoojit Sircar’s Piku is such a heartwarming real film. The fact that a little chat about bowel movement at the dinner table is not looked down upon as an awkward situation, shows the genuineness of this lovely narrative. I love every bit of this movie. Most importantly - the brilliant writing! Much like Vicky Donor, this one too has a well-shielded script that never becomes a stinky pile of shit, even though that’s the central theme of Piku.

The second most impressive aspect of Piku is Bhaskor Banerjee’s standpoint about his daughter’s marriage. He doesn’t seem to lose his sleep over Piku’s single status; rather he believes that –‘marriage without purpose is a low IQ decision.’ He is not against marriage but wants her to find out a good enough reason to settle down. And for him, Piku’s marriageable age isn’t a compelling one. What a progressive thought that is!

I don’t have the exact stats, but it is a known fact that most Bengali women tend to get married late in life. These women could be single, but lead an intensely happy and independent life. Just look out on purpose and you are bound to discover this lot of Bengali women around you.  I, maybe, a case in point too :-)

Piku took me through an emotional whirlwind. Different kinds of emotions emerged, one after the other. In fact, rarely does it happen that I feel for all the characters in a movie. Piku is special in that sense.

But I still have 2 points to make. Not that these would have made this already beautiful film a notch better, but they did cross my mind.

First - I thought the interval sequence was a smart insertion, but not the cut. Would it not have been better to cut the scene when Piku and her father found the knife and were figuring out why it was there, rather than to elongate it up to the point where there is a spat between Bhaskor and Rana over the knife – and Bhaskor throws a fit and sits on the road with his suitcase and demands the knife to be thrown out? Somehow for me, it lost whatever bit of suspense, it was intended to interleave. I never felt the need to judge Rana’s character after that entire sequence.

Second - I wish I did not have to cry when Bhaskor died. The movie must have served its purpose, but I so wanted him to take another cycle/rickshaw ride to discover the unexplored bylanes of Kolkata. This, again, without keeping Piku and the rest of the family members informed about his jaunt!
I wanted to see more of him and his antics. I wanted him to do anything interesting, except for never waking up from the bed - especially after taking a fairly satisfying dump of his life! Why couldn’t we see him eating and enjoying stuff that a regular bhadrolok does in Kolkata? (There is a lot more in Kolkata than just the roadside Kachoris!) We could have even liked seeing him play a football match with his old friends. Wouldn’t that have made it even more real?

Thankfully, there was absolutely no drama over his death. It was different from other death sequences that we have seen in films so far. But, I wish, some day Bollywood films move over the myriad adversities of life. In particular, those films where it looks more like a forced placing than the real flow of events.

On one hand, I say I love the movie and on the other, I have 2 important points that are critical of it. That’s fine. This thought was jammed up right there and I had to let go of it today.

P.S.
Please don’t look that constipated. You can release your emotions too!