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

The question of Stree’s safety – even in the supernatural world

 Disclaimer: This piece is a spoiler-laden reading of the recently released Bollywood film Stree 2. It may spoil your viewing experience if you haven’t seen the film yet. Reader discretion is advised.

My mind felt heavy and clouded as I entered the theatre to watch Stree 2. I was disturbed, shaken, and baffled, seeing the proceedings of the horrific Kolkata rape-murder case. I was filled with anger and many questions.

That was the backdrop. And, it did significantly affect my film-watching experience.

In one of the more powerful scenes in Stree 2, Stree encounters the headless monster Sarkata on the battlefield and kills him. The drama is intense and inspiring, showing the lone ghunghat-clad female fighting off her attacker. While the combat ends, its underlying message remains. It is about the inherent threat that women face daily in the public sphere – workplaces, public transport, education centres etc. She is not safe walking alone at night. She is not safe working late into the night at her workplace. She doesn’t feel protected even at home if her partner or a male member isn’t the right kind. Then, where exactly is she (Stree) safe?

That, I feel, is the film's overarching theme – women's safety.

Unlike its terrific predecessor Stree from the Maddock Supernatural Universe, Stree 2 delves into a more realistic depiction of the state of women's safety in India. Seeing the horrors of a patriarchal society unfold on the screens, is a bit too much to bear, to be honest. But the question is - can we escape the stark reality on screens? An even bigger question is – should the filmmaker choose to show reality as is or set the tempo a notch higher by creating a world that’s ideal yet imaginary?

Director Amar Kaushik does both deftly.

In the first instalment of Stree, Kaushik and writers - Raj Nidimoru and Krishna DK set up quite a unique premise where a female spirit threatens the men of the small town of Chanderi and abducts them. And, the men are scared stiff of this female ghost. They dress up in sarees, lock themselves up and request their wives to protect them. We also see women freely roaming around in the town. Talk about dismantling and subverting patriarchal structures, and these powerful scenes come to mind.

In the sequel, Kaushik and writer Niren Bhatt bring elements of magical realism into the horror-comedy universe of Stree. In this narrative, the role is reversed, and the villain is Sarkata (a headless monster) who abducts only the progressive women of Chanderi. The act seems like a literal extension of what we see around us. There is a scene where the womenfolk request Rajkumar Rao’s character Vicky (a talented tailor) to stitch up fully covered outfits. However archaic the scene may seem in the modern realm of things; it is still a hard reality for many women in small towns.

The film is replete with subtexts. I feel that Sarkata represents a man without mind or inner wisdom. He reconstructs himself more fiercely every time his head or ego is severed. He also transmits his thoughts and makes more heads like himself in the community. Pankaj Tripathi’s character, Rudra, in the film, calls Sarkata an influencer.

Drawing parallels with real life isn’t a challenge here – followers follow one of their own, and thus their tribe expands. The more one tries to decode this phenomenon in the real world, the more interesting it becomes. And then, the resolution suggests a partnership between men and women to win over the grave concerns of a patriarchal society.

The portrayal of abducted women in the ghostly space is as glaring as it gets. I am not sure if I wanted to see the women in white sarees with shaved heads - not for anything else but for the striking comparisons it draws up. Could this imagery have been different, especially in an unfamiliar supernatural world?

While it is wonderful to see women writing and directing women's fictional stories, it is equally reassuring to find male filmmakers creating women's characters and sketching them well in their story world - with the right perspective and empathy.

There is a scene in the film where the women of Chanderi, dressed in sarees, step out of their houses to reclaim the night. I would have liked a long take of the shot in the film – longer than what’s there right now. Those visuals speak louder than dialogues ever could. For me, the scene sums up the film's fundamental message about women reclaiming their agency and lives.

Stree 2has emerged as one of the highest-grossing blockbusters of 2024. Stree 2director Amar Kaushik has previously directed three Bollywood feature films - Stree, Bala and Bhediya.

Kaushik’s technique of layering socially relevant films with hard laughs and satire is clearly resonating with the masses. However, the director’s style isn’t limited to this genre. Kaushik is equally adept at evoking deep emotions in his audiences. A few years ago, I happened to watch his first directorial debut, not a Bollywood film but a short film called Aaba.

Set in a remote village in Northeast India, Aaba is a meditative exploration of death through the perspective of a young girl. The film moved me and left me feeling both numb and reflective. In 2016, Amar Kaushik won ‘Best Short Fiction Film’ at the 64th National Film Awards for Aaba.

From Aaba to Stree 2, Amar Kaushik’s meteoric rise is a testament to his honest storytelling and intentions, reflected in all his projects.

And, in Kaushik’s current Stree universe, Stree(s) will always remain safe. Stree is aware of her rights, and if a man wrongs her, she will fight back – with or without her ponytail.

Published on WION website: Sep 06, 2024

Remembering Irrfan Khan: The actor we all imagined to be close to

Over a decade ago, when Rajesh Khanna passed away, my maternal aunt cried a lot. I did not understand all that fancied association she believed she had with the actor. It was unfathomable to me.

With the passing away of Irrfan Khan, it hit me. I began to understand what it meant to feel the ache in one’s heart and to whimper. It felt strangely personal. Sometimes, the make-believe world we see on screen can blur our individual lives, allowing us to drift away. In this imaginary personal realm, I had met Irrfan Khan many times. He would come to me in different avatars – every single time.

It has been four years since Irrfan Khan left, yet it is difficult to accept that this magnificent actor is no longer with us and that we won’t ever see him play another real-life character with much nuance, conviction, and excellence.

Irrfan Khan’s character in every film stood out - irrespective of the film’s commercial and critical acclaim. One wonders if any other actor with the same script, dialogues, and director, would have exhibited the same brilliance as Irrfan did in all his films. He immortalised several significant characters on screen.

I have watched many Irrfan Khan films, but the ones that truly stayed with me over the years are - The Namesake, The Lunchbox, and Piku. Several scenes from these films have remained etched in my memory. Moreover, every character that Irrfan portrayed on screen, felt like that of someone close I know. It is magical, to say the least.

On his death anniversary, I revisit some of my favourite scenes to marvel over Irrfan’s acting skills:

* In The Namesake– Ashoke Ganguli is like my father. Not only does my father share the same first name with the character (with a slight variation in the spelling), but he also is the quintessential overprotective Bengali parentwe all know about. Like his namesake character - Ashoke, my father understands the unspoken wishes of his wife and children; and wants us to remain rooted in the story of our lives – the very origin of our being.

‘The Namesake’ is a package of emotions on a continuum.

Scene 1 –

Ashoke looks at his shrunk clothes and tells his wife -Ashima, why she had to venture out into an unfamiliar world to get the laundry done. Ashima, who tries to do things as a dutiful wife, feels hurt by her husband’s charge and locks herself in another room. And then it is Ashoke cajoling his wife to let go and begging her to smile a little. The scene is a must-watch to understand the emotions of slight annoyance, persuasion, respect, and affection – all blending to create Irrfan’s dialogue delivery.

Scene 2 –

Ashoke goes to his son - Gogol’s room to gift him a book – The Overcoat by Nikolai Gogol on his birthday. Ashoke wants to narrate the story of the origin of his son’s name. But he doesn’t get the opportunity to do so, as Gogol seems least interested in knowing anything about the book. He rather wants to concentrate on the music he is listening to. Ashoke sits in his son’s room as Gogol puts the music off. Ashoke understands that his presence is unwanted; he pats his son and quietly leaves. As a construction of the scene – it could be a simple one. But it is not. Watch it to understand how a father runs through an emotional quandary and feels uneasiness in approaching his son. And, in all this, Ashoke chooses not to overstep Gogol’s personal space. A lot is conveyed through Irrfan’s expressions in this scene – between his desire to tell the story and not being able to do anything – he decides to leave.

Scene 3 –

Ashoke walks with his son to the seashore but forgets to bring a camera. He then asks Gogol to capture the event in his mind forever, that he had visited such a beautiful shore. The dialogue in this scene has been a favourite for many over the years – “Remember that you and I made this journey together to a place where there was nowhere left to go.”

Back in 2007, when I first watched the film, this scene moved me to tears, and it still holds the same power. It numbs me, whether I am in a happy or vulnerable state. The scene manages to shake up the equilibrium – whatever it is.

Over the years, several times, I remembered Ashoke’s lesson and captured the moment in my mind and heart, when a camera wasn’t handy.

* In The Lunchbox- Sajjan Fernandes is like my first love. Like Sajjan, G had waited it out several times, without expecting much in return. The best part about having a platonic relationship is that you put a lot of emphasis on emotional bonding. And sometimes, that’s all you require when everything else fails. Between being unable to see each other for months together and then sitting next to each other, without uttering a word – a lifetime seems to pass by.

There are several scenes that I like in the film. Most scenes are just driven by Sajjan’s terrific expressions and not dialogues. Sajjan’s childlike anticipation of the lunchbox, touching and sniffing - to reaffirm that it is from Ila (his love interest), plating of food items, savouring and even assessing them critically, his long glances at the ceiling fan or that look at his neighbour’s dining table – all laced up with the feeling of immense solitude and desire for companionship.

Scenes at the restaurant and bathroom

Sajjan looks into the mirror as he gets ready to meet Ila at the restaurant. He is in his usual office attire – tucked-in shirt and trousers. As he is about to step out of the bathroom, he goes closer to the mirror and keeps looking at his face. Something strikes him suddenly and things change. Later, as the film progresses, he writes to Ila telling her that he is a witness to her beauty but also his ageing.

Sajjan’s expression in the bathroom changes from being optimistic to turning into melancholic – all within a few minutes. He looks around in the bathroom and gets a sense that it now smells of an old man. And, somewhere in all this, he has lost his youth. He becomes aware of it more now. Sajjan writes to Ila – “I forgot something in the bathroom, and when I went back to get it, the bathroom smelled exactly like it smelled after my grandfather took a bath. That’s when I realised it wasn’t him, it was me.” Watch the scene here:

* In Piku, Rana Chaudhry is like a playful neighbour or a colleague, whose style of flirting is thankfully subtle. Rana redefines old-school romances, where a lot remains unspoken and sometimes, conveyed through eyes and gestures. In the film, Rana has a good heart and doesn’t hold back in calling a spade a spade, like - when Rana tells Bhaskor that if Piku had felt him as some sort of a burden, she wouldn’t have arranged for a trip to Kolkata.

Out of all the scenes in Piku, the conversation regarding a peaceful death stayed with me over the years -

Scene

Bhaskor (the character played by Amitabh Bachchan) tells Rana at the breakfast table that he shouldn’t have allowed his father to be put on a ventilator and that the entire process must have caused him more suffering than doing any good. Rana tells him that he followed what he was told by the doctors. It’s a terrific scene where Rana looks at Bhaskor all perplexed and disoriented and is unable to fathom if he were the cause of his father’s death.

Whether it was Ashoke Ganguli, Sajjan Fernandes, or Rana Chaudhry – each brought me closer to their off-screen counterparts I have known in my physical world. The characters remained so real that I could relate to them, laughed, cried, empathised, and grew up with them. They conveyed a purpose - sometimes with dialogues and sometimes with facial expressions.

That’s the power of an outstanding performer.

And, Irrfan Khan had that kind of power.

Published on WION website: May 03, 2024

Do you see yourself in Konkana Sen Sharma's directorial 'The Mirror'?

 Disclaimer: Spoiler Alert: A few scenes from the short film ‘The Mirror’ have been detailed to the best of the writer’s ability and understanding of the subject. This may spoil your film-watching experience if you haven’t watched the short yet. Readers’ discretion is advised.

Do I see myself in ‘The Mirror’?

I look at myself every day in the mirror. It is usually a rushed affair. I layer my eyes with kohl, brush my hair and give those final touches to the face, hair, and attire – and I am ready to step out.

How often do I look into the mirror and pause for some time? Do I take a moment to reflect on how far I have come by - the fears, pains, rebellions, and joys I have been through? Do I recognise my deep, dormant feelings? Do I understand the inhibitions and desires that have settled in, deep within?

Perhaps not.

Perhaps, the emotions are so cold, suppressed, and underdeveloped that they generally don’t show up in day-to-day events. The sentiments start becoming mature only when they are faced with a situation. A situation that challenges the status quo and throws us into a deep pit of wanting.

And, thus, we enter the world behind the face in the mirror.

Something like that happened when I watched ‘The Mirror’.

The Mirror– a short by the brilliant filmmaker Konkona Sen Sharma in the Netflix anthology Lust Stories 2, explores the themes of loneliness, desire, class divide, and voyeurism through the characters played by the terrific actors Tillotama Shome and Amruta Subhash.

One of the initial scenes establishes the positions of the two characters – Ishita (played by Tillotama Shome) and Seema (played by Amruta Subhash). Ishita – a single, career-oriented woman, discovers that her house help – Seema is having sex with a man in her bedroom. Ishita immediately runs out to a corner. In a static frame, Ishita calls up her friend (Sen Sharma’s voice on the other end), Seema steps out, takes the lift, and the man moves out of the frame. That shot depicts the power dynamics between the characters, wherein Ishita first stands tall and firm, but in a moment’s time, she too, bends down. Literally - to hide from the other two, figuratively - reaching to the core emotions that are the same, regardless of the class divide.

In a usual setting, one would terminate the services of the help. But Ishita chooses not to confront Seema about it – for Ishita starts deriving pleasure from seeing them have sex. Day after day, she sneaks into the house that is officially hers and watches them perform through a mirror. These scenes are aesthetically shot, with long continuous pans signifying the transition of days. Another impressive aspect of these scenes is the gripping soundtrack.

The extreme close-up shots of Ishita’s face while she is seeing them in action are representative of her bottled-up emotions. Tillotama Shome’s expressions are of top class. Her eyes do all the talking, and her face carries hidden sentiments of longing. There is a scene where Ishita masturbates and then breaks out crying. That one scene encapsulates everything that Ishita, as a character, is going through. Her internal dilemma stems from a deep-seated yearning to be with someone and be the recipient of someone’s touch and love. Despite the worldly belongings that Ishita owns, she doesn’t feel any richer than her house help. Seema may not have material possessions but has a companion to realise her needs, to love, and to traverse through life.

The film also explores the elasticity of physical spaces. How a certain space can be shared, owned, and disowned by its inhabitants - depends largely on the situation and time. In a scene where Seema first realises that Ishita is in the house and perhaps, in the know of what’s going on – Seema takes ownership of the space while Ishita tiptoes away from her own house. The choreography of the scene is tremendous and changes the underlying forces operating between the characters thereafter.

Tillotama Shome’s Ishita is strong and vulnerable – all at the same time. The character is surprised by its own switched mannerisms but owns and accepts them, nonetheless. From Monsoon Wedding to the latest The Night Manager – Shome truly lights up the frame with every character she plays on-screen.

Amruta Subhash’s Seema is strong, sassy, and upright – much like her manager in The Mirror. Subhash’s performance has all along been appreciated in Bollywood projects like - Firaaq, Gully Boy, Sacred Games 2, Choked, and Bombay Begums, among others. However, my favourite Amruta Subhash film has been Avinash Arun’s national award-winning Marathi drama Killa (2015). Subhash, as a widowed mother in the coming-of-age film, portrays a compelling character – tender, compassionate, and stoic at times.

The Mirror is Konkona Sen Sharma’s second directorial project. A Death In The Gunj(2017), her directorial debut, established the fact that she is just as unparalleled a director as she is an actor. For anyone who has followed Sen Sharma’s work over the years across languages, it is quite difficult to put down a list of her best performances. In fact, it is almost impossible unless one is tasked to. Irrespective of whether it is a lead role or not – Sen Sharma’s acting supremacy cannot be disregarded.

However, there is one film that I cannot not mention. 15 Park Avenue- one of her earliest films- had the power to stir up my emotions and numb me for days when I first watched it. Sen Sharma played the character of a schizophrenic woman under the guidance and direction of her mother and prolific filmmaker – Aparna Sen. It is one of the few Indian films that talk about mental health issues with the sensitivity and understanding it warrants. 15 Park Avenuewas released in 2005.

18 years later with The Mirror, Konkona Sen Sharma is still at her best – just that, now she dons the Director’s hat with as much dexterity as she does with her acting.

Written by Konkona Sen Sharma and Pooja Tolani, The Mirror is the most powerful of all shorts in Lust Stories 2. It opens you up to the world of two women who enjoy exploring sexual desire unapologetically. The film brings me to question: Why is it that the forbidden, the mysterious, and the unattainable are always so desirous? And what is it about transgression that makes desire so palpable and compelling?

The Mirror will make you pause, introspect and question. Allow it to find its way to your mind and reflections. It is currently streaming on Netflix.

I leave you with a few lines from one of the most admired poets of the 20th century - Sylvia Plath. The lines crossed my mind as I watched the film. Interestingly, the poem is titled Mirror.

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.

It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long

I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.

Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

The article was published on WION webiste on 18th August, 2023.