Between a Laugh and Silence

Between a laugh and silence

I sighed 

I sighed because it was comforting

It meant reassurance

Of something that was never a disappointment

That was our strength

That felt right 

That meant us

 

Between a laugh and silence

I sighed

I sighed because I wanted to hold on to that moment

I wanted to look past our flaws

I wanted to feel your warmth 

I wanted to sleep in your arms

 

Between a laugh and silence

I sighed

I sighed because that was the best thing to do

It encompassed my untold sentiments  

It echoed your wintriness

And our entire story… in a sigh

A Mediocre Love – or Not

 I always knew the consequences

I always imagined where this would end

I always saw the red flag flying high

I always noticed the half-laughs

I always felt the pent-up tears

Yet

I always loved you

It is no mediocre love

It is beautiful as much as it is painful

It heals as much as it hurts

It cares as much as it shuns

It fills up as much as it hollows out

You may call it a mediocre love

I call it ‘extraordinary’ 

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