Food scientist Sangati Chenna Kesava Reddy displaying a ‘fruit pop’ and a dye used to make it.
| Photo Credit: HANDOUT

The story of Bengali food is often told through rivers, fish and fertile soil. Less often it is told through railway platforms, refugee colonies and the ingenuity of people who arrived with almost nothing, except memory.

When millions were displaced during the Partition of 1947, those crossing from East Bengal into West Bengal did not carry heirloom utensils or sacks of treasured ingredients. Most travelled light because they had no choice. What endured was something far harder to confiscate: a culinary memory bank accumulated over generations. The food they cooked in their new homes became a record of loss, adaptation and survival.

“People came with very little. What they carried was memory and a legacy of food,” says food researcher Amrita Bhattacharya who, along with her husband, academic Amit Sen, runs Handpicked by Amrita a farm-to-table supper club from their home in Shantiniketan’s Bolpur. These food legacies have changed Bengali kitchens. 

Across refugee settlements that sprang up around Kolkata and elsewhere in the State, cooking became an exercise in survival. Families had to feed children despite limited resources and uncertain incomes. Out of those constraints emerged a culinary philosophy that modern food culture would later celebrate as sustainable and zero-waste.

Vegetable peels found their way into elaborate preparations. The stems of spinach became one dish while the leaves became another. Pumpkin yielded multiple recipes from a single vegetable. Even the water left behind after preparing chhana (curdled milk) was consumed. Rice starch, known as fyan, was tempered with spices and served as a nourishing broth to children.

“What we now call zero-waste cooking was often the ingenuity of people trying to feed a family with very little. They were not thinking in terms of sustainability. They were operating with very little and used creativity to survive,” says Amrita. 

Many of these preparations have since become so integrated into Bengali food culture that their origins are easily overlooked. Yet they emerged from a moment when thousands of families were rebuilding their lives from scratch.

Popular narratives often reduce East Bengali culinary heritage to a handful of ingredients, particularly dried fish or shutki. Amrita believes that such assumptions oversimplify a much broader history.

The deeper influence lies in a style of cooking defined by restraint.

Amrita traces this sensibility through her own family history. Her grandparents, who came from the Pabna-Rajshahi region in Bangladesh, cooked fresh fish with remarkable minimalism. Fish was rarely fried. Instead, it was simmered gently with turmeric, salt, green chillies and a light tempering. Prawns were often boiled and eaten with rice. Delicate river fish appeared in thin broths that allowed the flavour of the fish itself to dominate.

The approach stands in contrast to many contemporary Bengali kitchens, where richer gravies and heavier seasoning have become commonplace.

Bengal and the Andamans

Following Partition, thousands of Bangladeshi refugees were resettled in the Andaman Islands. Among them were many Namasudra families whose agricultural and fishing skills made them suitable candidates for life in an unfamiliar frontier landscape. There they encountered a radically different environment.

Communities accustomed to freshwater fish suddenly had to adapt to seafood. They learned to fish in creeks and backwaters, identify edible leaves and understand an ecosystem entirely unlike the one they had left behind.

“It was a different kind of struggle. People had to learn which plants could be eaten, which could be dangerous and how to survive in a completely new landscape,” notes Amrita.

“The food of Bengali settlers in the Andamans, in many villages, the cooking remains closer to the East Bengal of decades ago than what we find in present-day West Bengal. In isolated settlements, fish curries and prawn are boiled in coconut milk often containing only a touch of ‘phoron’ (five spices of cumin, fenugreek, fennel, black mustard and nigella) and a simple tempering. Meat dishes frequently avoid the yoghurt and dairy enrichments that have become common elsewhere,” explains the food anthropologist.

As East Bengali refugees settled across West Bengal, their food mingled with local ingredients and culinary habits. Distinct traditions gradually merged, producing flavours that belonged fully to neither side of the border.

Partition of Punjab 

Partition transformed food cultures across northern India, particularly in Punjab. Communities migrating from Pakistan’s Rawalpindi and Peshawar carried with them culinary traditions that would eventually influence everything from chicken tikka to the culture of roadside dhabas.

Amrita points to the evolution of the ‘sanjha chulha’ or the community oven once found in villages across undivided Punjab.

“It was largely managed by women. Families would prepare dough at home and gather around a shared oven. After Partition, that community structure changed and eventually evolved into the tandoor culture associated with dhabas,’’ she says.

In Bengal, Punjabi settlers adapted to local ingredients over time. Community kitchens incorporated regional vegetables and cooking styles. Dishes that once relied on one set of greens began appearing with Bengal’s lal shaak (red spinach) and kalmi shaak ( water spinach). Culinary exchange flowed in both directions.

Bengal’s Burmese connection

In the decades surrounding the Second World War, many Bengalis returned from Burma under circumstances that closely resembled refugee journeys. Settling in areas such as Kolkata’s Barasat and Subhashgram, they brought back culinary traditions acquired across the Bay of Bengal.

Their influence survives in dishes such as mohinga, Myanmar’s beloved fish and noodle soup. Even today, versions of the fish-based broth can be found in neighbourhoods associated with former Burmese settlements. Families continue to prepare khow suey at home, while ceramic bowls made of Chinese clay, once used for these meals remain treasured heirlooms.

Amrita believes another overlooked refugee contribution lies in ethnobotanical knowledge: an intimate understanding of edible plants, leaves and greens.

The ecology of East Bengal fostered familiarity with a vast range of leafy vegetables and aquatic plants. That knowledge travelled across borders, influencing how ingredients were used and valued.

Fish scales became crisp snacks rich in collagen and calcium. Ageing coconuts were turned into fritters rather than discarded. Multiple varieties of dal evolved into delicacies.

Every fish broth, peel fritter and humble bowl of rice starch carries the imprint of a journey. The trains have long stopped arriving, but the migrations that reshaped Bengal still linger at the dining table.

Published – June 20, 2026 08:00 am IST

Sahitya Akademi award winner Nanjil Nadan’s book ‘Nanjil Naatu Unavu’
| Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Food is an integral part of society, and like the fine arts, it flourishes in regions where basic human needs are met. The food habits — both vegetarian and non-vegetarian — of Nanjil Nadu in Kanniyakumari district are, in a way, a melting pot of cultures. For centuries, it was part of the erstwhile Travancore. The use of coconut and coconut oil for cooking, prevalent up to the coastal belt of Goa, creates an unmistakable aroma in the foods of Nanjil Nadu as well.

“Some say that they feel like throwing up when faced with the prospect of eating foods cooked in coconut oil. The same can be said for mustard oil preparations in Uttar Pradesh. One cannot move forward with such mental blocks,” writes Sahitya Akademi award winner Nanjil Nadan in his book Nanjil Naatu Unavu (Kalachuvadu Publishers).

A cookery book by a novelist and essayist, whose writings are often punctuated with verses from the Sangam and classical Tamil literary works, might raise many an eyebrow. “What, Nanjil, are you writing a cookery book?” Nanjil Nadan recalls poet Abdul Rahman asking him at the Madurai Book Fair.

But it is not just a cookery book. It captures the deep culture and tastes associated with food in Nanjil Nadu. The author’s language flows like well-prepared pulimulam (a fish curry unique to Nanjil Nadu) and, in some places, like paruppu payasam. It also reflects the author’s love for traditional cooking. He compares writing about the preparation of pulimulam to Kamban’s efforts in penning the Ramayanam.

In his preface, Nanjil Nadan writes that his objective was not to preserve or worship tradition, but simply “to pass on what my ancestors had to the next generation. There should be books on food from all regions of Tamil Nadu.”

Nanjil Nadan has covered almost every type of food, ranging from juices, beverages, and liquors distilled in some homes, to curries, kuzhambu, pickles, snacks, sweets, rice varieties, and other items that have either disappeared from the plate or now exist only in the memories of a generation that didn’t fall for the fast-food culture.

In Nanjil Nadu, after securing marriages, the priority for families is the menu. Curries must be served in odd numbers: five, seven, nine, eleven, thirteen, or fifteen. Kuzhambu includes doll, sambar, pulicheri, rasam, and buttermilk mixed with ginger, green chilies, and coriander leaves. There will be three types of payasam, known as pradaman, with the variety chosen depending on the season. Jackfruit payasam will be replaced by nendhirapazham (plantain) if it’s off-season, but milk and paruppu payasam are a must. These will be served with matti or kathali bananas from Kanniyakumari district and sprinkled with poonthi or boli.

The menu changes completely if someone has passed away. Pulikari, poosanikkai patchadi, milakai patchadi, or narathangai patchadi with rasam and buttermilk will dominate the spread.

The blurb on the book notes that folklorists would disagree with the idea that food is merely for survival. “Food habits depend on culture, region, festivals, rituals, and the observation of religious customs,” it says.

Nanjil Nadu has documented food items that would otherwise disappear over time, especially as coconut, coconut oil, and rice have earned a bad reputation. The foods are also a reminder of a time when physical labour and intensive farm activities were an integral part of daily life in Nanjil Nadu. Another point is that one must acquire the taste to truly appreciate the food of Nanjil Nadu.

Yokohama, Japan:

Grilled eel, or unagi, a popular summer delicacy in Japan, is behind a department store food poisoning incident that has left more than 140 people sick and one dead, the store’s president said.

Shinji Kaneko of Keikyu Department Store in Yokohama – about an hour from Tokyo – apologised after the customers, who last week bought lunch boxes containing eel, suffered vomiting and diarrhoea. One of the customers – reportedly a woman in her 90s – died, Shinji Kaneko told reporters on Monday (Jul 29), bowing deeply and offering “our most sincere condolences”.

The products included eel cooked in the traditional “kabayaki” style: Skewered, grilled and basted in a sweet, sticky mixture of soy sauce and mirin rice wine.

Consumed worldwide, eel is particularly popular in Asia, and remains found in Japanese tombs show it has been eaten on the archipelago for thousands of years.

A probe by health officials detected a type of bacteria called staphylococcus aureus in the products, Keikyu Department Store said.

“We take what happened very seriously and feel deeply sorry about it. We will fully cooperate with investigations by public health authorities,” Kaneko said.

Tokyo-based restaurant Isesada, which operates a stand inside the Keikyu department store, was responsible for cooking and directly selling the eel products.

(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by NDTV staff and is published from a syndicated feed.)

New Delhi:

In a historic move, the Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) has approved a proposal to make a bolder and bigger display of nutritional information regarding total sugar, salt and saturated fat on packaged food items, the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare (MoHFW) said on Saturday.

The proposal calls for packaged food items to carry the amount of total sugar, salt and saturated fat “in bold letters and relatively increased font size.”

The Ministry noted that “the information regarding per serve percentage contribution to Recommended Dietary Allowances (RDAs) would be given in bold letters for total sugar, total saturated fat and sodium content.”

The decision that will amend the Food Safety and Standards (Labelling and Display) Regulations, 2020 was taken in the 44th meeting of the Food Authority.

Regulation 2 (v) and 5(3) specify requirements to mention serving size and nutritional information on the food product label, respectively.

“The amendment aims to empower consumers to better understand the nutritional value of the product they are consuming and make healthier decisions,” the MoHFW said.

Healthcare and nutritional experts have been calling out the need to curb the intake of packaged food items, rich in sugar, salt and saturated fats — a major reason for the rising incidences of non-communicable Diseases (NCDs).

The proposal will enable “people to make healthier choices as well as contribute towards efforts to combat NCDs and promote public health and well-being.”

The FSSAI is also expected to share the draft notification for the said amendment in the public domain for inviting suggestions and objections.

Further, FSSAI has been issuing advisories from time to time to prevent false and misleading claims such as ‘Health Drink’, ‘100% fruit juices’, the use of the term wheat flour/ refined wheat flour, the advertisement and marketing of ORS along with prefix or suffix, nutrient function claim for multi-source edible vegetable oils etc.

These advisories and directives are issued to prevent misleading claims by FBOs, MoHFW said.

(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by NDTV staff and is published from a syndicated feed.)

New Delhi:

A video has gone viral on social media platforms claiming a food vendor in Chandigarh uses diesel to cook parathas, a popular flatbread. The three-minute-long video begins with a man at a roadside restaurant rolling out a dough and stuffing it with the aloo (potato) mixture.

When asked what he was cooking by the person shooting the video, he replies that he was making a “diesel paratha”.

He then bakes it in a pan and pours an excessive amount of oil on the paratha, saying it is diesel.

In the video, the man at the dhaba also claims that the “diesel parathas” were sold to about 300 people every day.

True recipe for cancer (petrol diesel wala paratha)

Where r we heading? #AlluArjun#Pithapuram#MondayVibes#MorningVibes
#MadhaviLatha#ViralVideo
#ElectionDaypic.twitter.com/GyxC1xhQeb

— K.P.Brinda Reddy (@kpbrindareddy) May 13, 2024

The video sparked an outrage on social media with people demanding India’s food regulator, the FSSAI, to take begin an investigation.

After the backlash, Channi Singh, the owner of the food joint, clarified that they don’t make “any such thing as diesel paratha”.

“We neither make any such thing as ‘diesel paratha’ nor serve any such thing to customers. A blogger had made that video just for fun,” he told the news agency ANI.

He also said that it is “common sense” that nobody would consume a paratha — traditionally fried in ghee, butter, or oil — prepared in diesel, adding that they only use edible oil.

“We provide hygienic food to people here. We don’t play with people’s lives,” he said.

#WATCH | In a viral video, a man in a Chandigarh dhaba was seen claiming that the oil he uses to make parathas is diesel. Owner of the dhaba refutes such claims.

Channi Singh, owner of the dhaba says, “We neither make any such thing as ‘diesel paratha’ nor serve any such thing… pic.twitter.com/15BJ7lMSR3

— ANI (@ANI) May 15, 2024

Mr Singh also said that he didn’t know that the video was going viral and that the food blogger, who made the video, had deleted it.

Food Blogger Apologises For “Diesel Parathas”

Amanpreet Singh, the food blogger who made the video, apologised on Tuesday and said that he “deeply regretted” the content of his recent video.

Mr Singh, who goes by the name “oyefoodiesingh” on Instagram, said that the paranthas were fried in normal oil and not diesel.

“To the esteemed Chandigarh Administration, the gracious people of Chandigarh, and the entirety of India, I humbly extend my sincerest apologies. I deeply regret the content of my recent video and acknowledge the distress it may have caused,” he said and posted a video standing alongside the owner of the food joint.

“I am profoundly sorry for any offense taken. Your understanding and forgiveness would mean a great deal to me,” he added.