English

It’s not as if I didn’t know what an oat was. Of course I did; in all the (mostly British) literature I read in my younger years, there were numerous instances of horses being fed oats. Occasionally, there was mention of some piss-poor peasant family eating oatmeal. Oats sounded, frankly, utterly unexciting. Black pudding and haggis, spotted dick and summer pudding—some in varying degrees of grossness, some relatively exotic—at least sounded interesting. I am adventurous when it comes to food, so trying these... — Madhulika Liddle

When I came home from school that day, I threw my books all over the floor. No one looked back at me. With her head bent down, Amma was cutting vegetables with a billhook. My older brothers were nowhere in sight. My older sister was muttering something with her music notebook open. My younger sister toddled across the room towards me without wiping her mouth, stuck her hand into my mouth, and then moved away. I made my... — Appadurai Muttulingam

My mother was born in a family of eight children in a small village close to Shikohabad, a few kilometres away from the town of Firozabad, famous for glass work especially bangles. Out of the five daughters and three sons, she stood at number six. The first ever time she travelled ... — Babli Yadav

Spring had come to an abrupt end; the heat had started to plummet. Trees sparkled with mango blossoms – bright yellow heads bobbing in the odd breeze as March tumbled onto April. It was almost time for him to leave. Perhaps they do have garam masala in England, he wondered. Dida caught wind of his... — Debmalya Bandopadhyay

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