Dilli’s Janata Mahal

Not long ago, upon ascending Dilli’s throne, the shining new monarch addressed his praja:
“From this day, I inaugurate a New Era to be remembered in history as AK’s Golden Era.”

“What’s AK?” whispered a clueless citizen.
“Abhutpurv King, na bhuto na bhavisyati – there hasn’t ever been a Glorious King like him nor will there ever be again,” the royal priest-cum-hagiographer elucidated with undisguised scorn for the unwashed, sweat-stinking querist – a denizen of a JJ (Jhuggi Jhopri) colony.

For a more powerful neighbouring king who was determined to soon subjugate AK, ‘A’ stood for Arrogant, Airy, Arbitrary, Affected, and other disparaging synonyms.

But AK was unfazed, and continued his Monarch ki Baat - Address to the People:
“I have decreed my era to be the golden era of progress and prosperity, and so it will be. Beware, any dissent or disputation regarding this will invite swift and severe punishment.
My Rule has just one mantra – the welfare of the poor and the marginalised.”

He was a visionary, and in a rush. He knew Dilli gaddi was slippery as an eel, notorious for the high turnover of Rulers. Determined to be remembered, he resolved to create splendid monuments.

He summoned the Chief Builder.
“Can you build a Mahal fit for your New Monarch?”
“Sure, I can. Your wish is my command. Please tell me what YOU want.”
“Build a Stately Pleasure-Dome.”
“An Amusement Park – a fusion of Disneyland, Mughal Gardens, and Taj Mahal?”
“No, like the Pleasure-Dome in Xanadu that Kubla Khan had built.”
“Sorry, My Lord. I haven’t been to Xanadu. Was that the ancient name for Tamil Nadu? Do you have a photo or painting of that Dome?”

“No, it’s MY VISION. It’s in my mind. But this poem may help. Here is the link: Samuel Taylor Coleridge You must read it.”

The Chief Builder read the poem, marvelled at the mythical mansion, and returned to the king.
“Yes, My Lord. I can render your VISION to reality. The poem is most inspiring, but please provide a few basic details.
Size of plot, building. Living rooms, bedrooms – numbers, size? Kitchens – size? Baths, jacuzzi, sauna, steam room, gym, massage room. Visitors’ Room.
Flooring? Makrana marble?”
“No, Vietnam.”
“Cooling? Voltas, Blue Star, or Godrej?”
“Daikin.”
“Music? Hindustani, Carnatic, or Haryanvi folk?”
“Digital streaming, BOSS.”
“Entertainment?”
“For Your Monarch, a king-size LG TV – 88-inch 8K OLED, and ten additional 4K Sony OLED TVs for other residents and staff.”
“Furniture?”
“Plush Italian leather, China-made.
How soon can you construct the Mahal?”
“Very soon, My Lord. Just order the Treasury not to raise silly objections. Taj Mahal couldn’t have been built if Shah Jehan hadn’t given a free hand to the Chief Builder.”
“Okay, go and build the Janata Mahal – the Stately Pleasure-Dome – the soonest you can.”
“Sure, I will. But there’s a minor problem. Covid is here. Migrant construction workers are in panic, running away to their villages.”
“Don’t be dumb. Every challenge is an opportunity. Quickly gather the labour force. The work site will be declared a quarantine camp. Workers will be permitted to leave only after the Mahal is completed.”

And so, the super-structure was ready before schedule. Interior designing was handled by the best consultants, except for the Public Relations (PR) Room, which was done by His Highness AK himself.

PR Room Decor

Motif: Gandhian. Simple Living, High Thinking!

Décor: Spartan, frugal, minimal.

A small table and a simple chair.
No TV, no music system. Not even an AC; manage the cooling with a discrete chill draft from elsewhere.

On the wall behind My Chair, a huge photo of Mahatma Gandhi with his famous Talisman Quote under it in bold letters:

I will give you a talisman. Whenever you are in doubt … apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him. Will he gain anything by it?

“But, Sir. This chair seems odd, not in sync with the deluxe furniture elsewhere. And why is the upholstery in tatters?”

“That is a thoughtfully selected chair – cheap, second-hand, procured from Amar Market. The slits were made by myself.
AK, your Monarch, is a humble servant of the people. He doesn’t need a Mayur Simhasan to govern. A torn, tattered chair will suffice. In any case, your Monarch is always on the move; when does he have the time to sit and stare?”
“How about house-cleaning, Your Lord?”
“Outsource. House Cleaning Partners in spotless white livery and gloves, vacuum cleaners, electric scrubbers.
Only the PR Room will have a tall jhadu standing in a corner, visible in video clips and photos.”

Museum: A Mahal for the Masses?

Delhi Chief Minister’s official residence at 6, Flagstaff Road, Civil Lines, was completed in 2022. 

Sadly, it remains unoccupied, resenting the unwanted visits of nosy auditors, inquisitive investigators, sleuths – all with dusty footwear and little respect for Persian carpets or the shining marble floor.

CAG’s report has been referred by the Delhi Assembly to the Public Accounts Committee which will question concerned officials regarding the irregularities in sanction and execution mentioned in the audit report.
AK has been dumped by Dilli. The current Chief Minister lives in her own home, with no plans to occupy this villa.

So, what should be done?
Make it a museum? Name it Marvellous Mahal of Dilli for Aam Aadmi? Or, Dilli Janata Mahal? Converting it to a museum may require further expenditure – hiring of museologists, consultants, contractors.

A Dream-Stay in a Palace

In the interim, the Mahal can be offered for use by the poorest in Delhi – the homeless, residents of illegal colonies, JJ colonies, and so on.

Scheme: Be a Guest of Dilli Sarkar for a Day

• 365-Day Calendar. One day for each colony, with Lucky Draws offering “Dream-Stay for a Day.”
• Tariff – Re 1/- per head.
• Jacuzzi, steam, sauna – additional Re 1/- per head.
• Bring Your Own Food – allowed. LPG is on the House.
• Protocol: Keep it Clean. Jhadus provided.
• Check-in at 12 noon, check-out at 10 AM next day.
• Capacity: ~800 per day.
• Annual reach: 365 × 800 = 292,000 people.

Basis of Estimate
The 1,905 sq m (20,505 sq ft) building equals four to five luxury bungalows. In JJ clusters, a family of five often lives in 12 sq m (125 sq ft). By that benchmark, nearly 800 people per day could be accommodated.

***

Appendix

CAG (Comptroller and Auditor General) Report

The Audited Expenditure

According to the CAG report for 2022 (tabled in the Delhi Assembly in March 2026), the official expenditure for the residence renovation and associated works was significantly higher than the initial estimates.

• Final Cost: The renovation was completed at a cost of ₹33.66 crore.
• Initial Estimate: The project was originally awarded for approximately ₹8.62 crore.
• Cost Escalation: This represents a 342% increase over the initial estimated cost.
• "Luxury" Spending: The audit flagged that ₹18.88 crore (more than half the total cost) was spent on "superior specifications," which included artistic, antique, and ornamental items.

Key Audit Findings & Irregularities

The CAG highlighted several procedural lapses and "unnecessary" expenditures in the project execution by the Public Works Department (PWD):

• Area Expansion: During execution, the built-up area was increased from 1,397 sq m to 1,905 sq m (a 36% increase) without sufficient justification in the initial plans.
• Bidding Irregularities: The PWD reportedly avoided fresh tendering for additional works. Instead, work worth ₹25.80 crore was executed by the same contractor, limiting competitive pricing.
• Post-facto Approvals: Administrative approvals for expenses worth ₹9.34 crore were granted two months after the work was already completed, which is a violation of standard financial protocols.
• Fund Diversion: Out of ₹19.87 crore sanctioned for a "Staff Block and Camp Office," funds were diverted. The staff block was never built; instead, servant quarters were constructed at a different, unrelated location.

 ***

 

 

Farewell to a Friend

Neela no longer worked with the effortless strength of his younger days, but he still did every task entrusted to him.
Hardworking and steadfast, he never complained about the many tasks, some rather demanding.

His co-worker was young, and a bit of a show-off, he had noticed. Why are you groaning and sweating so much? Look, how effortlessly I handle the task! He seemed to rub it in.

Neela remembered his youth. He, too, was strong then—working long hours with only brief rests, faster and more efficient than his older colleagues. But he never showed off. Age takes its toll. Hadn’t he watched his mother grow weak with age, begin to limp, and then rest in final sleep? Youth and power, too, pass, he knew. Why scorn the elders? Don’t they deserve a little understanding and respect for the hard work they did in their prime?

Neela was born here, raced the village streets as a kid, never afraid of getting lost. If he went too far, he knew mother would call. Mothers will be mothers, getting worried once the boy is out of sight. Neela respected that, and bounded back to tell, ‘I was just round the bend with a few friends.’

He was a good listener, could identify the unseen speaker from voice, and decipher their mood. Is he angry? Is she agitated? Aren’t they happy when the house is filled with laughter?

He recognised all voices, but cocked his ears for one who was his dearest friend. Ever since he could remember, the owner of that voice filled him with happiness. He played with him, fondled him, and never forgot to share a piece of gud or a mudhi laddoo. He had a sweet tooth, and Neela, too, got it from him.

Sometimes when that voice would be absent for a few days, Neela took notice, for before his own dinner, that voice came near and checked if Neela had eaten and eaten well. He never came empty-handed, but always with a favourite delicacy. Upon return from his brief sojourn, when the voice was heard from the street, Neela would enthusiastically call to welcome him. He knew the voice would first come to greet him, and only thereafter the other members of the family. For they were buddies, and soulmates.

Both of them grew together, sharing many moments of joy and sorrow. Very strong, hardworking, and diligent. There was a lot of manual work to do, but that was never a burden if a friend and soulmate was around.

The years went by, and then Neela began to feel the weight of years. No illness, only the inevitable wear of age. Long work hours tired him. Tough tasks began to look tougher.

Neela stayed as long as he could. He didn’t want to be away from his dearest friend. But he knew he must. The evening before he bid adieu to his home and friend, Neela peered through his eyes hazy with cataract. He sensed his friend’s presence, heard his voice as though coming from a long distance, managed to munch a little of the delicacy he had brought, and wept a tear. Maybe we’ll meet again in next life, he muttered. The voice understood. He, too, wept a tear.

That night, the voice heard Neela who had bade a hushed farewell lest he awoke other members of the family.

Neela was a bullock.
He had a coat of grey with specks of blue. He passed away at 18. Jogindra, more friend than master, did not eat that day. Nor the next.

***

 

Radha's Diet Therapy: Part I

Radha’s Soul Food

Radha is sick, but it is no ordinary malady. She feels a strange chill at dawn, but without any fever. Kabiraj has felt her nadi and said, ‘You got viraha jvara – fever of separation. There’s no jadibuti – medication - for that.’

Radha is hungry, but racked with nausea she can’t eat. She bares her heart, and shares her agony with Dooti, her trusted companion. The song is Radha’s anguished plea to Dooti to fetch the only remedy that comes to her mind – pathi, a diet for her tormented soul and body. Radha needs soul food, and suggests a detailed menu, each of which resonates with the colour and fragrance and touch and feel of her love of life – Krishna Kanhaiya.

The cuisine she lists is fascinating in its variety, spread, texture, aroma, flavour, taste, colour, touch, feel, and its palliative power.

O Dooti, fetch me this special Krishna pathi, pleads Radha –

1.   Krishna khichdi with diced dumplings of ginger fried in ghee while recalling Krishna’s name, and seasoned with jeera, methi, hing, and salt

2.   Green banana rounds fried on a tawa

3.   Fresh pakhala (rice in water)

4.   Kanji ambila, a sour and soupy vegetable dish for which the necessary ingredients are – saru, kakharu, baigan, bhendi, and kardi

5.   Black moong dal curry

6.   Soft, supple arua rice

7.   A bitter curry (bitter gourd or neem flower with baigan and badi, maybe)

8.   Tender cucumber with curd, chili and salt

9.   Mildly seasoned leutia (a delicious green leaf) saag

How would this pathi restore Radha and save her life? Because each dish, ingredient, and flavour remind her of Krishna, and the entire cuisine is Krishnamrut for her. Radha is no longer separate or separable from Krishna. She has merged with her loved one. She has found the remedy for her strange malady.

There may be other prayers where the devotee serves chappan bhog or a preferred dish to God; but this may be the only bhajan where the devotee plans a menu for herself, but can see nothing except her Krishna in every kernel of her pathi. This is prem bhakti – simple, unpretentious, soulful. A prayer like none other.

Danda Nacha

This Sambalpuri song was possibly composed by the lyricist for a Danda nacha performance where two male actors play Radha and Dooti and perform on the village street. Decades ago, these popular street plays enacted select stories and episodes from the puranas and were much enjoyed in the villages of Odisha. Alas, this folk-theatre tradition is nearly dead now.

Fakir Pattanaik’s rendition in rustic, racy rhythm produced a hit song for which the link is:

Radha is Sambalpurian

In this song, Radha is not from Gopa but very much a Sambalpurian for her dietary preference is unmistakably local. Only in western Odisha, ambila is made with kardi! Thus, the song is a prayer, and a celebration of the unique Sambalpuri cuisine with local ingredients.

Thus Sang Radha

(Sambalpuri Song: Lyricist – Govinda (?). Translation by Prasanna Dash)

Listen, O Dooti, listen;

At dawn, I got a strange chill, a shiver,

But without any fever;

Tortured am I with a splitting headache,

Vaid came, felt my pulse, and diagnosed –

It’s viraha jvara,

There’s no medicine for it, he said.

O Dooti, I’m hungry, but can’t eat a morsel,

Racked by nausea, I can’t taste a thing.

Only you know how to heal me,

Don’t you, O Dooti?

Hurry, fetch me the special Krishna pathi,

Prepare Krishna khichdi,

Remember to add ginger slices

Fried in ghee while remembering Ghanshyam’s name,

Season it with jeera, methi, hing,

While adding salt remember Nilamani,

In Kanhu’s name, fry raw banana rounds,

O, how I savour that;

Bring also a serving of fresh pakhala

In the name of Gopala,

Paired with

Kanji ambila in the name of Kunja Binodia

To which do not forget to add all necessary ingredients –

Saru, kakharu, baigan, bhendi, and kardi;

Also bring a black lentil curry,

Shining like my dark Lord;

I have resolved to sing for ever

My Ghanashyam’s leela, O Dutika,

Please bring a serving of soft, supple arua rice,

Rai’s heart is now pledged to Rasa Binodia;

In Pitambara’s name,

Make a bitter curry, too;

Bring a few tender cucumbers

Looking like Krishna with his garlands,

Crush it in a mix of curd, chili and salt,

Serve a dish of dark green leutia leaves

In the name of Krishna;

For my ailment,

That is the sure cure,

Says Govinda;

Krishna pathi will dissipate my distaste for food and life;

Fetch the dishes,

O Dooti,

Make haste,

Revive my taste,

Kindle my appetite,

Save my life;

Let us surrender,

 O Dootika,

To the lotus feet of Krishna.

***

An Ode to Pakhala: Soul of Odia Cuisine!

 

“O Dooti,

Please fetch forthwith

Kunja Binodia kanji …”

— Radha's Diet Therapy

An Ode to Pakhala: Soul of Odia Cuisine!

An Ode to Pakhala

O Pakhala,
Pour into my heart precious phrases;
Prompt me to pen
A poem befitting your pre-eminent place among cuisines.

Patient nourisher of Odia body and soul,
Provider of rustic vigour and poetic inspiration,
Producer of peerless Konark, pulsating Odissi dance, and
Proud Paika warriors 
who conquered the plains between 
the Ganga and the Godavari,
Precocious voyagers 
who braved perilous seas for prosperous trade.

Probiotic super-food,
Protector against the punishing perils of pitiless summer,
Preserver and promoter of Odia culture,
Proud flag-bearer of Odia cuisine,
Privileged to be on Lord Jagannatha's platter.

Pure, plentiful, pleasing,
Prepared in poor huts and prosperous homes alike,
Partaken with passion by peasants and princes.

Priceless gift of Nature,
Preserve,
Promote,
Perpetuate
Pakhala —
Pride of Odia cuisine and culture.

Pakhala: Soul Food

Pakhala is for Odias what Pizza is for the Italians, Doner Kebab for the Turkish, Hamburger for the Americans, Falafel and Hummus for the Middle Easterners, Beluga Caviar for the Russians, Wagyu Beef for the Japanese, and Peking Duck for the Chinese. To take examples from closer home, Pakhala is to Odisha what Butter Chicken Masala is to Punjab, Hilsa Curry to Bengal, Sattu Paratha with Chokha to Bihar, Dal Bati with Churma to Rajasthan, and Dosa and Idli to the South. Each region has its most favoured food; and Pakhala is that dish for Odisha, the eastern State with a population of about 4.75 crore.

Pakhala Dibasa

Odias are passionate and proud Pakhala eaters. This author is an Odia, and has been nourished by this simple but nutritious meal during his early years, but had not heard of a Pakhala Day, since every day was a pakhala day at home. Social media now tells us that March 20 is designated (by Odisha Culture or Tourism department?) as Pakhala Dibasa, and some have gone a little over the top to name it Vishwa Pakhala Dibasa. No matter if non-Odias are unfamiliar with pakhala; it is hoped that prabasi Odias all over the country and the world would be overcome with nostalgia for their unforgettable love affair with pakhala, and improvise to cook and serve a pakhala meal to their family, at least on this special day.

A friend forwarded an image of Lord Jagannatha savouring pakhala: 

Jagannatha, of course, has no hands or feet — a metaphoric imagining of the formless Supreme Divinity — but in the image above, an artist has taken the liberty of adding hands so that her favourite God may enjoy His favourite dish: pakhala!

Another friend sent a video of his mouth-watering Pakhala meal — a bowl of pakhala with several accompanying dishes of saag, fish-fry, chingudi besar, badi, and fritters. Pakhala Dibasa is a good occasion to promote Odisha tourism, culture and cuisine.

What is Pakhala?

Simply put, Pakhala is ‘rice in water,’ but far from a humdrum serving of savourless starch; it is a culinary delight with excellent nutrition; a wholesome meal with several mouth-watering accompaniments and seasonings. A pakhala meal is a simple yet elaborate affair where the ingredients must be right and the seasoning perfect. While the meal is partaken round the year by many, it is best enjoyed in summer. A soul-satisfying meal for a scorching summer, and a welcome defence against dehydration and fatigue.

Pakhala derives from the Sanskrit word ‘prakshyalana’ and means cooked rice washed with water after draining the thick gruel, and thereafter allowed to sit in water till it is served. It is best cooked in an earthen handi over a slow fire to allow each grain to turn over for even cooking. Alas, the village potters are now out of business, and modern Odia households cook rice in a pressure cooker or an aluminium cooking pot; the old-world taste of pakhala from an earthen handi is perhaps lost forever.

Did you know?

·       Pakhala is made by LAB? The Bacteria Squad responsible for turning rice-in-water into Pakhala are Lactic Acid Bacteria (LAB)!

·       Fermenting rice overnight in water can increase its iron content by up to 20 times compared to freshly cooked rice, thanks to these specific bacteria breaking down "anti-nutrients" like phytic acid.

Pakhala and Poetry

I think pakhala is somehow responsible for poetry and creative writing. Why else does Odisha have more poets and writers per square km (including this humble author) than other parts of India or the world?

An old Odia semi-classical song, Asa Jibana Dhana Mora Pakhala Kansa (“Come, my Love, alluring and irresistible as a bowl of rice in water”), sung by Late Bala Krushna Das, likens the beloved to a pakhala kansa, a delectable meal. The lyric extols pakhala as a life-saving meal, and in a little hyperbole, asserts that the life of a person who has never savoured this heavenly meal is thoroughly wasted. Odias may listen to this song, uploaded on YouTube by Sujit Madhual; for non-Odia readers, I may someday translate the cute song.

Pakhala and Bhakti

Pakhala and associated Odia cuisine appear evocatively in devotional and folk songs where Radha remembers Krishna through simple dishes such as pakhala, kanji, khechedi, saag, and ambila. Readers interested in these remarkable songs may read the author’s earlier blogs - Radha’s Diet Therapy: Part I & II.*

International Day of Happiness

Since 2013, the UN has celebrated March 20 as the International Day of Happiness. The 11th World Happiness Report, 2025 was released on 20 March 2025. Sadly, India ranked 116^th among 147 countries of the world. But that is another story.

It may not be a mere coincidence that Odias have chosen to celebrate March 20 as Pakhala Dibasa. A pakhala meal is guaranteed to make an Odia very, very HAPPY. So, the choice of date is most apt.

Pakhala: Cuisine Fit for God

Of the Chhappan Bhog (56 dishes) served to Lord Jagannatha daily, nine are rice preparations of which four are pakhalas — Dahi pakhala (curd rice and water), Mitha pakhala (rice, sugar, and water), Ada pakhala (rice, grated ginger and water), and Arua pakhala (sun-dried and de-husked white rice, ghee, lemon, and salt).

The nine varieties of rice are served to the Lord with an accompaniment of fourteen different curries. Odias are not only rice eaters, they also consume prodigious amounts of dal, green vegetables and saag. Man has made God in his own image, and serves those dishes which he finds most delicious, not unlike Shabari who tasted each fruit before offering it to Rama.

Odisha Tourism’s Twitter handle mentions Subasa Pakhala (Fragrant Rice in Water), which gets its aroma and unique taste from grated ginger and roasted cumin seeds, and claims that this dish is part of the Chhappan Bhog recipes for Jagannatha. Possibly, it is another name for Ada Pakhala.

A happy diner at Bhubaneswar tweeted his immense satisfaction when served a whole Pakhala meal for lunch in his office.

Odia Chhappan Bhog Eateries

I wonder why no Odia entrepreneur has taken Odia cuisine to the rest of India and the world. How about a chain of Odia Chhappan Bhog Eateries, different from the sweetmeat shops of that name, offering the dishes served daily to Lord Jagannatha? Of course, the cooking method in the Lord’s own kitchen at Puri is so unique, no replication would taste as divine. But those who have never visited Puri could get an idea of the variety of dishes served to Jagannatha.

Even before that, Odias who host for their friends, including non-Odias, prasad sevan at Jagannath Temple, Hauz Khas, New Delhi, could include at least one pakhala dish with accompaniments, maybe as the first course.

Pakhala Protocol

Over the centuries, Odias have evolved a detailed Pakhala Protocol, never written down but preserved in the oral heritage of the people. Which variety of paddy makes the tastiest pakhala? How long should the grain be aged for the best result? How should rice be cooked in an earthen handi over a slow fire? How many hours should the rice-in-water rest and ferment? All this and much more form part of the unwritten wisdom surrounding pakhala.

Here are two quick tips. Pakhala is best partaken seated on the floor, and best savoured with your bare fingers. Cutlery can be a spoiler.

India's Most Underrated Cuisine

Vikas Khanna, celebrity chef, says that Odia cuisine is India's most underrated. Pakhala is the first of the five must-try Odia dishes he recommends.#

A Typical Pakhala Meal

A typical pakhala meal comprises:

• Rice in water
• Fish — fried or curried, big or small
• Sour dish — tomato khata or similar
• Saag
• Tawa-fried pointed gourd (potala/parwal), potato or brinjal slices, drumsticks, badi, chickpea
• Curd
• A few pods of fresh tamarind or sun-dried mango slice (ambula), with salt, green chillies, spring onions, a few cloves of garlic; may be embellished with lightly roasted, pickled, and diced bamboo shoots
• In summer, a few drops of the juice from the stem of a freshly plucked raw mango to season the pakhala for an amazing aroma

Pakhala Varieties: Fresh or Fermented

Jagannatha is served only fresh or Garama pakhala, and only very fine arua (also called alua) rice (sun-dried and de-husked) is used; but many of his devotees are partial to ushuna (par-boiled rice lightly de-husked), which is tastier and healthier. Many also prefer basi, which is fermented rice, with the degree of fermentation being an individual choice.

In the past, joint families in the villages cooked only one major meal a day — a big handi of rice — to serve at least two meals to the entire family, and yet another serving the next day. Rice cooked in the morning is mildly fermented in summer by the evening, decently fermented by the next noon, and strongly fermented thereafter. Some also eat tiasi, which is the third day of fermentation.

In summer, every house in the village is a micro-brewery, and the torani, the starchy rice gruel of the pakhala serving, is indeed a naturally fermented rice drink; a perfect antidote to the harsh summer. Basi is sour, and tastes better with dollops of salt, much needed to restore the electrolyte balance after profuse sweating.

Summer is Here

For sweltering summer, lightly fermented probiotic Pakhala is a super cool remedy. 

Where in Delhi to savour Pakhala? Rastrapati Bhawan, if you are family or friends of India's Citizen Number One, or can somehow wangle an invitation to those hallowed premises. Home of two powerful bureaucrats in the PMO, or of any Odia - in heart, soul, and palate.

Even though we are prabasi Odias, we often have pakhala for lunch in summer. Our cook is very confused when my spouse pours water on top of cooked rice! Spouse prefers fresh pakhala with curd; my preference is for the mildly fermented; both of us are guaranteed satisfaction and a relaxing siesta.

Should you visit our home in summer at lunch, we would be happy to give you a taste of Pakhala and the unique Taste of Odisha!

***

Links:

*Radha’s Diet Therapy - Part I:

https://www.pkdash.in/2026/05/radhas-diet-therapy-part-i.html

*Radha’s Diet Therapy - Part II:

https://www.pkdash.in/2023/10/radhas-soul-food-part-ii.html

# https://www.msn.com/en-in/foodanddrink/other/chef-vikas-khanna-on-how-odia-cuisine-is-india-s-most-underrated/ar-AA22zMZs?ocid=socialshare

 

Death and Sorrow — Of Mustard Seeds, Snake‑skin, and a Dead Ox

Through metaphors of mustard seeds, snakeskin, and a dead ox, Buddhist stories illuminate grief, mortality, and release. From Therigatha’s verses to the wisdom of the Dhammapada, the journey moves from sorrow to serenity, from suffering to peace.

Understanding Death — Mustard Seeds

The parable of Kisagotami, grief transformed into insight.

When her only child died, Kisagotami was distraught, disconsolate, and disoriented. She refused to believe that her child was no more. He was very ill, exhausted, and in deep sleep, she insisted. With the dead child in her arms, she searched for the person with a magic potion to awaken her child. Hearing that Buddha had miraculous powers, she appeared before the Enlightened One.

‘O Divine One, please cure my child. Awaken him, for he has not suckled for several days. He must be very hungry.’

Buddha, the Compassionate One, gently caressed the child’s forehead. He did not say the child was dead or chide her for being mad with grief but said, ‘I can cure him. For the medicine, fetch a few grains of mustard seed from a home where no one has ever died.’

She went from house to house and soon returned to place her son’s corpse at the Buddha’s feet. She realised that Buddha had gently led her to find the truth about life and death. Kisagotami became a bhikkhuni.

Therigatha has five poems celebrating Kisagotami's joy upon enlightenment.

Cast off Sorrow — Snakeskin

A metaphor for release from suffering: shed sorrow like a serpent’s skin.

There is another nuanced story about death and grief in the Buddhist tradition. No distraught wandering, no desperate plea for a cure. A man sits with his grief—heavy, unmoving. The loss is not denied; it is endured.

The Bodhisatta does not ask him to seek proof from the world. Instead, He offers a metaphor:

“As a serpent sheds its worn-out skin, so must one cast off sorrow.”

Not by argument, not by consolation, but by insight does the mind come to terms with sorrow. Death is inevitable. Death is final. What is gone cannot be summoned back; attachment to what is gone is the source of suffering.

Kisagotami learnt by going from door to door. Here, the gaze turns inward. The truth is the same: all that lives must pass away. To understand this truth, and to let go—this is the end of suffering and the beginning of peace.

Sujata Jataka — The Dead Ox

Another parable of grief, where folly reveals wisdom.

In the Jataka tales, the Bodhisatta appears in earlier births to teach lessons. One such story tells of a man so devastated by his father’s death that he abandoned food, neglected his work, and spent his days weeping for the dear departed. His son, Sujata—the Bodhisatta—resolved to cure him of this grief.

On the roadside lay a dead ox. Sujata began bringing it fresh grass and water, crying out, “Eat! Drink! Wake up!” People thought he had gone mad. His father rushed to him and exclaimed, “My son, have you lost your mind? No amount of grass will bring a dead ox back to life!”

Sujata replied calmly, “This ox still has its head, tail, and legs. If you think me foolish for trying to feed him, why do you weep for your father, whose body has already been cremated and turned to ash?”

The father instantly saw the futility of his grief. Like a fire quenched, his sorrow was extinguished, and peace returned to him.

Therigatha — Voices of Enlightenment

The first Buddhist bhikkhunis sang of the joy of enlightenment, of Nibbana, and of release from the fear of death.

Therigatha: Poems of the First Buddhist Women* contains a poem in which Kisagotami sings about her enlightenment:

“One should know suffering,
The origin of suffering and its cessation,
The eightfold path…
I followed the noble eightfold path
That goes to that which is without death,
Nibbana is known at first hand.
I have seen myself in the mirror of dhamma.”

Interpretation of a Dream — The White Elephant

An omen of destiny, shielding the prince from sorrow until truth breaks through.

When Siddhartha Gautama was conceived, his mother Queen Mahamaya had seen in her dream a luminous white elephant. The omen indicated that the prince would either become a Chakravarti Emperor or renounce the world, said the royal astrologers. The king was advised to shelter Siddhartha from awareness of human sufferings—disease, decrepitude of old age, and death. The gated life of the prince in the palace hid the reality of the human situation only for some time.

Buddha Sculpture- 9th to 10th Century AD

Source: WikiCommons; ASI Museum, Bodh Gaya

Humans, uniquely conscious of mortality, are tormented by thoughts of death. All religions endeavour to provide solace against the inevitability and finality of death.

Dhammapada — Verses on Life and Death

city built of bones, plastered with flesh....

Dhammapada, a revered collection of 423 verses in the Khuddaka Nikāya of the Sutta Piṭaka, contains many of the Buddha’s best-known sayings.

A few verses from the book, relating to life and death, are given below (Source: The Dhammapada: The Buddha's Path of Wisdom, translated by Acharya Buddharakkhita):

“There are those who do not realise that one day we all must die. But those who do realise this settle their quarrels.” (1.6)
“Better it is to live one day virtuous and meditative than to live a hundred years immoral and uncontrolled.” (8.110)
“Better it is to live one day wise and meditative than to live a hundred years foolish and uncontrolled.” (8.111)
“Better it is to live one day strenuous and resolute than to live a hundred years sluggish and dissipated.” (8.112)
“Better it is to live one day seeing the rise and fall of things than to live a hundred years without seeing the rise and fall of things.” (8.113)
“Better it is to live one day seeing the Deathless than to live a hundred years without ever seeing the Deathless.” (8.114)
“Better it is to live one day seeing the Supreme Truth than to live a hundred years without ever seeing the Supreme Truth.” (8.115)
“This city (body) is built of bones, plastered with flesh and blood; within are decay and death, pride and jealousy.” (11.150)
“You yourselves must strive; the Buddhas only point the way….” (20.276)

Buddha pointed the way; Kisagotami gained enlightenment.

Sorrow to Serenity

From mustard seeds to snake-skin to a dead ox, the stories remind us: sorrow can be shed, death accepted, and peace found in the truth of impermanence.

***

 * Translated by Charles Hallisey, Murty Classical Library of India

 

 

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Kishkindha and Hampi: Journey from Myth to Heritage

 

Kishkindha and Hampi: 

Journey from Myth to Heritage

“Travelling west, you will behold an enchanting forest in perpetual blossom, with majestic trees – mango, jamun, jackfruit, banyan, peepal, aśoka, kadamba, red sandalwood, mandara, and others.

Enjoy the riot of colours, pleasing to the eyes; inhale the soothing fragrance; savour the nectar-like fruits; and proceed further to reach Pampa Pushkarini – the lotus-pond – free from slime and duckweed and with smooth, level banks.

Relish Pampa’s peerless beauty and charm, festooned as she is with lotuses and lilies; regal swans, playful ducks, majestic sarus cranes and other lovely birds warbling sweet tones in her nourishing waters. Having never been hunted, they are unafraid of human presence.

On Pampa’s bank, enjoy a delicious meal of roasted birds and fishes. After the hearty meal, savour a refreshing cool drink of Pampa’s sparkling, crystal-clean water, fragrant with the scent of lotus blossoms.

When at dusk you stroll beside Pampa’s sprawling blue waters and behold trees donning fresh blossom, you will cast off all your grief.

Nature is bountiful and compassionate; it sustains, nourishes, and soothes the soul.”

Modern readers reading these enticing details may wonder if it is the promotional pitch of Condé Nast, Lonely Planet, or TripAdvisor.
It is not.

It is from Valmiki’s Ramayana; Kabandha’s advisory to Rama and Lakshmana to reach Kishkindha, Pampa, Matangavana, and Rishyamuka.

Kabandha’s Tips: A Forest Interlude

Many have read some version of Ramayana; even those who haven’t are familiar with the epic story through kathas, Ram Leelas, theatre, films, or TV serials.

Yet, few may recall Kabandha, a peripheral character who makes a fleeting appearance in Aranyakanda and bows out thereafter.

Kabandha is a headless torso, but not a corpse; he is alive, grotesque, and sinister.

He is a celestial with a curse, awaiting the arrival of Rama for redemption. Danu’s son, struck by Indra with vajra, which didn’t kill him, only pushed his head and thighs into the torso, gave a single eye on the chest, and a hideous, cavernous mouth with huge teeth in the belly.

Modern readers might wonder if he was a person with a congenital physical disability – too small a head with too large a torso. Detested and hounded by society, perhaps, he sought refuge in the forest, and lived the life of a savage?

Why did Adi Kavi bring in Kabandha? What purpose does this character serve in the epic story?

Ramayana is an epic, and its scope is vast; not limited to the affairs of the royal family of Koshala, nor of Rama, the avatar, nor even the Lanka war. Ramayana offers a panoramic view of Bharatavarsha, a vast territory, much of which is little known to the settled world.

In the Kabandha episode, the Poet provides vignettes of the amazing beauty and biodiversity of a distant, little-known area of the vast subcontinent, and useful tips for survival in a remote forest. Knowledge is power. Environmental awareness is critical to survival.

Kabandha is gruesome and repulsive in form, vicious and violent in conduct. He has a limited role – to reaffirm Rama’s divinity, and to guide the brothers to Sugriva, who will tell them about Sita’s abductor. The critical alliance with Sugriva will facilitate Rama and his army to reach Lanka.

Kabandha also provides guidance to reach Rishyamuka – the route, landmarks, flora, and fauna.

Kabandha is no chef, but he is glad to share a few culinary tips.

“At Pampa, you will savour plump birds, fat as lumps of ghee. You will strike down with arrows delicious fleshy fish – rohu, curved-snouted, and reed-fish – and enjoy them—skinned, finless, roasted, and with but a single bone.”

Ecological & Cultural Synthesis

This seemingly casual reference to food sources reveals a surprisingly rich ecological and ethnozoological awareness.

In the microhabitat of the Pampa lake, three delicious varieties of fish are plentifully available – Rohita, the red-tinged fish, is rohu – a mid-zone feeder; Vakratunda is curved-snouted – a bottom feeder; and Nala mina is reed-fish – a surface feeder.

The lake is vast and deep, so it’s best to hunt fish in the shallow waters with arrows. Better to focus on the plump, fleshy fishes, with a single mid-bone, easy to roast and easier to handle.

The culinary detail is amazing: remove the fins, skin the fish, roast on fire.

Kabandha had no head, no legs, only one eye on his chest, and on his belly, a mouth with hideous teeth; but he had encyclopaedic knowledge of the biodiversity of the region and the survival diet in an alien forest.

He was not a professional ethnobiologist or a trained naturalist; but like many forest dwellers, he was a keen observer, and a repository of ecological knowledge so critical for survival.

Survival in the forest needs more than strength and valour. Knowledge of ecology – of flora and fauna – especially the edible choices are critical. Fruits and roots may be taken as they come, but fish is better roasted after due preparation.

Princes, too, must learn the art of survival when alone in an alien forest.

Whither Pampa?

Time (Kāla) respects neither geography, nor history, nor man nor matter. It alters geography at will and rewrites history when in the mood.

Mountains move up. Seas recede. Rivers change course; some die out, others are born.

Empires rise and fall; so do cities, states, and countries.

Time (Kāla) devours everything, including empires built by eminent gods.

An unknown poet laments:

Raghupate, kva gato ’Uttara Koshala?
Yadupate, kva gato Mathurapuri?

“O Rama, what happened to Uttara Koshala;
O Krishna, where has Mathura vanished?”

In Aranyakanda of Ramayana, Valmiki lingers upon the mesmerising beauty of Pampa, a lake deep enough for elephants to sport; and the bountiful forests of perpetual spring – Matangavana and Rishyamuka.

Were the poet to visit Hampi today, the area would be unrecognisable to him. What would disappoint him most – the mighty Tungabhadra reduced to a feeble stream after the construction of the multi-purpose dam upstream; the little pond called Pampa Sarovar, a faint memory of the fabled Pampa Pushkarini? Where are the sarus cranes and other birds, the elephants, tigers, bears, deer, and other animals; and the trees laden with blossoms and fruits? He might possibly lament:

Kva gato Pampa?
Kva gato Matangavana?
Kva gato Rishyamuka?

Fiction to Trip

Recently, a fiction lover read Victory City by Salman Rushdie, and was so charmed by the book that he made a quick trip to Hampi - a UNESCO World Heritage site - disregarding the advisory to visit in winter.

The novel is about an imaginary memoir – Jayaparajaya (Victory and Defeat) by Pampa Kampana, the imaginary queen of the Sangama brothers – Hukka Raya I and Bukka Raya, the first two kings of the Vijayanagara Empire (1336–1646).

What connects Pampa to Hampi? Pampa is Parvati’s local name; she performed arduous penance, pleased Shiva, and was united with him here.

The Vijayanagara kings built the huge temple for Virupaksha Shiva, known here as Pampapati. The entire area got named as Pampa Kshetra.

(Virupaksha Temple Complex, Hampi; 

Source: Wikimedia Commons)

In Kannada, ‘P’ is pronounced as ‘H’, so Pampa became Hampa; and since many city names favoured ending with ‘i’, like Ujjayini, Kashi, Kanchi, and Madurai; Hampa became Hampi – the City of Pampa.

Where was Pampa Pushkarini, the vast and deep lake? It was possibly an oxbow lake created by the mighty rivers Tunga and Bhadra, or it could be a lake in a valley skirted by mountains. It was deep enough for elephants to swim, big fish to thrive, and huge flocks of birds to have a sanctuary. Lotus and lilies bloomed round the year, lending colour and fragrance, while providing safe haven for birds to breed and reed-fish to proliferate.

Victory City

Salman Rushdie’s Victory City ends poignantly with Pampa’s words:

“I, Pampa Kampana, am the author of this book.
I have lived to see an empire rise and fall.
How are they remembered now, these kings, these queens?
They exist now only in words.
While they lived, they were victors, or vanquished, or both.
Now they are neither.
Words are the only victors.
What they did, or thought, or felt, no longer exists.
Only these words describing those things remain…”

Kishkindha, Matangavana, and Pampa Pushkarini are gone, but Valmiki’s words remain. Words are the only victors.

***

Symphony from Scrap: The Recycled Orchestra of Cateura

 

Symphony from Scrap: The Recycled Orchestra of Cateura

On the occasion of Earth Day (April 22), Cine Classic—Bhopal’s film club—screened Landfill Harmonic at NCHSE. The documentary traces the unlikely rise of the Recycled Orchestra of Cateura—from a landfill settlement on the margins of society to concert stages across the world. The audience was visibly moved by its story, its people, and, above all, its music.

When the film ended, the audience rose in silence, and then broke into an applause, some with moist eyes.

Life Beside the Landfill 

Cateura lies on the outskirts of Asunción, the capital city of Paraguay. Every day, roughly 1,500 tonnes of garbage from the city are dumped here. Around 2500 families live in fragile shanties along the landfill’s edge. Most survive as gancheros—waste pickers who sift through mountains of refuse, salvaging recyclable material to earn a living.

Life here is harsh, uncertain, and often unforgiving. Children grow up amid waste and want, squalor and stench; their futures seemingly constrained and compromised by circumstance.

From Scrap to Symphony 

In 2008, Favio Chávez, an environmental consultant and music enthusiast, began working in Cateura. There he met Nicholas ‘Cola’ Gomez, a gachero, but a carpenter with an unusual skill: he could craft musical instruments - violins, cellos, drums, flutes - from discarded materials.

“A real violin costs more than a house here,” Cola observed.

That remark sparked an improbable idea. If real instruments were unaffordable, why not make them from waste—and teach children to play?

It was, at first glance, a rather preposterous thought. The children had responsibilities: caring for siblings, tending poultry and pigs, contributing to family income. Music lessons seemed an indulgence they could ill afford. Parents were sceptical if not hostile; survival left little room for dreams.

Yet Chávez persisted.

Together with Cola, he began fashioning instruments from scrap—oil cans turned into cellos, packing crates into guitars, pipes and cutlery into wind instruments. Crude in appearance, yet capable of surprising resonance, these creations became the foundation of something extraordinary.

When the Recycled Orchestra played Beethoven, the sheer beauty of the music transcended the limitations of their modest instruments.

Music of Hope

The early days were difficult. The children struggled with basic notes and scales. Progress was slow, and frustration frequent. But Chávez and his young students persevered.

Gradually, music took root. Hope wrote symphony.

What began as hesitant experimentation evolved into discipline, coordination, and confidence. The landfill—once only a site of toil—began to echo with melody.

From Landfill to World Stage 

The turning point came with an invitation to perform at the Rio+20 Conference in Brazil. For many of the children, it was a cascade of firsts: their first flight, their first journey abroad, their first glimpse of the sea.

Their performance was met with warmth and astonishment.

Soon, videos of the orchestra circulated on social media, capturing imaginations far beyond Paraguay. International recognition followed. David Ellefson, the lead singer of the heavy metal group Megadeth visited Cateura to meet and greet the Band; and upon his invitation they performed before a huge audience in Denver, Colorado. The orchestra later performed in many cities in the US and Europe. Collaborations with global icons, including Metallica, further amplified their reach.

From a landfill to the world—the journey seemed almost unreal.

Why the Film Works

The title Landfill Harmonic playfully evokes the idea of a philharmonic orchestra—reimagined in the most unlikely of settings.

The documentary succeeds because of its restraint. It tells a compelling story without sermonising. There is no overt moralising, no heavy-handed critique of urban waste systems or environmental neglect—though both hover in the background.

The landfill is a character, malicious and malevolent, whispering ominous threats.

The film does not dwell on blame or policy failure. Instead, it focuses on people.

It captures a community discovering a spark—an opportunity that ignites imagination and transforms lives. The narrative is simple, almost understated, yet profoundly moving.

This is not, ultimately, a film about garbage.

It is a film about possibility.

Daring to Dream

Poverty is a trap; poverty of imagination is worse.

Material deprivation diminishes and constrains. It narrows choices, erodes dignity, and often extinguishes aspiration. Yet, even in such conditions, the human impulse to dream endures.

The children of Cateura dared to imagine a life beyond the landfill.

Not all who dream succeed. But those who do expand the horizon for others. They demonstrate that circumstance, however harsh, need not be destiny.

Failure is not defeat. The refusal—or inability—to dream is.

Magical Music

The film uplifts, unsettles, and lingers.

It reminds us that even in the shadow of a landfill, music can rise—and with it, hope.

Or, in the unforgettable words of Chávez:

“The world sends us garbage. We send back music.”

***

Link for Landfill Harmonic: Teaser video: https://youtu.be/fXynrsrTKbI?si=wknXLDSVTxcLsC4t&t=1

The film is available at kanopy.com which you may access with a library card, e.g. British Digital Library Card. It may also be available at Amazon, Vimeo to buy or rent.