Food is never just food. It is memory, identity, culture, and the quiet place where all our stories meet. Some dishes tell us who we are, some teach us where we come from, and some remind us of the emotions we forget to name. In a world that rushes past its own flavours, conversations like this help us pause, breathe, and taste with intention.
This interview is an invitation to slow down to see food not only as something we eat, but as something that shapes us. Now, it’s your turn to listen to the stories on your plate. Every question below invites you to taste a little deeper.
Now it’s your turn to listen to the stories on your plate. Every question below invites you to taste a little deeper.
As a man and a food storyteller, how do you think food shapes your identity and masculinity?
Food has always shaped my identity far more deeply than any idea of “masculinity.” In many cultures, including Bengal, cooking was traditionally seen as a domestic female space, yet historically men have always been central to food economies: ustads in Mughlai kitchens, mahants in temple kitchens, or street-side ustads making biryani, kebabs, or sweets. For me, food has always been a way of expressing sensitivity, which men are often discouraged from showing. Food softens you. It teaches patience, curiosity, and affection. My masculinity, if I may call it that, isn’t built on being “tough,” but on being open to flavours, cultures, people, and stories.
Travelling across Bengal, Odisha, Tripura, Vietnam, Thailand, and even remote parts of North Bengal, I’ve realised that food gives me a way to connect without ego. When you sit with a fisherman in Odisha at 4 AM or eat muri-ghonto in a widow-run kitchen in Bengal, or with a mishti-maker in Krishnanagar, or a tribal cook in Meghalaya, and let them teach you. You realise that masculinity is not power it’s empathy.
Food doesn’t make me more “masculine.” It makes me more human.
How did your journey in the corporate world lead you to founding Foodka and how does food storytelling compare to your earlier IT entrepreneurship?
My corporate years and my IT company (Pickle Solutions) taught me structure, discipline, and systems thinking skills crucial for building any scalable venture. But food storytelling brought purpose. IT taught me to solve problems; food taught me to observe people.
When I started documenting Bengal’s culinary heritage from the Chandannagar jalbhara to Bangladesh’s shutki markets to the Darjeeling-North Bengal pahadi kitchens I realised food content isn’t entertainment alone; it’s cultural archiving.
Entrepreneurship in IT was about logic. Foodka is about emotion, history, anthropology, and community building. Both journeys are startups just with different flavours.
You often say every food has a story. How do you train yourself to slow down and appreciate a dish beyond its taste?
Slowing down is an intentional practice. I ask myself: Who made this? Why this spice? Why this technique? What memory does it hold?
When you approach food with questions instead of judgement, the entire experience changes. I approach food the way an anthropologist approaches culture. When I eat panta bhaat in Bengal, I also think of its cousins pakhala in Odisha, poita bhat in Assam, and pazhaiya sadam in Tamil Nadu. When I taste ilish in Kolkata, I remember how its availability shifted after Bangladesh’s 2012 ban and later relaxations.
These facts slow me down instinctively. Food becomes a lens, not a product.
You don’t just eat; you listen. Taste is only one chapter the real story lies in history, migration, emotions, and the hands that prepared it. The more you start seeing food as part geography, part memory, part lived experience, the more you realise that taste is only one layer of the journey. Every dish becomes a map of where people have travelled, what they carried with them, and how communities adapted along the way.
What does “appreciating food” mean to you in a world dominated by convenience and fast food?
For me, appreciation means respecting the intention behind a dish the technique, the labour, the local ingredients, and the tradition that shaped it. It isn’t about rejecting convenience; it’s about ensuring convenience doesn’t erase culture. A ₹30 kochuri in Serampore and a ₹3000 tasting menu follow the same lineage of skill and thought different formats, same depth. Fast food is part of modern life, but slow food is what carries history. Even if you enjoy convenience, know what real food tastes like. Understand your grandmother’s recipes. Know why mustard oil burns, why posto calms, why patali jaggery tastes like winter.
Appreciation begins with acknowledging the hands, the land, and the memory behind what’s on your plate. To appreciate food is to recognise its soul not just its speed.
How do you balance indulgence with maintaining good health?
I follow a simple philosophy eat with awareness, not guilt. When we shoot for Foodka, the focus is on storytelling, not overeating. I taste intentionally, understand the dish, and respect the craft behind it. The goal is to capture the essence, not to consume large quantities on camera. Because shoots often involve full days in markets or local areas or shops from Burdwan to Krishnanagar to North Bengal, I end up walking 8–12 km without even realising it. That naturally balances the indulgence that comes with exploring regional food. Street food and rich dishes are part of our culture; they’re not the enemy. The real problem is mindless overindulgence. So on days when I’m filming heavily, I balance it with home-cooked meals, hydration, and lighter eating later. For me, health comes from awareness knowing when to enjoy, when to pause, and how to honour the food without harming your body.
Have your food explorations ever forced you to rethink health?
Oh yes, many times. Traveling through villages, tribal areas, coastal belts, and hill regions taught me that health isn’t about restriction it’s about simplicity. The more I travelled, the more I realised how my body reacted to excess too much fried food, too much salt, too much meat. A tribal meal of lai saag in Meghalaya or a pahadi preparation in Darjeeling is often more nutritious than many packaged “healthy foods.” Seeing how communities eat seasonally and mindfully has influenced me to do the same. Foodka made me more mindful. Today, I listen to my body far more than I did in my corporate days. Health isn’t a separate chapter it’s part of the same food story.
Traditional diets contribute to health — do you see this in your work?
Absolutely. Traditional diets are some of the earliest forms of preventive healthcare, they evolved from climate, geography, and human need. Across Bengal and beyond, the logic is beautifully scientific. Nolen gur appears in winter because it aligns with seasonal sugarcane cycles and provides warmth. Fermented rice eaten in rural Bengal cools the body and supports gut health. Gondhoraj lemon naturally cools the system in humid climates. Black sesame gives energy in winter months. In the hills, Himachal’s siddu offers slow-release carbohydrates for cold weather, while Goa’s vinegar-based curries act as natural preservatives in coastal heat. None of these traditions are random the spice combinations, cooking methods, and seasonal ingredients carry generations of medicinal wisdom. Traditional food supports the body through nutrition and balance, but it strengthens the mind through memory, identity, and belonging. When you eat something rooted in your region, you’re not just nourishing yourself — you’re reconnecting with your cultural blueprint.
What role does food play in building relationships?
Food is the gentlest bridge between people. Food is often where men let their guard down. Whether it’s chai in a bus stand, biryani shared with colleagues, or a father teaching his son how to clean fish food becomes a medium for connection. Men may not always express emotions verbally, but we bond over biryani, chai, adda, and cooking together on holidays. Between generations, food is the language of memory a grandfather’s recipe, a mother’s technique, a father’s Sunday meal. Food creates connection without forcing conversation.
How do you communicate the cultural importance of food to audiences who see it only as “calories”?
I give them a lens, not a lecture. I tell stories. When people hear that biryani travelled with soldiers, or that the Rosogolla war involved two districts, or that certain sweets were invented for zamindars or when they eat momos, I mention Tibetan refugees shaping Kolkata’s food culture, suddenly food becomes more than numbers. Once people see food as migration, memory, labour, and identity, calories naturally take a back seat. My job is to remind people that every dish is a piece of anthropology.
Misconceptions men have about food or cooking?
A major one: “Cooking is not a man’s job.” Ironically, professional kitchens have always had a majority of male chefs. Another misconception is that men must prefer heavy, spicy food to seem “strong.” Taste has no gender. Cooking has no masculinity quotient.
How do society’s expectations of men influence how they eat or talk about food?
Men are expected to be unfussy, as if asking a question makes you less masculine. Many feel pressured to eat the biggest portion, avoid delicate foods, or tolerate extreme spice. This leads to overeating and ignoring personal preferences. We need to normalise men having boundaries with food. Real confidence is choosing what your body needs not what society expects.
One dish everyone should taste to appreciate its story + health value?
Panta Bhaat — also known as pakhala, poita, or pazhaiya sadam. It’s humble, probiotic, cooling, and rooted in agrarian life. It carries stories of resilience, labour, and climate. It’s one of the most nutritionally and culturally complete dishes on the subcontinent.
Can food media help improve public health?
Yes if done responsibly.
When creators highlight:
portion awareness
seasonal eating
local ingredients
traditional kitchens
…it subtly influences audiences. Food media can make healthy eating aspirational without removing joy.
Your philosophy on healthy eating restriction, moderation, or something else?
For me, it’s about relationships. Healthy eating isn’t restriction or indulgence — it’s balance. Eat what your system understands, in portions that feel good. Food should nourish, not guilt-trip.
Advice for anyone wanting a deeper appreciation for food?
Slow down. Ask questions. Travel without judgement. Learn one dish from your elders. Eat with your senses, not just your hunger.Food is not fuel it’s history, geography, memory, and emotion on a plate.
