Her Name Is Not On The Menu
Every morning before the first hint of sunlight cracks the sky, millions of women across India begin a ritual as old as time. In a village near Udaipur, Meena lights a clay stove, her hands moving deftly kneading dough, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, all while her husband and children sleep. By sunrise the kitchen hums with the scent of cumin and fresh rotis. But when the family gathers to eat, no one says thank you. Her labor like the dawn mist, vanishes unnoticed. Now picture a bustling Mumbai bistro. Chef Rahul in his crisp white apron, plates a deconstructed kheer for a food critic. The room erupts in applause. His artistry is celebrated, his name printed in glossy magazines. Why is it that the same act cooking is invisible when done by women at homeyet exalted when performed by men in public? This is the paradox simmering in India’s kitchens. Let’s pull up a chair and listen Chapter 1: The Woman Who Feeds the World (But Eats Last) Meena’s story is not unique. Across In...