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 India, women spend 4.5 hours a day cooking, cleaning, and feeding families—work worth ₹19.5 lakh crore annually to the economy, yet unpaid and unacknowledged.

In Chennai, Lakshmi a domestic worker rushes from one kitchen to another. After cooking at her employer’s home, she prepares dinner for her own children. “They call me ‘cook,’ but my name isn’t on their menu,” she laughs bitterly. Her daughters ages 12 and 14, already know how to make sambar but have never seen the inside of a school.

Why does society romanticize a mother’s sacrifice but dismiss her labor?

The answer lies in a question asked in every Indian matrimonial ad: “Does she know how to cook?” A woman’s worth is measured in her ability to feed others never her right to feed herself.

Chapter 2: When Men Cook, It’s Art. When Women Cook, It’s Duty

In Delhi’s posh Khan Market, Chef Vikram hosts a ₹10,000-per-plate pop-up. His molecular rasgulla earns rave reviews. Meanwhile his mother Saroj, spends her mornings making gajar ka halwa for his Instagram shoots. “He’s the artist,” she says. “I’m just… helping.”

The professional kitchen is a man’s world. Only 10% of chefs in India are women and most are confined to baking or salads. Anjali, a sous chef at a five star hotel, once suggested a family recipe for the menu. The head chef scoffed, “We don’t serve village food here.” She quit to start a cloud kitchen, Spice Sisterhood, with three friends. Today, they cater weddings with dishes like jackfruit biryani and turmeric latte.

Funny, isn’t it? The same “village food” becomes “artisanal” when plated by a man in a fancy kitchen.

Chapter 3: The Cast Iron Ceiling

In a government school in Uttar Pradesh, Savitri, a Dalit cook, prepares midday meals. Last year  upper-caste parents stormed the principal’s office. “Her shadow pollutes the food!” they screamed. Savitri was fired. Today, she runs a roadside dhaba where Dalit laborers eat freely. “My food isn’t ‘impure,’” she says. “Their minds are.”

Caste follows food like a shadow. In Odisha’s Jagannath Temple, only Brahmin men cook the sacred mahaprasad. Women? They scrub floors. But change is brewing. At last year’s Dalit Food Festival in Hyderabad, activists served beef fry and pork pulao dishes long stigmatized as “unclean.” “This is our resistance,” said organizer Jyothi Rao. “Every bite is a protest.”

Chapter 4: The Hunger Games

Karva Chauth, Chhath Puja, Navratri. India’s festivals glorify women’s hunger. Priya, a newlywed in Jaipur, fasts for her husband’s longevity while he orders McDonald’s. “He says, ‘You’re the pious one,’” she rolls her eyes.A 2023 survey found 68% of women in North India fast regularly—not for spirituality but survival. In Bihar’s slums mothers skip meals to feed children. “If I eat, they won’t,” says Rukmini, whose anemia is so severe she faints at her sewing machine.

When did love become synonymous with starvation?

Chapter 5: Recipes for Revolution

But hope rises like steam from a pressure cooker. In Kerala, Kudumbashree, a women’s collective, runs 1,200 eateries. Their karimeen curry (fish stew) funds scholarships for daughters. In Mumbai, Dalit Kitchen, a YouTube channel run by Kavya, teaches 200K followers to cook thattu vadai (savory pancakes) with pride. “Our food isn’t ‘dirty,’” she says. “It’s heritage.”

Even Bollywood is shifting. In Gunjan Saxena, a father cooks while his daughter flies fighter jets. A small scene—but seismic.

Mosquito's whisper (my perspective)

In kitchens across India, small acts of defiance are rewriting the recipe. A father in Pune teaches his son to make chai. A corporate canteen hires Dalit women as head chefs. A food festival celebrates beef fry as heritage, not heresy.

Change tastes like imperfect, slightly burnt chai.

• Here’s how we can all stir the pot:-

1. Men: Cook one meal a week. No applause needed.
2. Employers: Hire Dalit chefs. Pay women equally.
3. You: Next time you eat, ask: Who cooked this? What’s their story?

As the adivasi saying goes: “Those who feed the world deserve to own the fire.”

Let’s pass them the match.A small scene—but seismic.

• Call to Action:

1.  Support women-led eateries like Spice Sisterhood or Dalit Kitchen.
2. Use the hashtag #HerNameOnTheMenu to tag home cooks.
3. Share this blog with someone who’s ever said, “It’s just cooking.”