Food Coma: Pittha – the rice and chana dal dumplings I learnt to cook as I thought of home

How do I describe the motive that could pull my 70 year-old grandmother out of her bed on a bitter winter morning to prepare for the family? It was not obligation. It was pittha and the desire to do it all by herself. Soaking the chana dal, grinding it after hours, kneading the rice flour dough patiently without actually needing to think about measurements.

Over time, as I grew fond of pittha – steamed rice dumplings stuffed with spicy chana dal – making it became a bit of an assembly-line process. My mother handled the dough, the trickiest part; my sister stuffed the dumplings; I would pop them into the steamer, eyes glued to the lid, waiting for the final product.

I have eaten pittha or farra, as its called in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, for as long as I can remember. Across India, pittha appears in many forms – sweet and savoury, fried, steamed or boiled, changing with region and grain. While some make it with semolina or wheat flour, I have always preferred pittha made from rice flour.


Growing up, it was never my responsibility to make pittha. First my grandmother made it, then my mother and then my mother-in-law. Pittha simply appeared on a plate: steamy hot and served with green chutney.

But everything changed when I started living away from home.

In Mumbai, my craving for pittha was strong. It was not just about food but about absence. The absence of mothers, of shared kitchens and the assurance that someone would feed you without asking what you wanted. 


Learning to make pittha was its own kind of education. The chana dal must be soaked for hours, then coarsely ground with garlic, green chillies and a careful balance of spices. This filling is stuffed inside a dough made of kneaded rice flour and steamed till firm.

Rice flour is unforgiving. The dough must be just right. Too watery, and it loses its shape, taste and texture. Too tight and it cracks in protest.

Even now, my pittha rarely tastes exactly like home. Some batches come close, others are a reminder that so much is pure instinct and decades of cooking.

Fortunately, making pittha does what it always has: it slows me down. The satisfaction that follows reminds me that some comforts are worth practicing, even if not perfecting.