More Than a Meal: Divine Panthou on the Food That Defines Meitei Identity

There are certain things in life that we inherit without ever being told that they are an inheritance. The language we first hear from our mother's lips, the familiar smell of food coming from our grandmother's kitchen, the customs observed during family ceremonies and the taste of a meal that somehow remains unchanged despite the passing of generations are among them.

We grow up believing that these things are ordinary because they have always been around us. Rarely do we pause to consider that what appears ordinary in our lives may represent centuries of accumulated knowledge, religious understanding and ancestral experience. A grandmother preparing Singju, a mother cooking fish, or a family sitting together to enjoy rice and Eromba may not see themselves as guardians of a civilisation.

Yet that is precisely what they are. Every familiar ingredient, every traditional preparation and every customary meal carries something of the world that our ancestors inhabited, understood and eventually entrusted to us.

For the Meitei people of Manipur, food has never been merely a matter of satisfying hunger or pleasing the tongue. It is intimately connected with the natural environment of the Manipur valley, the rivers and wetlands that have sustained human settlements, the agricultural seasons that determined the availability of ingredients, and the religious customs that accompanied important moments in family life. The relationship is so deeply rooted that certain foods have acquired meanings beyond their nutritional value, becoming expressions of identity, belonging and respect for ancestral traditions.

In his recent teaching, Divine Panthou drew attention to this relationship, encouraging the Meitei community to recognise the cultural and religious importance of its traditional food habits. His message was not simply an invitation to appreciate indigenous cuisine. It was a reminder that the food a community continues to prepare and consume can reveal something essential about the civilisation to which it belongs.

Fish, Ngaram Taret and the first introduction to Meitei life

Among the many foods associated with Meitei society, fish occupies a particularly distinctive place. Its significance extends far beyond the everyday meal, reaching into the religious observances, customary practices and family ceremonies through which the community expresses its understanding of life. The rivers, lakes and wetlands of Manipur have provided different varieties of fish for generations, and the people developed their own methods of preparing them according to the ingredients available in their surroundings.

Some preparations became part of ordinary household cooking, while others acquired ceremonial significance. It is this relationship between food and inherited custom that Divine Panthou sought to explain when he spoke of fish as an important element of the Meitei way of life. He observed that communities develop food habits influenced by their religious and cultural traditions, and that the foods associated with a particular community often become recognisable expressions of its identity. In the case of the Meitei people, fish occupies a prominent place within that inherited cultural understanding.

Divine Panthou referred particularly to Ngaram Taret, or seven kinds of fish, while explaining the traditional relationship between food and human well-being. In his teaching, the number seven carries significance within the customary understanding of nourishment and the protection of the human body. He associated the consumption of these traditional foods with the belief that they contribute to strength and protection against suffering.

Such explanations reflect religious and ancestral understandings rather than scientifically established medical conclusions, but they reveal an important aspect of how earlier generations approached food. They did not always separate the act of eating from the larger responsibilities of sustaining life, observing religion and maintaining harmony with the natural world. For them, food was not merely an individual preference. It belonged to a wider arrangement of family, society and inherited knowledge, and its importance was reflected in the customs observed from the earliest stages of human life.

This relationship becomes particularly meaningful in Angang Chakumba, the traditional first-feeding ceremony of a Meitei child. A child who has only recently entered the world cannot understand the language, religion or history of the community into which he or she has been born. The child does not recognise ancestral customs or know the significance of the food being ceremonially introduced.

Yet the family understands that this moment represents an important transition in the child's life, and the occasion is marked with customary food and blessings for health, growth and a fulfilling future. Rice and fish are associated with this traditional introduction to food, while the symbolism of Ngaram Taret, as discussed by Divine Panthou, reflects the community's wider understanding of nourishment.

In that tender moment, when a child receives a first ceremonial meal, the act of feeding becomes something more than a mother's affection or a family's celebration. It becomes one of the earliest ways in which another generation is welcomed into the cultural life of the Meitei people. The child will grow, learn to speak and gradually understand the world, but the inheritance has already begun long before the child can comprehend its meaning.

Nganap and the blessings that accompany marriage

The importance of traditional fish preparations does not end with childhood. Divine Panthou also referred to Nganap, drawing attention to its place in the customary food offered to a newly married couple during Meitei marriage observances. In traditional Meitei society, Luhongba is more than the union of two individuals who have chosen to share their lives. It is an occasion in which families come together, customary relationships are acknowledged, and the beginning of a new household is accompanied by hopes for continuity, harmony and future generations.

The foods prepared and served during such occasions acquire meaning through the customs surrounding them. Divine Panthou's reference to Nganap illustrates how food becomes part of an expression of blessing, linking the newly married couple with the traditions that earlier generations observed when beginning their own family lives.

There is something deeply moving about this continuity. A child is ceremonially introduced to customary food at the beginning of life, and when that child grows into adulthood and enters marriage, food once again forms part of an important cultural transition. The dishes may be familiar, but the occasions give them a meaning that cannot be measured by taste alone. They represent the quiet presence of ancestors whose lives followed similar customs, even though the houses, clothes and circumstances surrounding those ceremonies may have changed considerably.

The offering of Nganap to a newly married couple, as recalled by Divine Panthou, therefore reminds us that the food traditions of a people are closely associated with the way they understand family, responsibility and continuity. When a customary preparation gradually disappears, it is not simply a dish that is forgotten. The meaning attached to its place in family life can also begin to fade.

Singju and the knowledge preserved in a Meitei kitchen

If fish represents one of the most recognisable elements of Meitei food identity, Singju offers another remarkable example of the relationship between indigenous ingredients, ancestral knowledge and everyday life. Singju is sometimes introduced to people unfamiliar with Manipur as a traditional salad, but anyone who has grown up eating it knows that such a description hardly captures its cultural character.

It is a preparation whose taste emerges from the combination of locally available vegetables, indigenous herbs, traditional seasonings and ingredients that generations of Meitei households have learned to recognise and use. Different families may follow their own customary methods, and the ingredients may vary according to the season and availability, but the familiarity of Singju has endured because its preparation has remained part of the community's everyday experience.

Divine Panthou devoted considerable attention to Singju in his teaching, referring to ingredients such as Awa Thabi, Komprek, Peruk, Hawaimaton, Utong Nga and Meitei Morok. He explained the manner in which traditional ingredients are prepared and brought together, drawing attention not merely to the flavour of Singju but also to the knowledge and understanding involved in making it.

The use of Utong Nga, in particular, connects this familiar preparation with the larger role of fish in Meitei cuisine. The indigenous chilli, vegetables and other customary ingredients contribute their own distinctive qualities, producing a taste that generations have learned to associate with home. What appears to be an uncomplicated preparation is therefore the result of accumulated experience concerning the selection, handling and combination of food materials available within the community's natural surroundings.

One need only observe an elderly woman preparing Singju to understand how much cultural knowledge can exist without ever being formally written down. She may not follow a recipe printed in a book or measure every ingredient with a spoon, yet her hands know what to do. She recognises the vegetables by sight, understands how they should be prepared and remembers the familiar combination that gives the dish its character.

Much of this knowledge was acquired by watching another pair of hands many years earlier, perhaps those of her mother or grandmother, in a kitchen where instructions were given through ordinary conversation rather than formal teaching. A younger family member standing beside her may believe that the activity is simply cooking, but an inheritance is being transferred at that very moment. The preparation of Singju becomes a lesson in the names of indigenous plants, their uses, their seasonal availability and the traditional food habits of the Meitei people.

If these practices cease to be shared within households, the loss will extend beyond the disappearance of a familiar taste. An entire body of practical knowledge may gradually become inaccessible to those who come after us.

The relationship between traditional food and the human body

Divine Panthou also spoke about the relationship between traditional food and physical well-being, referring to Laphu Eromba, indigenous vegetables and familiar fruits whose consumption earlier generations associated with maintaining the body. His teaching reflected the traditional belief that the natural environment provides foods which, when understood and consumed appropriately, contribute to the nourishment of human life.

Such an understanding is particularly relevant to a community whose traditional food practices developed in close association with the plants, rivers, fields and seasonal resources of its homeland. Fish provides valuable nutrients, while a variety of vegetables and greens can contribute fibre, vitamins and minerals as part of a balanced diet.

Divine Panthou also referred to the traditional Meitei practice of preparing and eating Laphu Tharo, or banana flower, particularly when returning home after travelling or staying outside for some time. This familiar custom, still observed by many families today, reflects the inherited belief that certain indigenous foods help restore the body's balance and well-being after a change in diet and surroundings.

Laphu Tharo, often prepared as Eromba, has therefore remained more than an ordinary household dish. Its continued preparation reveals how deeply ancestral food habits are woven into everyday Meitei life. For Divine Panthou, such practices remind us that the wisdom of earlier generations survives not only in religious ceremonies but also in the simple food traditions that families continue to observe without always questioning their origins.

At the same time, specific beliefs about a traditional preparation preventing particular diseases or removing excess salt and fat from the body must be distinguished from conclusions supported by scientific evidence. Cultural appreciation and scientific examination need not contradict one another. Indeed, the knowledge inherited from earlier generations may provide valuable starting points for researchers seeking to understand the nutritional characteristics of indigenous foods.

What deserves attention in Divine Panthou's message is the warning against overlooking the value of familiar food simply because it has always been available. Modern society frequently treats novelty as a sign of progress, and traditional preparations are sometimes considered less desirable than foods carrying the appearance of modernity.

Yet the worth of a meal cannot be determined by the sophistication of its packaging, the price charged in a restaurant or the distance from which its ingredients have travelled. A simple preparation made from locally available vegetables and fish may offer nourishment while also sustaining the knowledge of the environment from which those ingredients were obtained.

This does not mean every traditional food must automatically be regarded as healthier than a modern alternative, but it does mean that ancestral dietary practices deserve understanding rather than dismissal. The relationship between indigenous food and the human body, as emphasised by Divine Panthou, invites both cultural reflection and careful nutritional study.

Ngaton from the Iril River and the taste of Hiyanggei

Among the most evocative moments in Divine Panthou's teaching was his reference to Ngaton from the Iril River and the pleasure of eating it with a freshly harvested rice variety known as Changlei during Hiyanggei. For those familiar with the agricultural life of Manipur, the arrival of new rice is not merely a change in the contents of a household granary. It is associated with the labour of farmers, the changing seasons and the fulfilment of hopes that began when seeds were first placed in the soil.

The taste of freshly harvested Changlei rice carries something of this experience, particularly when accompanied by traditional fish preparations associated with the rivers and surrounding environment. Divine Panthou's recollection of Ngaton from the Iril River captures this relationship between the land, its water bodies and the food habits of the people who have lived alongside them for generations.

Such memories possess a cultural value that cannot be recreated simply by following a recipe. The taste of a familiar fish enjoyed during a particular season is inseparable from the circumstances in which it was traditionally consumed. There is the freshness of the harvest, the anticipation of a meal, the knowledge of where the fish came from and the shared familiarity of those gathered around it.

For someone who has lived away from Manipur, even the mention of Ngaton from the Iril River may awaken memories of a time when the natural environment and household food practices were more closely connected. When a river becomes degraded, a traditional fish grows scarce or younger generations no longer recognise the names of indigenous varieties, the consequences reach beyond environmental change. A part of the community's relationship with its homeland also becomes more difficult to sustain. The preservation of traditional food habits is therefore closely connected with the responsibility to value the natural resources that made those traditions possible.

When the taste of home becomes the memory of a civilisation

Anyone who has spent years away from home understands that food can preserve memories with an intensity that ordinary recollection sometimes cannot. A person may forget the precise appearance of a childhood room, the conversations that filled an ordinary afternoon or the details of a family gathering, yet the aroma of a familiar dish can suddenly bring an entire world back to life.

For the Meitei people living outside Manipur, a meal of rice and fish, a preparation of Eromba or the distinctive taste of Singju may carry memories of parents, grandparents, childhood friendships and the familiar surroundings of home. It is not simply the taste that is being remembered. It is the life associated with that taste, the people who prepared the food and the customs that gave ordinary meals their place within family life.

This emotional connection illustrates why traditional cuisine deserves consideration as an important part of cultural preservation. A community may establish museums, publish historical accounts and organise religious celebrations, yet much of its inherited knowledge continues to reside in the homes of ordinary people. The grandmother who remembers a traditional preparation, the parent who explains why a particular dish is served during a ceremony and the child who learns to recognise indigenous ingredients are all participating in the preservation of culture, even if none of them describes the activity in such terms.

The survival of a civilisation depends not only upon public institutions but also upon the willingness of families to continue the practices that give collective identity its everyday expression. Without that continuity, cultural preservation can become an exercise in remembering what once existed rather than sustaining what still lives.

The changing world and the danger of forgetting

There is nothing inherently wrong with enjoying food from another culture. Human societies have exchanged ingredients, recipes and culinary practices for centuries, and openness to different cuisines can enrich rather than diminish one's understanding of the world. The concern begins when appreciation for unfamiliar food is accompanied by indifference towards one's own inheritance.

A younger generation may become familiar with dishes from distant countries while remaining unable to identify the vegetables used in Singju or the traditional preparations associated with important Meitei ceremonies. Some may know the taste of Eromba without understanding how it is prepared, while others may participate in Angang Chakumba or Luhongba without knowing why particular foods have traditionally occupied a place in these observances. Such changes rarely produce an immediate sense of loss, because the names of the ceremonies and dishes may continue to survive even after their meanings have begun to fade.

This is where Divine Panthou's teaching acquires particular importance. His appeal is not simply that the Meitei people should continue eating familiar foods because their ancestors did so, but that they should recognise the cultural and religious significance of the practices they have inherited. There is a difference between maintaining a tradition through habit and preserving it through understanding.

A person may continue preparing Singju without knowing the names or traditional uses of its ingredients, just as a family may serve customary food during marriage without explaining its significance to younger members. The practice may survive for a time, but when knowledge is no longer transmitted, its future becomes uncertain. The responsibility therefore begins within the family, where children can learn not only how traditional food tastes but also why it occupies an important place in Meitei life.

Our food reflects our religion, our identity and our land

Divine Panthou concluded his teaching with an appeal that brings together the different aspects of his discussion. He urged the Meitei people to preserve their traditional food habits and not to regard eating as a matter too ordinary to deserve cultural or religious attention. In his understanding, the food a community consumes, the customary practices associated with it and the manner in which those traditions are maintained can reveal the religion, identity and ancestral land of the people.

For the Meitei community, traditional food is therefore not merely something inherited for convenience or pleasure. It forms part of the practices through which people express respect for their ancestors, their religion and themselves. Divine Panthou cautioned against disregarding these customs without understanding their meaning, emphasising that preserving the food traditions of the Meitei people is also an expression of dignity and self-respect.

This understanding should not be mistaken for an argument that people must reject the food habits of other communities or that personal dietary choices alone determine an individual's worth. Religious traditions and cultural practices differ across societies, and respect for one's own inheritance is strongest when it does not require disrespect towards another.

The deeper significance of Divine Panthou's teaching lies in the responsibility to understand the practices that have shaped one's community. A person can remain open to new experiences while retaining affection and respect for the traditions of home. The concern is not whether a Meitei enjoys a meal from another country, but whether the same person understands and values the food culture that generations of Meitei families have preserved.

For a community whose identity is often discussed through the language of ancestry, religion, history and the protection of its homeland, food offers a quieter but equally meaningful expression of belonging. The dignity of being Meitei is not confined to the surname one carries, the Salai to which one belongs or the religious ceremonies one attends. It can also be expressed through the care with which traditional customs are practised, the respect shown to indigenous knowledge and the willingness to pass that knowledge to future generations.

A Meitei family preparing Singju with familiar ingredients, remembering the significance of Ngaram Taret, observing customary food practices during Angang Chakumba and Luhongba, or enjoying Ngaton from the Iril River with freshly harvested rice is participating in a living cultural inheritance. These practices connect different stages of human life with the religion, land and collective memory of the community.

The world around us will continue to change, as it always has. Our children will encounter different cultures, develop new preferences and live in circumstances that may be very different from those experienced by their grandparents. Such changes need not be feared. What deserves concern is the possibility that, in moving forward, we may cease to understand the inheritance that brought us to where we are.

When an elderly person who knows the preparation of a traditional dish passes away without teaching anyone, a small portion of ancestral knowledge may disappear. When the religious meaning of a customary food is forgotten, a connection between belief and everyday life becomes weaker. And when younger generations grow unfamiliar with the indigenous ingredients of their own land, the cultural relationship between people and place may gradually diminish.

Divine Panthou's teaching reminds us that preserving the Meitei way of life does not begin only with public declarations, religious gatherings or historical remembrance. It begins with the ordinary responsibilities of living as Meitei, of understanding the customs that earlier generations entrusted to us and of recognising that even the food we place before our children can carry the memory of a civilisation. The preservation of traditional food habits is not an attempt to return to an unchanging past. It is an effort to ensure that the future does not become disconnected from the knowledge, religious understanding and cultural dignity of those who came before us.

We may build new homes, travel to distant countries, embrace unfamiliar cuisines and adopt modern ways of living. But we should never become strangers to the food that once nourished our ancestors, the customs that gave it meaning and the religion that remains part of our inherited identity.

For the Meitei people, the preservation of traditional food is therefore more than a matter of taste. It is an affirmation of belonging, a recognition of ancestral wisdom and an expression of dignity. A civilisation does not always announce its survival through monuments, religious processions or historical celebrations. Sometimes it continues quietly in a mother's kitchen, in the preparation of Singju, in the customary offering of Nganap to a newly married couple, in a child's first ceremonial meal and in the familiar taste of Ngaton enjoyed with newly harvested rice.

The food of our ancestors deserves to remain the food our children understand, not because tradition must prevent change, but because no community should have to forget its inheritance in order to embrace the future. To preserve our food habits is to preserve a living expression of Meitei identity, religion and the land to which we belong.