The Quiet Comeback of Khichdi

A hospital tray with a bowl of khichdi/A homely looking image of a bowl of khichdi that your mom would probably give you as a kid

Once mocked as “hospital food,” khichdi is suddenly the poster child for gut health. But it never stopped being a superfood.

"Long before gut health became a hashtag...
Before kombucha found its place on café shelves...
There was khichdi.

A declaration of care.
A steaming bowl served by grandmothers with one instruction: "Khaa lo. You’ll feel better."

And you did.

Across generations, khichdi has fed the sick, the tired, the young, the old.
In times of war and harvest, festivals and fevers, it remained… a quiet constant.

It didn’t beg for attention.
It wasn’t served on TV shows.
It wasn’t packaged and marketed..
Khichdi existed to serve, not to shine.

And so, we began to mock it.
“Hospital food,” we called it.
As if food that heals was something to be ashamed of.

Cut to: “Modern Wellness Trends.”
Fancy cookbooks call it kitchari.
Gut health influencers use words like “anti-inflammatory,” “clean,” “Soothing.”

Khichdi nods.
It knew all along.

Because what the world now calls a superfood, India just called… food.
Simple. Balanced. Functional.

One pot.
Rice and lentils.
Rich in Turmeric. Served with curd.
Carbs, Protein, Fibres, Anti-Oxidants.
No bloating. No Processed Fats. No gluten. No noise.

Every Indian household knew how to make it.
Every mother knew when to serve it.
Every child ate it, with a dollop of ghee, maybe a pickle, maybe curd, maybe nothing.

Khichdi was never trending.
But it never stopped working.
It was Ayurvedic without saying so.
Minimalist enough to not even be branded as such.

So why is it coming back now?

Because in a world that’s finally tired of over-processed everything,
of loud flavours and louder marketing,
people are quietly returning to the basics.

And khichdi is waiting.

Still warm.
Still kind.
Still soft enough for sore guts, and strong enough to keep you going.

The comeback of khichdi isn't really a comeback.
It’s a recognition.
A realisation that food was always meant to heal.
A quiet admission that maybe, just maybe… grandma knew better than Google all along.”