What happens when a duck meets a porcupine? Or when a lion bemoans his lack of horns? Or (bizarre, still) when a whaelephant is caught between the conflicting desires for land and water?  STEW MUCH. Hotchpotch. KHICHURI. That's how the great Bengali poet, playwright, story writer, illustrator and founder of the nonsense club Sukumar Ray (1887-1923) played with the limitless possibilities of a wondrous mishmash. Here's the English translation of Sukumar Ray's original poem (Khichuri) by his equally illustrious son, Satyajit Ray.

Incidentally, 'khichuri' – a flavorful monsoon staple (cooked with rice and lentils) in a typical Bengali household – has many avatars. Not just in Bengal, one or the other form of the dish is likely to be found across different ages (as far back as the 3000 BC!) and geographies (the Egyptians and the Scotts, among others, have their own individual versions). In India, the sheer variety of the hotchpotch (known variously as 'khichuri', 'khichdi', 'khichda', 'kedgeree', qubuli, 'bisibele hulianna' etc.) is mind-boggling! The flavorful dish finds mention in the travel accounts of Ibn Battuta and Afanasiy Nikitin and in Abul Fazl's Ain-i-Akbari. Legend has it that this simple yet nutririous dish was a favorite of the mighty Bhima, the strongest of the Pandava brothers in the epic Mahabharata.

The 'khichuri' is also a widely traveled dish. The 'stew much' that traveled with the Britons from Bengal to England under the Anglicised name, 'kedgeree', was as much of distant Persia as it was of colonial India. The simple peasant fare consisting of rice and lentil underwent quite a transformation in the Mughal kitchen as evident from the recipe created by the Empress of Mughal India, Noor Jahan – the wife of Jahangir. Noor Jahan's 'khichdi' was an enchanting amalgam of the Persian Pilaf – rich with nuts and condiments (but milder in flavor than the Biryani) – and the Gujarati khichdi.

The Bengali 'khichuri' (strictly vegetarian) can be roughly classified into two categories: the sacred and the profane (ahem, read 'informal', 'run-of-the-mill', 'customary', 'romantic' etc.). While the latter avowedly is the blind man's (or the non-enterprising bachelor's) territory, in the sense that it hardly calls for toil, the former, on the other hand – ritual offering or 'bhog', as it is called – presupposes both skill and experience.on the part of the person cooking it. Khichuri is also popular in large community kitchens – it is, in this very sense, quite a social unifier, bringing together all and sundry to the same table! The kinship of the the 'profane' variety with monsoon/rain is again a cultural marker. The rains make you long for khichuri? Why, you must be a Bengali then!

Sometimes the passion may go a little too overboard as with an acquaintance whose devotion to the soulful hotchpotch would often prod him to altogether forego the mandatory bisciuts with his afternoon tea and have khichuri instead. Imagine! Tea and khichuri! Love has strange ways…

Since I am a follower of the Middle Path, my khichuri is an attempt to bring together the sacred and the profane  In other words, it is more or less simple fare with a few flourishes here and there – a bit of the exotic pilaf, a bit of the homey meal – a bit of the many worlds it had traveled to with a foretaste of many, many others…

Here's a recipe:

For two people, you'll need the following ingredients:

1. A cup of any fragrant rice (Basmati, Gobindobhog, Jeera Rice etc.) – washed, soaked and dried

2. Half a cup moong dal lightly roasted until fragrant – washed, soaked and dried

3. 2 sticks of cinnamon, 3 green cardamoms, 2 dried red chili peppers, a couple of mace arils, a pinch of nutmeg, half a teaspoon whole cumin – all roasted and ground to a semi-fine powder

4. 1 large potato cut into 4 pieces, salted and fried. You may also use cauliflower florets (lightly fried) and green peas if they are in season.

5. 10-15 raisins soaked in water

6. 10-15 cashew (lightly roasted)

7. A couple of bay leaves

8. 1/3rd teaspoon ginger paste

9. Half a teaspoon turmeric powder

10. 3-4 green chillies

11. Ghee or clarified butter (be generous!)

12. Half a teaspoon whole cumin and a couple of whole dried red chili peppers for tempering

13. Warm water (keep it handy)

14. Salt and sugar to taste

Once the rice and the dal is evenly dry, add all the ingredients listed in [3] above together with a tablespoon of ghee, ginger paste, turmeric powder, raisins and cashew. Mix well and set aside for half an hour.

Heat the remaining ghee in a large crockpot and add the bay leaves. Next, add the rice and dal and fry briefly for under a minute, stirring continuously. Add enough hot water for the rice and dal to cook through without turning soggy. Put in the fried potatoes, vegetables, green chillies and salt. Cover and simmer for about 10-12 minutes or so, stirring occasionally. The khichuri should not stick to the bottom of the pan so add more water (bit by bit) if needed. Once the khichuri is cooked, add sugar to taste (see Note below). Give a quick stir, turn off the stove and temper with whole cumins roasted in hot ghee. Give the khichuri a final light-handed stir before serving (top the khichuri with a large blob of ghee, of course).

For those new to the dish: The khichuri pairs well with beguni (thinly sliced aubergines coated with gram flour batter and deep fried), fried hilsa, labda (a traditional mixed vegetable curry), papad (papadum), omelette etc. And yes, in Bengal, the khichuri is almost always followed by the spicy, tangy Tomato chutney

Note: The bhog khichuri is slightly on the sweeter side and closer to the pilaf than the rainy day khichuri. It is also more full-bodied than its soggier, secular counterpart. The rainy day khichuri, on the other hand, can be quite spicy.

Here's to a rainswept day & a plate full of steaming, hot khichuri!