Tiffin censorship is slowly spreading through the country, turning the humble lunch box into contested ground. Parent groups petition schools to prohibit certain items, especially nonvegetarian food, from packed lunches. Their reasons range from “it smells bad”, “it goes bad quickly” to“it is not inclusive” and “it goes against our values”. Sometimes institutions enthusiastically impose restrictions to avoid “hurting popular sentiment”. A few days ago, a school in Mira-Bhayandar in Mumbai restricted food that did not align with a particular community’s festival. Unlike usual prohibitions on egg or meat, in this case the restrictions were on root vegetables and fenugreek in lunch boxes. Then government authorities intervened, warning the institution of penalties and stating that imposing dietary restrictions “violated the Right to Education Act and students’ fundamental rights”.

The veg vs non-veg debate is not new, and now it has started impacting the shape and form of school meals. Adding to this is a new outcry on social media groups, urging parents to pack lunches that are in accordance with “Indian values”.

It feels a little surreal that the school lunch box can cause sentiments to flare to such a degree that families are no longer just deciding what to pack for their own child’s tiffin but also dictating what others should pack. Some parents in urban areas who aspire to send their kids to foreign shores to become global citizens are not just turning their nose up at eggs and meat but simply anything unfamiliar to them. If this trend continues, lunch hour, instead of being a time of inclusivity and bonhomie, will turn into a means to segregate children based on food groups.

Class: a space for diversity

Isn’t school a time for exploration, when children soak in a diverse pool of cultures? They carry a little bit of themselves to the classroom and carry back a little bit of others. I remember lunch hours from my school days when most tiffins were packed with paratha-sabzi or bread in all sorts of permutations and combinations—bread jam, bread omelette, French toast, you get the drift. However, on Fridays, birthdays or other special occasions, lunch boxes would contain special treats.

That’s when you would get a glimpse of family recipes, regional specialties, even tastes from different countries. A schoolmate from Ladakh would get cold hand-pulled noodles and during Bihu, an Assamese friend would carry boxes of pitha. A Kenyan student introduced the rest of us to his family recipe of bean stew. It was in school that I got my first taste of litti chokha, pungent chicken pickles, and “spag and meatballs”.

The classroom has always been a space of negotiation even when it comes to food. You consume things that you are comfortable with, both culturally and in terms of your health. Tiffin does not just offer sustenance but a means to independence for the student, asserting one’s right to say no, to understand what is good for us—and in some cases, it may become a means of rebellion against prescribed norms. Even though the lunch box is packed by the parents, the kids exercise agency in how they share food in the school. The only adult intervention required is making the child and the educators aware of allergies or other non-negotiable factors—but only in the context of your own kid’s tiffin and not someone else’s.

Take this a notch further by having discussions on diversity later at home. You will be surprised how quickly kids learn and adapt. A friend’s 10-year-old son has allergies to 20 ingredients. All he had to do was tell his classmates once and they have kept his medical needs in mind since then. They tell him at the start of lunch hour if they have a dish that could cause his allergies to flare up; they even keep a lookout for allergens, if any, in the tuck shop snacks. Isn’t this what education is about? Building empathy and learning to coexist while maintaining one’s uniqueness.

Recently, P.C., a 14-year-old in Gurugram, started a personal project to include new items in her lunch box every week. In a matter of days, some of her classmates followed suit. “I am preparing myself for college when I will have to cook for myself. Why not start now? I want my meals to be adventurous while also being nutritious and balanced,” says the teen. She started with simple bowls of pasta, lentils or grains, tweaking them according to the cuisine she wanted to focus on that week.

Her classmates—all of whom come from a certain degree of privilege—are turning to books, TV series and workshops for inspiration, while helping out their younger siblings as well. In the process, they have also come to understand the labour that goes into putting together a tiffin early in the morning—something they had taken for granted until now. Helping out or taking over the making of the dabba on some days is their way of acknowledging the effort. A common favourite with P.C. and her classmates is the animated series, Avatar: The Last Airbender, which features food influenced by Japanese, Tibetan and Chinese culinary cultures. P.C. tried cabbage dumplings and “did not hate it”. She made sure to inform her peers about the addition of fish sauce to the dumplings. “Some of my friends’ parents are very strict about food choices, so much so that they instruct the kids to sit a little apart if someone has brought an egg. But my classmates are alright, they do their own thing,” she adds.

They are adolescents who are watching Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown and Masterchef Australia and discussing green ants, indigenous pastas and toxin-free juices in school. They are searching for “umami” in their meals and are willing to experiment.

The dabba can also serve as a real-life illustration of the concept of cultural diversity in textbooks and elsewhere. Delhi-based N.M, a 15-year-old, whose family hails from Allahabad, says she and her friends often talk about how the same dish can have regional variations. Many of them have read Swarnavo Datta's The Great Indian Tiffin Box. “In my house, we make a chilla with moong dal. The book features pesarattu, a similar crepe-like dish from Andhra Pradesh,” she says.

During festivals, her mother makes fara from soaked and ground chana dal. N.M. insists on carrying this dish in her tiffin as it has become a favourite with her classmates. “They have never eaten it before and love the flavours. We only recently found out about different kinds of fara made in Chhattisgarh during a food festival. Some of us will try making these at home. If successful, we will bring our versions to school,” she adds. It is time for adults to keep their nose out of the tiffin box and allow themselves to be led by the kids and their choices.

‘Raising Parents’ is a monthly column about art and culture ideas to inspire both children and adults

Tiffin censorship is slowly spreading through the country, turning the humble lunch box into contested ground. Parent groups petition schools to prohibit certain items, especially nonvegetarian food, from packed lunches. Their reasons range from “it smells bad”, “it goes bad quickly” to“it is not inclusive” and “it goes against our values”. Sometimes institutions enthusiastically impose restrictions to avoid “hurting popular sentiment”. A few days ago, a school in Mira-Bhayandar in Mumbai restricted food that did not align with a particular community’s festival. Unlike usual prohibitions on egg or meat, in this case the restrictions were on root vegetables and fenugreek in lunch boxes. Then government authorities intervened, warning the institution of penalties and stating that imposing dietary restrictions “violated the Right to Education Act and students’ fundamental rights”.

The veg vs non-veg debate is not new, and now it has started impacting the shape and form of school meals. Adding to this is a new outcry on social media groups, urging parents to pack lunches that are in accordance with “Indian values”.

It feels a little surreal that the school lunch box can cause sentiments to flare to such a degree that families are no longer just deciding what to pack for their own child’s tiffin but also dictating what others should pack. Some parents in urban areas who aspire to send their kids to foreign shores to become global citizens are not just turning their nose up at eggs and meat but simply anything unfamiliar to them. If this trend continues, lunch hour, instead of being a time of inclusivity and bonhomie, will turn into a means to segregate children based on food groups.

Class: a space for diversity

Isn’t school a time for exploration, when children soak in a diverse pool of cultures? They carry a little bit of themselves to the classroom and carry back a little bit of others. I remember lunch hours from my school days when most tiffins were packed with paratha-sabzi or bread in all sorts of permutations and combinations—bread jam, bread omelette, French toast, you get the drift. However, on Fridays, birthdays or other special occasions, lunch boxes would contain special treats.

That’s when you would get a glimpse of family recipes, regional specialties, even tastes from different countries. A schoolmate from Ladakh would get cold hand-pulled noodles and during Bihu, an Assamese friend would carry boxes of pitha. A Kenyan student introduced the rest of us to his family recipe of bean stew. It was in school that I got my first taste of litti chokha, pungent chicken pickles, and “spag and meatballs”.

The classroom has always been a space of negotiation even when it comes to food. You consume things that you are comfortable with, both culturally and in terms of your health. Tiffin does not just offer sustenance but a means to independence for the student, asserting one’s right to say no, to understand what is good for us—and in some cases, it may become a means of rebellion against prescribed norms. Even though the lunch box is packed by the parents, the kids exercise agency in how they share food in the school. The only adult intervention required is making the child and the educators aware of allergies or other non-negotiable factors—but only in the context of your own kid’s tiffin and not someone else’s.

Take this a notch further by having discussions on diversity later at home. You will be surprised how quickly kids learn and adapt. A friend’s 10-year-old son has allergies to 20 ingredients. All he had to do was tell his classmates once and they have kept his medical needs in mind since then. They tell him at the start of lunch hour if they have a dish that could cause his allergies to flare up; they even keep a lookout for allergens, if any, in the tuck shop snacks. Isn’t this what education is about? Building empathy and learning to coexist while maintaining one’s uniqueness.

Recently, P.C., a 14-year-old in Gurugram, started a personal project to include new items in her lunch box every week. In a matter of days, some of her classmates followed suit. “I am preparing myself for college when I will have to cook for myself. Why not start now? I want my meals to be adventurous while also being nutritious and balanced,” says the teen. She started with simple bowls of pasta, lentils or grains, tweaking them according to the cuisine she wanted to focus on that week.

Her classmates—all of whom come from a certain degree of privilege—are turning to books, TV series and workshops for inspiration, while helping out their younger siblings as well. In the process, they have also come to understand the labour that goes into putting together a tiffin early in the morning—something they had taken for granted until now. Helping out or taking over the making of the dabba on some days is their way of acknowledging the effort. A common favourite with P.C. and her classmates is the animated series, Avatar: The Last Airbender, which features food influenced by Japanese, Tibetan and Chinese culinary cultures. P.C. tried cabbage dumplings and “did not hate it”. She made sure to inform her peers about the addition of fish sauce to the dumplings. “Some of my friends’ parents are very strict about food choices, so much so that they instruct the kids to sit a little apart if someone has brought an egg. But my classmates are alright, they do their own thing,” she adds.

They are adolescents who are watching Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown and Masterchef Australia and discussing green ants, indigenous pastas and toxin-free juices in school. They are searching for “umami” in their meals and are willing to experiment.

The dabba can also serve as a real-life illustration of the concept of cultural diversity in textbooks and elsewhere. Delhi-based N.M, a 15-year-old, whose family hails from Allahabad, says she and her friends often talk about how the same dish can have regional variations. Many of them have read Swarnavo Datta's The Great Indian Tiffin Box. “In my house, we make a chilla with moong dal. The book features pesarattu, a similar crepe-like dish from Andhra Pradesh,” she says.

During festivals, her mother makes fara from soaked and ground chana dal. N.M. insists on carrying this dish in her tiffin as it has become a favourite with her classmates. “They have never eaten it before and love the flavours. We only recently found out about different kinds of fara made in Chhattisgarh during a food festival. Some of us will try making these at home. If successful, we will bring our versions to school,” she adds. It is time for adults to keep their nose out of the tiffin box and allow themselves to be led by the kids and their choices.

‘Raising Parents’ is a monthly column about art and culture ideas to inspire both children and adults