26 April,2026 10:24 AM IST | Mumbai | Nasrin Modak Siddiqi
Prepping for a meal takes meticulous planning and execution
Let's admit it: The value of âghar ka khaana' is only truly felt when you move away from home and start paying for something that never quite tastes the same. That's exactly what Versova-resident, Ritika Jain felt when she moved to Mumbai a few years ago. She also missed the easy rhythm of shared spaces, an absence that led to Aangan, a modern-day third place beyond home and work, inspired by the nostalgia of the Indian courtyard.
"Courtyards are special," she tells us, adding, "They have nature, they are a safe space where children play freely, and adults drift into unplanned conversations, and people don't just socialise, they grow together, support one another, and form an ecosystem of care. Aangan attempts to recreate that spirit in a contemporary, urban context."
Today, Aangan hosts intimate, thoughtfully designed gatherings rooted in presence and connection, from mindful pottery sessions to reflective women's circles. At its heart is Maa ki Rasoi, a culinary platform that centres mothers and home cooks, honouring their skill, stories, and invisible labour. With limited seats and carefully curated menus, it resists scale in favour of authenticity. "It's not about chasing volume," says Jain. "It's about creating something intimate enough to stay authentic, and valuable enough to sustain everyone involved. A mother's kitchen should always feel like an invitation," she says. "The moment it turns transactional, the essence is lost." While the food remains central, comforting, memorable, made with care, what guests truly return for is something deeper: emotion, nostalgia, connection, and the unmistakable feeling of being fed with heart.
The first Maa ki Rasoi was an Undhiyu-led winter special. The second celebrated Punjabi flavours during makki ki roti and sarson da saag season, presented as a 10-course meal. The latest was a summer-ready, mango-led, Delhi-themed rasoi, where her mother, Brij Jain, took centre stage, with a generous spread for a small, cheering group of friends and strangers. The menu centred on aam panna, aloo bedmi, and kalakand as the star dishes, with the rest built around them to feel both wholesome and complete. But what made it special was how deeply personal it was, shaped by her upbringing in Delhi and the food she grew up with. "There was mathri chana chaat, inspired by a small Shahdara gully favourite, Bhola ki Kachori, and dishes she loved feeding us while we were growing up. That's where authenticity lives, and where it truly connects with guests," says Jain.
For women who've long run kitchens, balanced budgets, and created joy through food, stepping into pricing, planning, and hosting isn't always easy. "Women carry generational wisdom of instincts, recipes, hospitality, resilience," says Jain. "What they need isn't confidence-building, but a chance. One platform, one push, and they begin to see the value of what they've always done so naturally."
Jain ensures the mothers she works with aren't weighed down by logistics or pushed to be "fancy." "They should curate in a way that feels natural to them," she says. Menus are built around one seasonal hero and two to three signature dishes that reflect the host, with the rest designed to feel wholesome. Like at the last Rasoi, mangoes led the menu with a Delhi lens. "That's where authenticity lives," she adds, "in the food they grew up with and loved feeding their families. That's what truly connects with guests," says Jain, whose role stays behind the scenes, supporting with planning, costing, portions, timelines, and guest flow.
In contrast, mothers lead in their own rhythm to present the true hero of these gatherings, ghar ka khaana. "Once moms feel supported rather than judged or rushed, confidence follows. For homemakers to begin seeing themselves as entrepreneurs, the shift starts with being seen. "Many mothers have spent years doing extraordinary work at home without it being framed as experts, but running a supper club kitchen demands budgeting, planning, multitasking, creativity, consistency, and care, all qualities we value in entrepreneurs. When you sit with them and shape their story, what feels ordinary begins to reveal itself as memory, skill, culture, and identity."
This intentionality helps guests understand what they are eating and why it belongs to a particular season. And when mothers share the stories behind ingredients, recipes, and traditions, they begin to see themselves differently, too, not as "just cooks," but as creators, knowledge-holders, and women building something of their own.
The shift from a private kitchen to a public dining space can be deeply emotional. For many mothers, like Brij, cooking has always been a love language, sometimes a duty, done quietly and often without acknowledgement. "At first I wasn't comfortable charging people for my food; but Ritika explained that it would mean restricting ghar ka khana to only her friends and not necessarily strangers who are craving home-cooked meals in a home setting," says Brij.
The idea that people will pay to eat their own food can evoke mixed feelings. "Some women feel encouraged by it. Some need time to sit with it, because they've always seen feeding others as something they are supposed to do. For some, valuing that labour feels empowering. For others, it feels unfamiliar," she says.
"What I've seen across all mothers at Aangan is their instinct for abundance. Extra ghee, white butter, second servings, and more accompaniments than needed. That generosity is universal. Boundaries can be protected when the experience is designed with sensitivity. These are occasional, intimate gatherings, not high-frequency commercial operations. Pricing also creates a sense of seriousness and respect for the space. What I build is a personal environment, and that should be honoured. Most importantly, nothing should be forced. Each mother should move through this journey in her own way, and in her own time," she adds.
Another aspect Jain highlights is scale. Many mothers are used to cooking for five or six people; hosting 30 is a different rhythm altogether, and support becomes essential. "Participation should feel uplifting, never draining," says Jain who stays closely involved, helping with planning, rationing, prep schedules, timelines, and execution, while ensuring the mother leads. "She is the captain. I'm there to support."
This often means working backwards. Like at the last Rasoi, a fresh pickle was part of the menu, along with a takeaway so guests could carry a bit of ghar ka khaana home. Prep began days in advance. For dishes with multiple components, she helps simplify the process. The idea is to share responsibility without taking away ownership. It means spending time with the mothers beforehand, visiting their homes, meeting families, tasting dishes, and offering reassurance.
Feeling valued, she adds, goes beyond payment. It comes from recognition. At Aangan, mothers are never kept in the background. Kitchen support steps in on the day, allowing them to interact with guests and share the stories behind the food. Guests, in turn, engage directly, appreciating both the meal and the maker. "Moms end up laughing the most while speaking to new people and that's the most heartwarming part."
Value, then, is layered: fair compensation, visibility, appreciation, and respect. Through simple games, shared stories, and conversation starters, the room gradually shifts, feeling less like a gathering of strangers and more like a space where everyone belongs.
. âBuild human connections. People can always spend money and eat at a restaurant, but what many truly miss is the warmth of a simple home-cooked meal shared in good company.
. âFocus on the social energy of the room. Food is central, but how people feel while sharing it matters just
as much.
. âDesign small moments of interaction that take attendees back to their childhood and to the memories of food with
their mothers.
. âEncourage mixed seating. It helps form new friendships and also makes solo attendees feel comfortable.
