By the time this year’s Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) drew to a close, director Theja Rio was on a high. While writing the screenplay for his debut feature film, Angh, Rio had the soundtrack of Lee Chang-dong’s Burning on repeat. Angh had then premiered at TIFF, where it was the only Indian film in the festival’s competition section. In a full-circle moment, Rio had also been able to meet Lee at TIFF. As far as Rio was concerned, his festival experience couldn’t get better.He was wrong. The best was yet to come.On September 20, TIFF announced Angh had won the prestigious Platform Prize. Made in Nagaland on a shoestring budget, with a cast of mostly non-actors, and dialogues in Konyak (a language spoken by less than 2,40,000 people across Nagaland and Myanmar), Angh has made history. It is the first Indian film to win the Platform Prize, which makes Angh eligible for Best International Feature Film at next year’s Oscars. (As of this year, top-prize winners from the Toronto, Busan, Venice, Sundance, Berlin, and Cannes film festivals qualify for the Oscar race.)“The whole thing...it’s been like a fever dream,” said Rio, speaking to The Nod a day after winning the Platform Prize. “It’s been overwhelming. I’m just trying to comprehend what’s going on.”As an Angami, Rio doesn’t belong to the Konyak community, but he’s keenly conscious of their collective memory as Nagas. “We, Nagas, share a similar history,” he said. “Even now, we’re dealing with the hangover of the very quick transition we’ve made. When I was growing up, we were only allowed to speak English [in school]. These are little experiences we all have. Like, we’ll sometimes wear our shawls and do something that is [traditionally] cultural, but at the same time we’re so modern. That’s the conflict that is prevalent in our everyday lives.” Such indigenous stories and experiences have rarely found space in Indian culture, least of all in films.<img src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/Angh_Still_00001_v2_2026_08_14_11e37d6667.jpg" alt="Angh_Still_00001_v2_2026-08-14.jpg" srcset="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/thumbnail_Angh_Still_00001_v2_2026_08_14_11e37d6667.jpg 245w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/small_Angh_Still_00001_v2_2026_08_14_11e37d6667.jpg 500w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/medium_Angh_Still_00001_v2_2026_08_14_11e37d6667.jpg 750w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/large_Angh_Still_00001_v2_2026_08_14_11e37d6667.jpg 1000w," sizes="100vw" width="3996" height="2160">When 31-year-old Rio was growing up in Kohima, there were no cinemas in Nagaland. His introduction to movies came from television channels like Star Movies. Among his early favourites was Baby’s Day Out. When he was nine, Rio saw The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King in a cinema. “I was in Delhi with my mom, on vacation,” he remembered. “We went to PVR Priya in Vasant Vihar and we watched The Return of the King. It really blew my mind.”At the time, Rio wanted to be a rapper, and in preparation for his musical career he was writing his own songs. In his early teens, he began writing short stories and later moved on to screenplays. “Once I started writing scripts, I became possessive of what I was writing and didn’t want someone else to translate my vision to the screen,” said Rio, who is an alumnus of the National Film and Television School (NFTS) in the UK.Guided by producer Nancy Nisa Beso, who was also a family friend, Rio attended a few film labs in Europe between 2015 and 2019 before attending the NFTS. “The mistakes I made, I wanted to make sure he doesn’t make the same mistakes,” said Beso, whose credits include The Fable by Raam Reddy and Shonali Bose’s The Sky is Pink. She has produced all of Rio’s work so far, beginning with the short-film version of Angh, which came out in 2021. “When we made the short film, we knew it had to be made into a feature,” said Beso.Set in 1962, in a remote village in the Mon district of Nagaland, Angh is about a Konyak chief and his son who have not converted to Christianity despite the rest of their tribe having embraced the faith. Moving between forest and village, the duo become witnesses to a vanishing world as ancient traditions come up against modernity. While Anghba (Anghlong Konyak) fiercely holds on to the old ways, his son Amao (Sobino Rengma) is drawn to the new village, where the Christian priest (Douglas Henshall) has gadgets like the radio, where food is plentiful, and where boys wear T-shirts and play football. It’s a hauntingly beautiful film about loss, rupture, and progress.Proudly rooted in indigenous culture and rich with sophisticated artistry, Angh is one of the most self-assured debuts we’ve seen in Indian cinema. Making the film felt like an adventure for the crew, which was made up of technicians from all over the world. Since there is no film industry in Nagaland, much of the crew came from Mumbai. Angh’s production designer, Margarida Caetano Dias, studied with Rio at the NFTS, as did cinematographer Adam Pietkiewicz and co-writer James Davis. For Rio and Beso, local became international.<img src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/ANGH_REEL_36_R70_70_A_71_0182211_648279f62f.jpg" alt="ANGH_REEL36_R70_70A_71_0182211.jpg" srcset="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/thumbnail_ANGH_REEL_36_R70_70_A_71_0182211_648279f62f.jpg 245w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/small_ANGH_REEL_36_R70_70_A_71_0182211_648279f62f.jpg 500w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/medium_ANGH_REEL_36_R70_70_A_71_0182211_648279f62f.jpg 750w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/large_ANGH_REEL_36_R70_70_A_71_0182211_648279f62f.jpg 1000w," sizes="100vw" width="3996" height="2160">The Angh crew built two villages for the film. “If you go to the [existing] villages, a lot of them now have concrete buildings,” said Rio. “Very few structures belong to the older times. So, we had to do a decent amount of research and have people from the community come and then build the village,” said Rio. In the middle of their 23-day shoot, forest fires started raging around the hill where they’d constructed the Konyak village. Locals helped the crew by guiding the fires away from the set. There were times when the crew discovered that their route to the set had been in the path of a forest fire, which locals had tackled during the previous night.For the film’s nature scenes, Rio wanted a forest that looked untouched by modernity (rampant deforestation has meant most forests in Nagaland have young trees). “The forest is such an inherent part of that world—how deep that forest is, how old that forest is. The slow decay of that forest is inherent to the themes of the film,” said Rio. Ultimately, they found a reserve forest that felt adequately “old and seasoned”.Much to Beso’s frustration, Rio wanted to shoot on 16 mm film. “Angh is almost a tribute to the archive footage we have of American missionaries coming into the region,” he said. “We wanted to capture the same atmosphere. I also think there’s something strange in us—we see in digital, but we remember in film for some reason. I don’t know if it comes from the photo albums, but there’s a certain graininess in our memories as well.”The problem with 16 mm film is that there is only one lab in India that can process it, and that lab is in Mumbai. Air travel wasn’t an option, because they couldn’t risk putting the exposed film through scanners. “So, there was a guy whose job was to travel with the cans from Mumbai to Nagaland by train, which took over four and a half days,” said Beso. “Only mad people will do such things.”Another complicated aspect was the casting, which took several rounds of workshopping, since Rio was working with non-actors. “The beautiful thing about casting non-actors is that most of the time you cast someone who already embodies the character, someone who already shares that cultural background. You have a three-dimensional character with you even after you’ve called cut,” he said.Anghba, who carries the bulk of the film on his shoulders, took time to cast. Eventually, Rio found Anghlong Konyak by chance, while looking through YouTube. “He’s a stand-up comedian in a very local setting,” said Rio. “He had never been to a film set, barely watched any films.” The challenge was as much for the director as the actor. “I can’t tell him, ‘You need to be quiet like Ryan Gosling in Drive,’” said Rio, laughing. Ultimately, Anghlong inhabited Anghba’s skin seamlessly and delivered an outstanding performance as the proud and beleaguered chief.Thanks to the Platform Prize, Angh is now competing with the likes of Cristian Mungiu’s Fjord, which won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival; TIFF’s People’s Choice Award winner and Spain’s official entry, La Bola Negra; and Lee Chang-dong’s Possible Love, which is South Korea’s submission for the Oscars. To belong to this elite group is a victory in itself, irrespective of whether or not Angh makes the final cut. “We set out to make a film back home [in Nagaland], about stories we care about,” said Rio. “Now that has come out and it’s in a race for the Oscars. It’s a bit intimidating, because this was not what we expected.”Unusually, there will be two Indian films in the Oscar race this time since the Film Federation of India selected the Marathi film Gondhal as India’s official entry. For Beso, two Indian films in the running is a source of pride. “It’s a great year for Indian independent cinema,” she said. “I’m excited for India and the fact that we will have two films. We are definitely making noises in the right places.”Out of more than 100 films submitted for the Best International Feature Film category at the Oscars, a shortlist will be drawn up of 15 films, which will then be whittled down to five nominations. “It’s going to be very tough,” said Gaurav Dhingra of Jungle Book Studios, who is handling distribution and sales for Angh. “Basically, all members [of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences] have to see the film. You have to find a way of showing it to them. There are chances, very good chances, but it’s going to be a tough journey.”Say a prayer for Anghba and Amao.

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Theja Rio made a film with non-actors in Nagaland. It’s now on the Oscars path

What comes to mind when you picture a white wedding dress? Perhaps a little lace, tulle, or a sweeping train. But how about a halter-neck corset with an exaggerated bustle inspired by a woven bamboo basket? Or a completely sheer top with a ruffled collar and sculptural sleeves paired with a column skirt covered in embroidery of hibiscus flowers and Himalayan cherry blossoms?At With Nanai and Akimugha Yeptho, the familiar codes of a white wedding gown are pushed into more experimental territory. Founded by NIFT-Bengaluru graduates Angela Lalramtiami and Akimugha Yeptho, the Delhi-based bespoke bridalwear label combines dramatic silhouettes with textile traditions and visual references from <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://thenodmag.com/content/zo-creatives-traditional-indian-crafts-textiles-puan">Mizoram</a> and <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://thenodmag.com/content/kintem-bridal-mekhala-nagaland">Nagaland</a>, where the designers hail from respectively.The word “Nanai” is used as a term of endearment within Lalramtiami’s close-knit family. For her, using it in the brand name is a way of welcoming the world into her inner circle. ‘With’ introduces Yeptho as her partner, representing the couple’s shared creative vision.<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:2683/3613;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/A_A_Portrait_of_the_founders_f3724078c6.jpg" alt="A.A Portrait of the founders.jpg" srcset="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/thumbnail_A_A_Portrait_of_the_founders_f3724078c6.jpg 116w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/small_A_A_Portrait_of_the_founders_f3724078c6.jpg 371w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/medium_A_A_Portrait_of_the_founders_f3724078c6.jpg 557w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/large_A_A_Portrait_of_the_founders_f3724078c6.jpg 743w," sizes="100vw" width="2683" height="3613"><figcaption>Angela Lalramtiami and Akimugha Yeptho, founders, With Nanai &amp; Akimugha Yeptho</figcaption></figure>The label started from a problem the two saw repeatedly among friends and family: while India is a powerhouse for bridalwear, one that NRI brides routinely fly back for, the options shrink dramatically when what you’re after is a white gown. “Most of the brides that we know would travel abroad for their dresses, since the ones available in India are mostly imported and very limited. Our main vision behind starting a white bridal brand was for brides in India to stop going to the West [for wedding dresses],” says Yeptho.Their solution, however, wasn’t simply to make the same conventional white gowns closer to home. Their debut collection, ‘Bride from the N-East’, asks what the white wedding gown might look like filtered through their own lens, bringing handwoven fabrics native to their home states in conversation with French lace, three-dimensional beading, and couture embroidery techniques. Familiar bridal elements such as corsets, veils, and mermaid skirts are combined with sharp tailoring, unexpected proportions, and silhouettes inspired by objects and landscapes closer to home.

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For the fabrics, Lalramtiami returned home to work with women weavers she had first met while working on her university projects. She spent several months living and working alongside them, and the same artisans have now become suppliers for the label, weaving Mizo textiles like ⁠⁠puan var (white cloth) and meng par, as well as Naga textiles including Pulosu mini and ⁠⁠Lazami mini, traditionally worn as wraparound skirts, using backstrap or loin looms. The weavers aren’t so much a collective as independent artisans and hobbyists scattered across different villages, found through neighbours, family friends, and distant relatives.Translating those fabrics for the white dresses the designers were imagining, however, required some editing. “When I first started my college graduation project, I had started with the weaves used for our traditional attire, which are all hand-woven,” Lalramtiami says. “Since our traditional attire [has a lot of prints and motifs], plain fabrics aren’t quite popular back home. So, when we introduced it to bridalwear, we wanted simpler designs.” Yeptho says they were drawn towards a plain white puan as a starting point: “Plain white is not used much, but since we are designing bridal, we wanted to use fewer motifs and more solids.”

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With Nanai and Akimugha Yeptho studio beadwork_The Nod

The instinct to combine seemingly opposite ideas also mirrors their relationship as designers. ‘Bride from the N-East’ isn’t the first time the college sweethearts have worked on something together. Though they studied in different departments at NIFT, creative critique on each other’s assignments became a natural part of their relationship and, eventually, the foundation of their creative partnership. Their tastes, by their own admission, sit at two contrasting ends of the spectrum. “She’s more like <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://thenodmag.com/content/miss-sohee-gen-z-couturier-isha-ambani">Miss Sohee</a> and I’m more like Alexander McQueen,” says Yeptho.While Yeptho leans towards the fierce and theatrical, Lalramtiami brings a softer, more delicate sensibility. “She brings in the element of femininity—soft, elegant, simple, more dainty design. So, when we combine both, there’s that bridge in between,” he explains.According to him, that bridge is best represented in their Elin set, which pairs a corseted top with a petal-shaped hem, kimono sleeves, and a ruffled collar with a mermaid skirt. Across the collection, the push and pull is evident in garments that sway between romance and severity—cinched waists against exaggerated shapes, delicate beadwork on architectural construction, and ethereal sheer fabrics offset with sharply cropped solid white jackets.

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To evoke a sense of nostalgia for the northeast, the designers chose to incorporate motifs from the landscapes they grew up around. Hibiscus and Himalayan cherry blossoms appear in embroidery, bamboo trees inspire tasselled details, while woven baskets from the region, known as khang or thul, inform the shape of a bustle with a train.<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:1505/2048;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/Hibiscus_and_Pahhiya_Embroidery_661a67ef3d.jpg" alt="Hibiscus &amp; Pahhiya Embroidery.jpg" srcset="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/thumbnail_Hibiscus_and_Pahhiya_Embroidery_661a67ef3d.jpg 115w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/small_Hibiscus_and_Pahhiya_Embroidery_661a67ef3d.jpg 367w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/medium_Hibiscus_and_Pahhiya_Embroidery_661a67ef3d.jpg 551w,https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/large_Hibiscus_and_Pahhiya_Embroidery_661a67ef3d.jpg 735w," sizes="100vw" width="1505" height="2048"><figcaption>Hibiscus and Pahiyya (Himalayan Cherry tree) embroidery</figcaption></figure>While ‘Bride from the N-East’ begins with the Lalramtiami and Yeptho’s own histories, the designers want their bespoke practice to make room for those of their clients’ too. Future pieces could draw on a bride’s culture, ancestral textiles, or landscapes she associates with home, to create something more personal. “I think we see our brides [as people who] are confident in their skin as well as deeply rooted in their own cultures. They like to have their personal stories told through their garments,” says Yeptho.

With Nanai and AKimugha Yeptho Bride from the N-East

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The homegrown label giving white wedding gowns an avant-garde rethink

A spa-like calm hits you the moment you step into Nila, Bengaluru’s newest fine-dine outpost. The inside holds a soft, Scandinavian dream: cool neutrals colour the corrugated walls, demanding a caress as you walk past. Crafted by Prachi Joshi’s interiors studio, Designworx, the 24-seater urges you to leave the rush at the door. The circular tables and warm wooden chairs invite you to sink in. This is punctuated with statement lighting that will undoubtedly fill Instagram feeds in the weeks to come. Picture an old-style lamp shade—yes, the one that looks like an inverted umbrella—but blow it up to run from floor to ceiling. Perhaps it’s the eccentric proportion, or the James Turrell-like mood in its entirety, but the restaurant exudes an otherworldly quality that’s far separated from the chaos we live in. Right on cue, chef Rahul Sharma reveals that his venture is titled Nila, not for its Hindi translation to ‘blue’ but its Tamil meaning, which is ‘moon’. Don’t jump to conclusions yet; the language isn’t telling of the food. Giving us a tour, Sharma explains that the restaurant serves up a 12-course cuisine-agnostic feast that celebrates how culturally diverse India is. Why the moon, though? “Almost every 250 km, the kind of cooking oil used in India changes; even the language differs,” Sharma explains. “Despite all the differences, most Indian cultures have festivals and celebrations that centre the moon; it ties us together.” It also becomes the ideal blank slate to present the restaurant’s ever-changing menus—every three months the chef will dream up a new tasting menu inspired by a different region of the country. He emphasises that it is terrain, not a state or a city, that fuels him. The first menu is an ode to the dense forests and many tribes of Nagaland, influenced by the chef’s years of travel to the state and attuned by a final team trip. “We visited Nagaland and ate absolutely everything to understand their ingredients,” Sharma tells me. “Even though the internet has opened borders across India, people still don’t know how to cook with north-eastern classics like bamboo or anishi (dried colocasia leaves).” The premiere offering is then a chance to bring these flavours to the forefront.

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A similar attention to detail will inform the menus to come, which promise to spotlight backwaters, oceans, mountains, and more. Interestingly, Nila is Bengaluru’s second new opening that offers a rotating menu. <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/the-hood-ad-singh-bengaluru-restaurant-review">The Hood</a>, located a quick drive away, also brings a fresh neighbourhood to your plate every quarter. In a city where people crave novelty in every bite, perhaps this innovation keeps things interesting. But unlike other hyperlocal restaurants, Nila doesn’t attempt to serve authentic location-specific cuisine to diners. Instead, the menu focuses on ingredients that are native to the region, in this case Nagaland’s black rice, the local taro, and the persimmon, among others. The chef experiments with, innovates, and reimagines existing flavours to combine them in a never-seen-before way. This promise alone is exciting but more so with Sharma delivering it. The chef has sharpened his knives at world-renowned restaurants, including Copenhagen’s three-Michelin-star holder <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/noma-rene-redzepi-groupie-confessions">Noma</a>. If you’re familiar with Jeremy Allen White’s <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/the-bear-season-four-sydney-bandana-fashion-trend">The Bear</a>, you know the chokehold that name has over the bougie culinary world. My friend, who is my plus-one for the evening, and I are acutely aware of this and understandably have stratospheric expectations from our meal. Sharma brings out the first course, black rice momos, on charcoal-coloured platters, explaining that the black rice, the native Naga ingredient, is wrapped in house-made tapioca skin. Surprised by the lack of cutlery on our table, I ask the staff for two pairs, thinking this must be a teething glitch. But he reassures us this choice is intentional; most of the small plates are best eaten by hand. This becomes the first glimmer that Nila’s approach to fine dining is not intimidating or formal; you don’t have to expertly pick between three- or four-tine forks to reveal your status. It’s more chill. The flavours embody a similar warmth. Take the tree tomato custard, where the GI-tagged tree tomato is roasted into a sauce and shaped like a sunflower. It’s then placed over a bed of foamy cheese custard and blended with perilla seeds to create a piece of art that settles on your tongue with salty, tangy familiarity. Sharma adds, “Perilla is now seen as a superfood around the world, but it has been popular in the north-east for ages.” Meanwhile, the pickled persimmon kebab comprises 30-day fermented fruits layered with coconut malai (or pork larder), bhut jolokia (fondly called Mao Market chilli), and onion pickle. One bite and you’re transported to the chilly hills, letting the smoke and sourness fill you with heat. Among my favourites from the evening is the jewel corn toast, primarily for how Sharma explains it: “The jewel corn is unique to the region because yellow and purple corn grow on the same plant. We’ve made corn bread with a corn custard on top; the sticks you see are young corn leaves. We used the purple corn to make snow,” he says, dusting lavender magic on each slice. I could (and would) break into the kitchen for more bites of this gooey, golden goodness.

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The mains arrive with as much theatre. The staff bring out a tray of house-made, twice-fermented bread with a side of five condiments ranging from extra-spicy Naga chilli chutney to caramelised onions. Then bowls of aromatic white and red rice are brought out. “If you think of any Indian meal, irrespective of the culture, there is bread, a bowl of rice, and something to dip in. We have retained that,” Sharma says. Once the classics are plated, the more innovative dishes make an entry. There’s roasted chicken (or squash) cooked with anishi and charred mustard leaves. There’s also smoked Naga pork served with turmeric butter. But the black wheat noodles are clear scene-stealers. Boiled in bamboo broth and served with a version of Chinese XO sauce made from fermented bamboo, the concoction is rich, umami, and experimental.  And just the right segue into the sweet phase of the evening.&nbsp;At this point, my friend and I were equally surprised by how satisfied and stuffed we were, a pleasure that is often rare in fancy tasting menus with pea-sized portions. In all honesty, I’m guilty of grabbing a plate of momos after the most expensive sit-down meals—rest assured, that is not a worry at Nila. By the time we arrived at the breathtaking Sichuan peppercorn ice cream with malted ragi mousse (yep, no jokes!) we were driven by gluttony, not hunger. The spicy-citrusy peppercorn numbs your tongue just as the darkness of the mousse rescues it, a delicate dance that the chef gets just right.

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When we entered, Sharma mentioned he measures a review not by what you say to him but how much you recommend a place to the people you love. A shock to no one, arriving at the last dish—a caramel Berliner, the added goodbye course and the only non-Naga serving—my plus-one and I already have a verbal list of everyone we have to bring to Nila. Mind you, the dishes here are not comfort food. It may not be a craving you have at 2 am on a random Wednesday. But it is undoubtedly the meal you remember for years to come. It’s like watching the art and science of flavour play out before and for you. It’s an all-out treat for your tastebuds. More good news? Sharma is awaiting a liquor license and soon enough the first floor will double as a wine and cocktail hang.&nbsp;Meal for two: ₹9,000 + taxes for 12 courses Timings: 7 pm onwards; open Tuesday to Sunday Address: 9-1/2, Cambridge Road, Halasuru, BengaluruReservations: <a href="https://link.district.in/DSTRKT/lsnlq81h">Book here</a>

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Every three months, Bengaluru’s Nila changes its menu  

Growing up in Dimapur in the early 1990s, PR professional and textile entrepreneur Moala Longchar would often see brides in white mekhalas—a contemporary take on the traditional Naga wrap skirt. While her mother chose a classic white wedding gown for her wedding in the early ’80s, she remembers her aunts who wore contemporary white mekhalas for their church ceremonies, even while white gowns had already come into the picture. “When it comes to weddings in the new generation, you can only imagine the white wedding gown,” she says. “Honestly, the concept of wearing mekhalas for weddings died out completely when local bridal designers started creating beautiful white dresses, along with imported gowns from China, Thailand, and Korea.”It was one of those vanishings no one really noticed until it was gone—and it stuck with her. In 2023, she founded Kintem with the idea to reimagine traditional Naga textiles to create “indigenously modern” silhouettes that bridge the gap between tradition and modernity. Think mekhalas, shawls, stoles, and home textiles crafted from natural yarns and silks through traditional techniques like loin loom weaving, hand stitching, and natural dyeing—patient practices that give a garment its soul. Longchar is a second-generation textile entrepreneur who was inspired by her mother’s weaving business, the Wapangla Weaving Unit, which collaborates with a network of Naga weavers from various local communities. The name Kintem translates to “communities” in the Ao Naga dialect, and doubles as both mission statement and design philosophy.“Nowadays, most women still wear mekhalas for engagements,” Longchar says, “but in the last year or two, we’ve started seeing young brides embracing the mekhala again—not just for ceremonies before the wedding, but for the wedding itself. It’s spilling over into bridal attire.”

A model wearing a bridal mekhela from Kintem's Bonded bridal collection

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The Yara bridal mekhela from Kintem's bonded collection featuring gold and silver accents

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It all began last year, when Longchar was surprised to find a customisation request from a client in her inbox. The client, author and English professor Avinuo Kire, was looking for a special piece for her big day in Paro Valley, Bhutan in the spring of 2024. “I am a Naga, and whenever there is a special occasion, I almost always turn to the mekhala,” Kire says. “So, for my wedding day, there was really no question of not wearing something other than our beloved mekhala—an attire which is not just beautiful and feminine, but more importantly, also represents my culture and identity.” The moment she decided on the mekhala, she reached out to Longchar for a bespoke set. Together, they designed an all-white mekhala and stole in pure cotton, with subtle motifs in ivory modal yarn. “As far as weaving technique and selection of yarn was concerned, I trusted Kintem to give them creative freedom. My only request was that a motif from one of my mother’s mekhala should be adopted into the set. I told Moala this was my ‘something borrowed’.”That same year, Kintem dressed several more brides, which sparked something bigger. In June 2025, Kintem launched its first-ever bridal line, Bonded—a collection of mekhalas for brides, bridesmaids, and wedding guests. “It was in the back of my mind for a long time,” she says. “But I wanted it to happen organically.” Given that the label dressed four brides in the last year alone, she felt confident about taking the leap of faith.

Kintem’s Nar bridal mekhela with gold patterns

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A bridal mekhela from Kintem's bridal collection

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The Bonded collection updates Kintem’s signature styles with subtle shimmer—slivers of gold, silver, green, and champagne pink woven into familiar Naga motifs like the Züngijang (cucumber seed pattern), bands, and boxes (some that Kintem has developed in-house). “We wanted to really keep the design DNA intact so people look at it, and they can recognise it’s a Kintem mekhala. I just added sheen, which is not there in most of our classic pieces, with an extra weft design in metallic yarn, because wedding brides do expect a little bit of sheen.” The bridal iteration of their Lisor and Lumi mekhalas even feature mini hand-sewn brass bells onto the fabric, a nod to takatsür süpeti, or “the rich woman’s mekhala” as these wrap skirts were once exclusive to the affluent. Prices range from ₹8,000 to ₹12,000. “I wanted it to stay budget-friendly,” says Longchar. “We do the eri and muga silk only on request, because those are a bit more expensive. It’s very affordable compared to a white wedding gown that might start at ₹25,000.”The collection was launched via Instagram with a campaign that revisted the past, referencing imagery of Naga brides from the ’90s and featuring elements like betel nuts and leaves and the Ketsü or Aket (traditional handwoven bamboo and cane baskets containing the bridal trousseau), all of which play an important role in traditional Ao Naga weddings. “People really resonated with it. I received a lot of messages from young girls saying that if they ever do get married, they want to wear Kintem.”

A campaign image from Kintem's Bonded collection showcasing a bride and her bridesmaids in contemporary Naga mekhelas

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An image from Kintem's Bonded campaign showcasing a bride and her bridesmaids in contemporary Naga mekhelas

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Kintem's Bonded mekhelas for bridesmaids and wedding guests

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A Kintem bride with her bridesmaids, all wearing contemporary white and pink mekhelas

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The momentum is part of a broader shift in northeastern fashion, Longchar believes. “A few years ago, the mekhala market was so disorganised—people were just selling one-off pieces with photos clicked on a phone. Now, there’s this new energy around fashion that originates from the northeast. We’ve always worn so much from the West; I think it’s time to embrace what we have.”Among Kintem’s brides this year is Toronto-based Leeann Saldanha, a quality assurance team lead at Canada Goose, who will be walking down the aisle this December in Dimapur. She chose the mekhala as something deeply personal to honour her fiancé’s Naga heritage. “I wanted my bridal look to be a reflection of both our worlds coming together. The mekhala with its handwoven textures and traditional motifs, is not just a trend, but a story woven in fabric.” Her Mangalorean family and friends, initially unfamiliar with the garment, are curious and excited to learn about the garment’s significance and craftsmanship. “There’s a shared sense of pride in celebrating two traditions through fashion,” says Saldanha.For Longchar, seeing non-Nagas embrace the mekhala is both heartening and something she approaches with care. “My mother’s business is rooted in traditional textiles, while mine is more contemporary,” she explains. “It’s safer for non-Nagas to wear contemporary pieces because they don’t come with traditional norms attached. But when it comes to the classic ones, I always educate them—that it’s a mekhala, and it should be worn as one. Don’t snip it into a dress or a top.”Both Kintem brides Kire and Saldanha share they will be rewearing their wedding mekhalas. “Fashion should be sustainable. Mekhalas are quite versatile so just by switching the blouse, one can create a range of different outfits with a single set,” says Kire. Saldanha agrees: “I didn’t want my bridal outfits to be something I wear only once. I see it as a piece I can restyle for a Mangalorean Roce or other festive occasions with a contemporary blouse, or a structured jacket for a more modern look.”For Longchar, this revival isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about continuity—about reclaiming something quietly sidelined and giving it new air. “It’s not about rejecting the gown. They are stunning, of course, and we’ll always have a soft corner for a white gown,” she says. “It’s about expanding what bridalwear can mean for Naga women today.”To place an order, DM <a href="https://www.instagram.com/kin_tem">@kin_tem</a> on Instagram. Studio visits in Dimapur are available via appointment

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In Nagaland, the bridal mekhala makes a quiet comeback

Everything in the Jiyo store at The Kunj in New Delhi is eye-catching. Bamboo lamps inspired by Jharkhand’s traditional fish traps glow softly, embroidered Sujani drapes line the walls, trinkets and toys woven from sikki grass line the shelves. Despite the variety on display, the carpet installations inside the store are hard to miss; they’re hand-painted by signboard artists on felt. Rajeev Sethi, curator and founder-chairman of Asian Heritage Foundation, who conceived Jiyo two decades ago, brought the carpets out from his personal collection and will have more made if you ask for it.Crafts professionals and enthusiasts have long known of Jiyo’s contemporary handlooms and handicrafts. But this is the first time Jiyo has set up shop in a mall. You can visit their outlet at The Kunj, a retail space for Indian crafts by the Office of the Development Commissioner (Handicrafts), which opened its doors in August. Crafts shopping in India usually brings bazaars and exhibitions to mind. In Delhi, especially, the influence of Dilli Haat and Dastkar’s Nature Bazaar—sprawling outdoor spaces that host craftspeople and artisanal labels in a setup resembling a village fair—looms large.<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:1200/900;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/Artisans_The_Kunj_The_Nod_7afb15fd4c.jpg" alt="Artisans performing craft demonstrations at The Kunj|caption|" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption>Artisans performing craft demonstrations in the atrium</figcaption></figure>But The Kunj offers something distinct: a luxury mall makeover that wants you to see crafts as cool, not ethnic. For Sethi, a Padma Bhushan awardee who has spent decades working with Indian crafts, the space is not just an of-the-moment retail spot for elevated crafts. It is also the promise of being a showcase of exceptional skills and craft, a “store of excellence that doesn’t have an equivalent in South Asia”.For customers, however, The Kunj’s real draw is a shopping experience with a difference. Here, you encounter stores and experiences you will simply not find anywhere else. Take Vriksh, for instance, the clothing label by National Award-winning textile designer Gunjan Jain, whose contemporary ikat and tussar silk saris and kimono-style jackets have fans including the likes of Mira Nair and Muzaffar Ali. Or Meghalaya-based designer Iba Mallai’s label, Kiniho, which offers easy, hot-weather-ready dresses in subtle pastel hues. The brand shares space with jewellery brand Runway Nagaland, whose colourful, chunky necklaces and fringe earrings reference traditional Naga ornaments. Next door on the same floor, designers Bhavya Goenka of Iro Iro and Pratyush Kumar of Pieux share another store—two distinct labels with a shared goal of refashioning waste as cool, contemporary styles. The former specialises in pintucked dresses and wearable separates, while the latter’s pop-bright, painterly jackets and modular sneakers definitely made our wishlist.

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There are also craft organisations and design labels to choose from. The Shrujan store is known for clothing covered in exquisite embroidery from Kutch, while the Khamir store, whose shelves are filled with kala cotton clothing and textiles, offers something for those with a more pared-back sensibility. For handwoven saris, head to Vimor or get your fill of hand-block prints at Aavaran.The experience extends to a rolling lineup of artisans putting up craft demonstrations in the atrium; on my last visit, artist Parwati Devi’s Sohrai paintings rapidly made their way into shopping bags as a crowd gathered to watch National Award-winning brass artisan Ikram Husain engrave a vase. A host of exhibitions are underway, too, including Khol Kel, an initiative to revive traditional games and toys. A dokra chess set, anyone? Or perhaps a priceless marble board complete with silver meenakari pieces?

Traditional handcrafted toys by Khel Ghar 

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Anjchita Nair, curator of The Kunj and CEO of Cultre, aimed to create a space that challenged the notion of a mall. “We wanted to keep the format but also show a different way of looking at malls: how could we use the design language of brands, products, and materials in the space? The Cultre worked with stores to develop their key motifs into design elements and drenched the walls with colours like indigo and neon yellow. Even with installations, we have made them playful and colourful so people who come here feel a sense of joy.” Thanks to a massive Ankon Mitra sculpture floating across the ceiling and an indoor crafts floral garden flanking the escalators, the space is Instagram-ready, too.However, while The Kunj has the attention of craft devotees, it feels lacking in other aspects. Case in point: the food court’s hand-painted seats do little to distract from a sparse menu of chaats and puffs (and the one Mahabelly Canteen). Surely, a mall celebrating Indian crafts can also spotlight local cuisines. The Kunj is much smaller than most contemporary supersized malls and needs both variety and a well-rounded retail experience to draw more customers. Can it become Delhi’s go-to hotspot? That will take time and a dose of cutting-edge strategy.

The 100 Sarees Project by Ankon Mitra at The Kunj

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 In this Delhi mall, handicrafts from Bihar, Kutch, Nagaland, and Jharkhand converge

When Tanisha Phanbuh was growing up in Shillong, one of her favourite after-school snacks was tungrymbai on toast. Years later, the memory of that mushy fermented soybean, often dismissed for its strong aroma, was still so fresh in her memory when she recreated it for a pop-up in Delhi, where she’s now based.This was back in 2017, at the now-shuttered Ek Bar, when Indian fine dining had little or nothing to do with Khasi food—or any of the Northeast Indian cuisines, really. So Phanbuh’s culinary takeover came as a surprise to the capital’s diners, introducing them to flavours they had so far overlooked. But today, things are a little different.Last month, at Delhi's popular restaurant Fig &amp; Maple, the self-taught chef reimagined Meghalaya’s classic pork brain salad, locally known as doh khlieh, in the form of crostinis. Her aim was simple: to spotlight the flavours and ingredients integral to her home state with a creative twist. Through her platform, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/tribalgourmet/">Tribal Gourmet</a>, she spotlights the food of her state via pop-ups, collaborations, and other events in the capital. And most of her interpretations are offshoots of beloved dishes from her childhood. These, she adds, “inspire me to create modern spins, and at the same time help familiarise diners with my beloved cuisine”.<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:2500/1583;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/A_pop_up_by_Tanisha_Phanbuh_in_Delhi_Ananth_Kumar_29c5d8384f.jpg" alt="A pop-up by Tanisha Phanbuh in Delhi_Ananth Kumar.jpg|caption|Tanisha Phanbuh's dishes are often inspired by memories of her favourite childhood foods" width="2500" height="1583"><figcaption>Photograph by Ananth Kumar</figcaption></figure>Revamping tradition is not easy, and it’s even harder when it comes to the centuries-old cuisines of Northeast India. On the rare occasions that food from the region does make it to flashy modern Indian dining experiences, it is usually limited to blink-and-you-miss-it bhut jolokia experiments. But now, chefs and tastemakers from the region are challenging stereotypes and showcasing their heritage with a good dose of imagination. And in this mission, the space is as important as the food.Phanbuh, for example, makes it a point to create a sense of place at her events with craft installations and tablescapes that include elements such as miniature knups—the traditional bamboo umbrellas or sunshades worn by the farming communities back home. For one of her pop-ups, she placed a mannequin-like installation in traditional Khasi attire near the entrance of the venue. Folk stories about spirits and nymphs were printed out for diners, providing ample fodder for conversations between courses.In May, she hosted a ‘modern Meghalayan’ pop-up at Indica, an experimental space in Gurugram that hosts pop-ups, culinary workshops, and private dining events. About 30-odd diners came together for a seven-course tasting menu, surrounded by wooden shelves stacked with spice and herb jars, books, and food-themed artworks. The highlights were dawki (cured fish served on a bed of tree tomato sauce), meant to evoke the small town in the Jaintia Hills known for its crystal-clear Dawki river; a risotto-like ja bowl inspired by the modest rice and tea stalls selling jadoh (rice cooked in pork blood); and smoked pork and bamboo shoot dumplings encased in shiso (perilla) leaves. She also slipped in a palate cleanser of tart soh shang berries for a Michelin-esque feel.

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Over in Assam, culinary consultant <a href="https://www.instagram.com/iamfarhanaaz/?hl=en">Farha Naaz</a>, a huge fan of Studio Ghibli films, aspires to bring everyday food culture to the fore the way they do in Miyazaki’s animated movies. Routine ingredients such as the GI-tagged kaji nemu (lime), maan dhoniya (sawtooth coriander), bogori (jujube), guti aloo (baby potato), jolphai (Indian olive), and bhut jolokia peppers are used to make punchy dips, chilli oils, and sauces at her outdoor <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/alternative-dining-food-experiences-in-india">dining experiences</a>. She even reinterprets these quotidian items for a tapas table with wine pairings and music by the Brahmaputra under her pop-up venture, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/mamazakiguwahati/">Mamazaki</a>. As the sun goes down by the mighty river, cane lamps are lit, and people tuck into small plates of jackfruit cutlets with maan dhoniya dip, gambas al ajillo starring freshwater shrimps, and guti aloo patatas bravas. In winters, she takes it up a notch by setting up picnic tables and grazing boards on the shores of the river.Earlier this year, in March, Naaz took her pop-up to Delhi’s cheery café and wine bar April by Kay, where Northeasterners as well as the capital’s locals got a taste of her modern interpretations of Assamese food. The pièce de résistance was her reimagined Bihu jolpan, a riff on the frugal breakfast ritual synonymous with the harvest festival, Bihu. It traditionally features seera (flattened rice), hurum or akhoi (puffed rice), curd, jaggery, and a selection of pitha or steamed rice cakes, but she plated up her version with baked yoghurt, caramelised puffed rice, jaggery syrup, and toasted coconut flakes. “The idea is to promote traditional crops as they not only ensure food security, but also allow people to appreciate the abundance of my region,” she says.<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:2500/1667;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/Freshwater_fish_kaji_nemu_maan_dhoniya_by_Farha_Naaz_Anubhav_Deka_4dff4c7d82.jpg" alt="Freshwater fish, kaji nemu, maan dhoniya by Farha Naaz_Anubhav Deka.jpg|caption| Through Mamazaki, Naaz puts together a tapas-style table of Assamese staples paired with wine, and set by the Brahmaputra " width="2500" height="1667"><figcaption>Photograph by Anubhav Deka</figcaption></figure>Appreciation is hard to come, given the hackneyed notions many have about the Northeast and its food. In Nagaland, the culinary cultures of 17 indigenous tribes continue to battle stereotypes owing to their distinct smell and flavour. The ingredient responsible, axone—a speciality item of fermented soybean—even became the source of conflict in the 2019 eponymous <a href="https://www.netflix.com/in/title/81144457?source=35">Netflix </a>film directed by <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm6372816/">Nicholas Kharkongor</a>.But chefs and tastemakers from the region are up for the challenge, keen to own their culinary heritage on the fine dining stage. In Dimapur, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/aketolihz/">Aketoli Zhimomi</a>, founder of a restaurant called <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ethnictablerestaurant/">Ethnic Table</a> and chef-partner at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/heirloomnagacentre/">Heirloom Naga Centre</a>, champions axone, smoked pork, and fermented bamboo shoots by turning them into spice rubs, vinaigrettes, and sauces. Little-known gems such as napa (Naga basil), kholar beans (kidney beans), and Job’s tears millets make their way into pesto, hummus, and salads. Her ingenious axone salt, which resembles an idli gunpowder, is an umami powerhouse. “In my experience, people who are unfamiliar with our foods are usually hesitant to taste them. But when I offer them roasted smoked pork with axone in the form of, say, a seasoning salt, the response is way more positive,” she says. Making such ingredients accessible also means creating a demand for them, which, she believes, is the way to provide economic opportunities among the communities.And it’s not just food that is driving this trend. Bar programmes too are bringing fresh perspectives to the culinary wealth of northeastern India. Shillong’s <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shadskyeshillong/">Shad Skye</a>, a chic rooftop cocktail bar with a speakeasy vibe, celebrates hyperlocal produce with carefully crafted libations in keeping with the ethos of the ethnic communities. Helmed by local mixologist <a href="https://www.instagram.com/rishot_laloo/">Rishot Laloo</a>, the cocktail menu pays homage to the GI-tagged Lakadong turmeric, Khasi mandarin oranges, Naga wild apples, chakhao (Manipuri black rice), bamboo shoots, freshwater shrimps, ghost peppers, and local pinewood that is commonly used as fuel and to smoke meats. Laloo even concocts a drink by infusing flattened-rice water (chivda or rice flakes) and mango with rum, and aptly calls it ‘chire doi aam’, a nod to Tripura’s wholesome breakfast dish. In less than a year, Shad Skye has shaken up the cocktail scene in a seemingly laid-back town, with takeovers by some of the country’s popular bars, such as Mumbai’s Cirqa 1960 and Pune’s Cobbler &amp; Crew.<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:2500/1667;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/A_pop_up_by_Farha_Naaz_at_April_by_Kay_in_Delhi_Gin_Guite_c249bc6646.jpg" alt="A pop-up by Farha Naaz at April by Kay in Delhi_Gin Guite.jpg|caption|The success of pop-ups makes it evident that Indian diners are hungry for new cuisines" width="2500" height="1667"><figcaption>Photograph by Gin Guite</figcaption></figure>For many, reimagining traditional flavours is a path to creative expression. Delhi-based Khasi chef Dalarympei Kharmawphlang, who co-runs a food and art collective called <a href="https://www.instagram.com/pyn__che/">Pynche</a>, says, “It’s a great way to ease my diners into unfamiliar territory. Only then do they become curious and ask questions.” For a farm workshop in Ri Bhoi, around 80km from Shillong, she collaborated with chef Ahmedaki Laloo of <a href="https://www.instagram.com/aorigins_/">A’Origins</a> (who will be doing a takeover at Mumbai’s Masque Lab on September 7) to design a contemporary menu using indigenous produce. About 50 artists, designers, and food professionals from Shillong, Assam, and Delhi went foraging for wild greens and berries, veggies and edible flowers, finally settling down for a mural painting activity. Lunch was smoked pork with tomatillo chutney wrapped in squash leaves, and freshwater prawn ceviche with leche de tigre made with sohphie berries, thanks to Kharmawphlang’s flair for Latin American food. “As a chef, it gives me a chance to highlight the potential of each ingredient beyond the traditional ways of enjoying them.”It may not be an easy mission, but in the hands of these imaginative chefs, it is definitely not impossible. As they continue to delve into histories both gastronomical and personal, it’s evident that there’s a lot more to come—and that Indian diners are finally ready for it.

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Beyond the bhut jolokia

For a teetotaller, <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/upgrade-pantry-essentials-recipes">Niyati Rao</a> has a curiously high degree of interest in alcohol. “I’ve always been a taster, I taste everything,” says the Mumbai-based chef, best known for her ingredient-forward restaurant Ekaa. “I like to learn about new drinks, but if I’m being honest, it’s the food part that goes with the drinks that really excites me.” So it’s surprising when she shares, “I’d always wanted to open a bar.”In fact, I am with the Noma Copenhagen alum at her newly opened bar, Bombay Daak, in Mumbai’s Bandra suburb, on a particularly rainy August evening. “I have friends from Spain who really pride themselves on their tapas and wine culture; others from Italy who would say their antipasti is the best. I had an epiphany; I realised that we too have daru-chakna as an integral part of our lives. It felt like I was sitting on a treasure trove that nobody was doing anything with.”

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And so, Rao and her partner (in life and business) Sagar Neve decided to dig deeper to fully comprehend the scale and diversity of the daru-chakna culture in India. They scoured existing literature—books such as The Indian Spirit by Magandeep Singh and the bibliography of colonial-era food scientist and writer KT Achaya—and clicked through online forums and web pages, to no avail. “While there’s a lot of documentation of Indian food in all its varied forms, not much has been written about Indian-made alcohol—which is odd because, as we realised, it has been famous for centuries in all forms,” observes Neve. “Even somras [the Vedic era drink that is supposed to have medicinal properties] has held such an important place in our culture, but now only about half the recipe exists so no one knows how to make it.” Not ready to give up yet, Rao and Neve went on a dive bar crawl of epic proportions over the last year—visiting locally-famous country liquor distilleries and interviewing people from across the country about their pegs-and-nibbles rituals. In Gujarat’s Kathiawad district, distillers showed them the exact, complex technique of how they brewed hooch from fruit. In Punjab, they noticed the addition of dry fruits to a brew that would be fermented for weeks and which people would accompany with platefuls of a dal-dahi mix. In Nagaland’s Mokokchung village, noushi (fermented yam paste) gave company to glasses of zutho (fermented rice liquor). In Kerala, they saw people drinking tadi while licking achar (an act commonly called ‘touchings’) by the fingerful to enhance the taste of the fermented coconut sap.

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The Bihar-born watchman who patrols their residential building in Mumbai told Rao about craving litti chokha—smoky dough balls stuffed with spices, served with an eggplant mash—after a few drinks. Rao’s stepfather in Kolkata told her stories of inhaling plates of wontons with beer at 3am in Tangra, Chinatown after long nights at the Gymkhana. Ram Mohan from Kerala told her about drinking Old Monk with Goldspot, the orange fizzy drink, like a true ’70s kid; and combining that with bowls of cut tapioca dressed in lemon juice. In Rajasthan, Pawan Chaudhary told them about the achar made from rabbits, which his family would savour along with glasses of the musky, saffrony heritage drink Kesar Kasturi on cold winter evenings. It is from this deep dive into these oral histories—as well as taking a leaf out of the playbook of the Barcelona-based Adrià brothers, who ran now shuttered Michelin-starred tapas bar, Tickets—that Rao and Neve hooked on to their idea for an “elevated dive bar” that both paid homage to an integral part of Indian culture while prioritising comfort and food safety.

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At Bombay Daak’s entrance hangs a ‘donor’s board’, upon which are chalked up the names of a dozen of the 114 people they interviewed before crafting their menu. Inside, it feels like time and space have collapsed. From the ceiling hang 110-year-old lamps sourced from Chor Bazaar. The walls are adorned with hand-painted tiles by Pune-based ceramist Shibani Dhavalikar that speak to the botanicals used in country liquor, as well as the famous fish after which the bar is named. The glassware is ribbed, the plates are steel, the bill boxes are aluminium. The music is an eclectic mix of ’80s disco-inspired Bollywood, Ilaiyaraja hits, and 21st century indie wonders like The Ska Vengers and The F16s—a playlist that entire generations can groove to. And then there’s the menu, full of food and drinks “done our way”, featuring ingredients sourced from the places they visited, and recipes inspired by the stories they heard. A dish called ‘chivda kapse’ combines a rare recipe for rasam, passed on by a colleague’s 98-year-old grandmother, with Rao’s mother’s quick fix for last-minute chakna—succulent chicken pieces reduced in leftover rasam—served on a plate of sweet-and-savoury fried chivda, in the style of the iconic ‘Virar bhurji’. ‘Pork and smoke’ mixes black pork sourced from Meghalaya—pigs fattened on apples—with potato mash and peppers. In ‘Wai Wai’, she enhances the North East’s go-to drink time pairing with white peas and a pickle made from 15 ingredients. Then there are bigger, starchier portions to absorb the alcohol, and desserts from the heartland that could act as rocket fuel to your buzzing high.

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The bar menu, curated by head mixologist Yathish Bangera, features a section called ‘Swadeshi Sips’, featuring four cocktails inspired by country liquor such as Coorg’s bird's eye chilli wine and ‘Santra’ from Maharashtra; their version has vodka and Nagpur orange combo served in “desi daru” bottles.In all this diversity, Rao finds one unifying factor: “A good mix of salt, fat, acid and heat”. These dishes and drinks are “divided by texture, which is sukha-geela; and temperature, which is garam-thanda,” she says.All in all, Bombay Daak’s menu is a welcome addition to the country’s increasingly inventive nightlife, poised on the axis nostalgia and that fascination with the hyper-local that spikes our Instagram explore pages. And the Indian tippler can’t get enough—just look at the kids jostling in line for a kokum-urrak in Goa’s Chapora district, or the hordes making a beeline for that open riverside bar in Kochi to guzzle fresh toddy with plates of spicy beef fry. “It is so much more complex than any other eating-drinking culture in the world,” adds Rao. “It is like a universe unto itself.”Meal for two: ₹1,200Timings: 6 pm–1:30 am; open all daysAddress: Bombay Daak, Shop No - 5 / 21, ONGC Complex, HIG Colony, Nityanand Nagar, Reclamation, Bandra West, Mumbai

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