From Puri, India To Michelin-starred restaurants

My grandfather used to run a catering business in Kolkata. After every event, he’d come home with leftovers, I’d sit beside him, listening to his stories of hustling through the city, of starting from nothing, of cooking because he had to, but also because he loved it.

That’s how it started for me. Not in a restaurant kitchen, not through cookbooks or culinary schools, but through those quiet, personal moments. My mother’s home cooking. My father’s Sunday meals. The smell of spice, the rhythm of a pan, the joy of feeding the people you love. No one in my family had a culinary degree, but food was always the heartbeat of our home.

At first, my father wanted me to be an engineer. And I tried. But I knew that it wasn’t for me. By 2014, I had stepped into my first professional kitchen. I was 20. And I got hit with reality fast: 16–17 hour shifts, 21 days straight. It was exhausting, relentless, and humbling. But I still treasure those days. Because that’s when I realized I belonged here.

I consider myself very fortunate to have been influenced by many mentors, worked in numerous kitchens, and collaborated with inspiring colleagues. I remember staging at Per Se for the first time. The sheer precision. The way every inch of that kitchen breathed discipline. That moment raised the bar for me. It showed me what excellence could look like. I caught a glimpse of Chef Thomas Keller that day. Total fanboy moment, but more than that, a reminder that dreams can be real if you grind hard enough.

Today, I’m the Executive Sous Chef at @saga_nyc, a two-Michelin-starred restaurant. And while that title means something, I’m still that same kid from Puri, Odisha. A place most people in the industry haven’t even heard of. That’s part of why I keep pushing. Because I’m not done, this isn’t the end goal. It’s a milestone. There’s still so much more I want to build.

My cooking is emotional. I admire the French technique. I respect tradition. But more and more, I find myself returning to my roots, Odia flavors, my mother’s recipes, my grandfather’s stories. I cook to remember them. To honor them. They’re gone now, but their love for food lives in everything I do.

I’ve worked through grief. I’ve buried myself in prep and plating to feel okay. And I’ve leaned on the kitchen as both a battlefield and a sanctuary. The camaraderie saved me more than once. Cooking didn’t heal the void, but it gave me purpose when I needed it most.

What I love about restaurants is the symphony, the flow, the energy, the unspoken rhythm. But we still have work to do. Pay systems need reform. Back-of-house staff deserve to share in the rewards. I know it’s controversial. But fairness shouldn’t be.

After COVID, our industry was tested. But it’s resilient. And in this age of AI, I still believe one thing: machines can’t cook with emotion. They can’t replicate the soul. And that’s something we can’t afford to lose.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: The journey builds your character, not the destination. So enjoy it. Embrace the chaos. And never stop cooking from the heart.