In the aftermath of the 2026 West Bengal Assembly elections, where Mamata Banerjee’s Trinamool Congress suffered a decisive defeat, politics took a distinctly culinary turn.
The political exchanges between Himanta Biswa Sarma and Mamata Banerjee over the eating of fish may appear trivial at first glance, but they illuminate a deeper and long-standing dynamic in Indian electoral politics.
Banerjee, in her campaign speeches, repeatedly warned that a BJP victory would threaten Bengal’s way of life, claiming the party would restrict fish and other non-vegetarian consumption. Sarma, a senior BJP leader, responded with a light-hearted yet pointed challenge, daring her to a fish-eating contest.
Beyond the exchange, the episode underscored how food operates as a marker of identity, a tool of political communication, and an instrument of soft cultural assertion. Yet, Banerjee’s rhetoric ultimately backfired, contributing to her electoral defeat.
In West Bengal, food is far more than sustenance. It embodies identity, memory, and shared emotion. The proverb “mache bhate Bangali” defines the Bengali through a deep-rooted affinity for fish and rice—a relationship shaped by geography and history. For the people of the state, these are not merely dietary staples but enduring symbols of cultural continuity.
Historical records affirm this connection. The 11th-century Charyapadas reference fish and rice alongside vegetables and greens as staples of medieval Bengal. By the 15th century, Manasamangal describes elaborate wedding feasts featuring multiple varieties of fish and meat.
The 12th-century Naishadhacharita similarly documents diverse fish preparations—fried, curried, roasted in banana leaves, or steamed with coconut and mustard. Even today, the belief that “mach khao, buddhi barbe” (eat fish and intelligence will grow) continues to resonate.
The political use of food, however, is neither new to West Bengal nor to India. Anthropologist Arjun Appadurai conceptualised “gastro-politics” to highlight how food is deeply entangled with power, identity, and social relations. Historically, food has played a critical role in political mobilisation.
During the freedom struggle, Mahatma Gandhi used dietary practices—simplicity, vegetarianism, and fasting—as instruments of moral and political resistance. His fasts were not merely personal acts but powerful public statements that shaped political discourse.
In post-independence India, food has remained central to welfare politics. Subsidised food systems like the Public Distribution System (PDS) have been pivotal in electoral strategies, particularly in poorer regions.
In Tamil Nadu, state-run low-cost canteens became emblematic of governance legitimacy. Similarly, mid-day meal schemes have functioned both as welfare interventions and as instruments of political outreach.
Globally, food continues to serve as a political and diplomatic tool. In the United States, candidates frequently engage with regional cuisines to signal cultural connection.
At the international level, “gastrodiplomacy” has emerged as a strategy of soft power. Countries like Thailand and South Korea have promoted national cuisines globally, while India has showcased millets at G20 summits, exported premium agricultural produce, and deployed culinary traditions as instruments of cultural diplomacy.
In the run-up to the 2026 Bengal elections, Banerjee’s emphasis on fish sought to bind food with language, secularism, and regional pride, positioning the BJP as an external force that would impose cultural restrictions.
Instead, the strategy faltered. Sarma’s response reframed the narrative with humour, deflating what many voters perceived as exaggerated fear-mongering.
The episode also reflects a broader shift in political communication. Increasingly, campaigns rely on tangible, everyday experiences rather than abstract policy debates.
Food, with its emotional and cultural resonance, becomes a powerful medium of engagement. Yet in this case, it proved counterproductive, allowing the BJP to reposition itself as a defender of Bengali cultural practices.
Critics often dismiss such rhetoric as electoral theatre, but data explains why this strategy failed. In West Bengal, fish consumption cuts across class and caste. With a majority of Bengalis consuming fish regularly and the fisheries sector contributing significantly to the state’s economy, any perceived threat carries personal weight.
While development issues such as jobs and infrastructure remain critical, cultural practices—celebrated through dishes like bhapa ilish or chingri malai curry—also shape voter sentiment. Ultimately, voters appeared to trust the BJP’s assurances over the TMC’s warnings.
As the 2026 election results unfolded, the prominence of food in political discourse underscored an evolving democratic landscape.
Elections are no longer fought solely on manifestos but increasingly through cultural symbols embedded in everyday life. The politics of the plate reveals how the personal and political are becoming deeply intertwined.
Banerjee’s food-politics gambit failed to deliver electoral success. The contest over who could best protect Bengal’s plate, pride, and palate was decisively won by the BJP. In Bengal, food is not merely consumption—it is identity, history, and belonging. In 2026, it also became a decisive electoral fault line.
Views expressed are that of the author and do not reflect EastMojo’s stance on this or any other issue.
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