Why Ganesh Chaturthi is more than modak: Exploring Maharashtra’s culinary traditions, rituals and recipes

On the first morning of Ganesh Chaturthi, the 10-day festival that marks the arrival of Lord Ganesha into people’s homes and community mandals, kitchens come alive before the crack of dawn. Steam curls up from freshly ground rice flour, jaggery bubbles into a sticky syrup, and women gather around to coax delicate pleats into the steamed version of the modak or ukadiche modak. In most homes in Maharashtra, and Goa, the scent of sandalwood incense and marigolds hangs in the air, while children run in and out, waiting to pounce on the sweet dumplings once the aarti ends.

For many, this is the image of Ganesh Chaturthi: Lord Ganesh, remover of obstacles, seated before plates loaded with his favourite sweet. Modak has become synonymous with the festival, and behind it, a richer story continues to unfold. The festival table is not only about sweets but also about community feasts, seasonal vegetables, and rare ritual foods that are a testament to regional diversity, ancient wisdom, and the very spirit of community that Lokmanya Tilak, one of the country’s most prominent freedom fighters and social reformers, sought to foster when he initiated the tradition of public Ganesh celebrations in 1893.

Unifying force

The offerings, known as naivedya, are not a one-size-fits-all affair. They are rooted in the specific geographical and communal identity of the household. As food writer Saee Koranne-Khandekar documents in her book Pangat, A Feast : Food and Lore from Marathi Kitchens, regional ingredients and community practices dictate the festive menu. For example, while the Brahmin communities of the Desh region, the historical heartland of Maharashtra, might favour a sweet flatbread called puran poli and savoury lentil dish katachi amti, the Pathare Prabhus of the Konkan coast have a tradition of including seafood — a practice that reflects their coastal environment and distinct cultural norms.

This devotion to regional authenticity is what inspired restaurateur Mitra Walke to launch Saee’s book at his restaurant, Nav Chaitanya, in Andheri. Having moved to Mumbai from Malvan in 2007, Mitra was driven by nostalgia. “The longing to return home for Ganpati is real,” he reflects. “Many, like us, can’t make it back, so why not bring a taste of home to them?” His festive thali is a revival of the traditional pangat gatherings of his hometown, where meals are served hot and in sequence, eaten while sitting on the floor.

This year’s thali includes chutneys, pickles, crispy aloo wadi and kothimbir wadi set, while karela bhaji adds a gentle bitterness and dishes like kala vatana usal (black peas dal) and alu chi fadfada (a Maharashtrian curry made with colocasia leaves) bring earthy depth. Freshly fried vade carry the aroma of festive mornings, balanced by the soft sweetness of sooji (semolina) and the cooling freshness of chibud melon (a variety of mush melon). Classics like varan bhaat (pigeon pea dal and rice) with ghee and masale bhaat ground the spread in tradition. Guests at Nav Chaitanya can experience this festive thali in timed sittings at 11.00 am, 12.30pm, 2.00pm, and 3.30pm, with pricing at  ₹899 plus taxes for adults and ₹399 plus taxes for children aged below 12.

Beyond the familiar dishes, the festival holds lesser-known food traditions tied to specific days. Rushi Panchami, which falls on the second day, is a prime example. This day is dedicated to the veneration of the seven ancient sages (Saptarishi), and the food prepared is an act of devotion. The center piece is the rushi panchami chi bhaji, a mixed vegetable dish. While the Brahmanda Purana and other Hindu scriptures do not list the recipe by name, they dictate that the fast must be broken with foods grown without the use of a plough and oxen. This dish adheres to a strict rule: it must be made from vegetables and grains that have not been grown with the help of a plough and oxen.

Beyond this, the act of offering food is a ritualistic ceremony in itself. The Shodashopachara (a structured ceremony designed to treat the deity as an honoured guest), or the 16-step tribute to Ganesh, is the cornerstone of the puja. As journalist Kaumudi Marathé highlights in her book, The Essential Marathi Cookbook, the 21 modaks offered are not merely a favourite food; “they are a mandatory part of this ritual, underscoring their deep-seated spiritual significance.”

Diverse appeal

While modaks steal the spotlight, Delhi-based chef and content creator Keertida Phadke, who hails from Pune, champions another festive treat from her family kitchen: nivagrya. “It’s the unsung hero of the season,” she laughs. “No one ever plans to make nivagrya, they just happen.” The process is instinctive and resourceful. The leftover ukad — the rice flour dough from making modaks — is mixed with coriander, green chillies, cumin, and salt, then rolled into rustic shapes and steamed. “Where modak-making is a high-stakes ritual, nivagrya are easy, forgiving. You can season and shape them however you like,” she says. For Keertida, they embody a resourceful mindset: never wasting, always repurposing. “It’s this genius little snack born out of what’s left behind.”

In Goa, Pankaj Kamble, who curates food walks for immersive travel start-up Soul Travelling, views the festival as a lesson in local history. He points to the khatkhate, a classic vegetable stew from the Konkan region. Its name echoes the sound of vegetables cooking, and the dish itself is a ceremonial offering of the land’s first bounty. The secret to its flavour lies in the aromatic triphal, a Goan spice similar to Sichuan peppercorns that adds a subtle, peppery tingle. Pankaj also mentions the fried talniche modak, which offers a satisfying crunch and longer shelf life, making it a perfect gift for visiting guests.

Pankaj believes that a nuanced perspective is vital when discussing the festival’s vegetarian-only rule. “While the vast majority of Maharashtrians observe a strict vegetarian diet during the 10 days, a few communities stand apart,” he says. He cites the Pathare Prabhus of Mumbai, who have a long-standing custom of offering non-vegetarian dishes to the goddess Gauri. “This unique practice speaks volumes about how community identity can shape religious observance,” he adds.

Rooted in tradition

This regional specificity is also at the heart of the celebration for Shraddha Bhonsle, a member of the Sawantwadi royal family by marriage, who runs The Sawantwadi Palace Boutique Art Hotel (which forms part of the Sawantwadi Palace) with her husband. Her festive menu is a meticulously planned panch pakwan, a strictly vegetarian five-fold offering to Lord Ganesh, which after the ritualistic offering is complete, the food is considered prasad and distributed among the family, friends and neighbours.. “The variety on the menu is a testament to the cultural richness of the festival,” she explains. The feast includes a variety of bhajis and pulses, accompanied by staples like crispy puri and the essential varan and bhat. A refreshing koshimbir (a simple salad of cucumber and yogurt) and the tangy sol kadhi (a staple of the Konkan region believed to aid digestion) ground the meal in its Konkan heritage.

After the grand morning feast, the evening meal is a simpler affair, reflecting the transition from formal worship to family time. Yet, the ritualistic precision continues. The second day, called Rushi Panchami, for a significant fast. “The energy of welcoming Ganpati Bappa is immense, but the next day is equally important,” she explains. “It’s a time for reflection.” TThe fast, which lasts for a little more than a day and includes milk and fruits, is broken with a special meal of varan bhat accompanied by 21 specific seasonal vegetables, all grown without the use of a plough. “It’s a conscious choice,” she says, “a way to connect with a more natural way of living, even if just for this one meal.”

The list of vegetables she provides reads like a celebration of the wild and uncultivated: alu, pumpkin, lal bhaji, and even wild yams like karande and elephant foot. “This seemingly eclectic mix holds deep meaning,” Shraddha reflects. “It’s about maintaining those connections to our traditions, understanding the ‘why’ behind what we do.”