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In the heart of January, when fog lingers over slow mornings and sweaters become second skin, Lohri arrives as one of North India’s most awaited celebrations. Starting by offering til, gud, peanuts, gajak, popcorn, and more to the fire, the family members and friends circle the sacred fire. The ceremony is then turned into the night that slowly becomes a carnival of winter treats.
Sitting back amidst the warmth of the bonfire whilst repeating the same stories, eating Punjabi winter staples, Lohri then transforms into a festive gathering that everyone looks forward to. Scroll on to revisit Lohri through the memories of three culinary voices from North India, as they reflect on rituals, food, and the deeper meaning of the harvest festival.
Chef Amninder Sandhu, Founder & Chef At Kikli
For Chef Amninder Sandhu, known for her mastery over open-fire cooking, the Lohri fire was never a mere spectacle; it was treated with "extreme respect." Though she grew up in Jorhat, Assam, her family’s Punjabi roots ensured the fire was built slowly and deliberately in an open courtyard.
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“My earliest and most vivid memories of Lohri are celebrating the festival in Jorhat, where the fire was built slowly, deliberately, and everyone, children, elders, neighbours circled it like it was a living thing,” chef Amninder Sandhu recalls. “When we fed the Lohri fire with til, gur, gajak, and phulley, the elders would always say, ‘bhari aavi Sakhni jawi’ (May fullness and abundance come and emptiness go away.)”
Image Credit: Freepik
Just like a traditional Lohri thali, chef Amninder Sandhu’s family too filled it with non-negotiables like rewri, peanuts, puffed rice, jaggery, makhana, sugarcane, and sometimes homemade gajak. After the rituals, Sandhu said that they never let the fire go to waste. “Sweet potatoes, aka shakarkandi, and sometimes
makki would be tucked into the embers to roast slowly,” she narrates. “All the Lohri food which was cooked that night was eaten the next morning after ‘matha teko’ in the Gurudwara Sahib.” To her, the festival is epitomised by the taste of makki di roti with jaggery and sarson da saag, eaten with bare hands amidst the smoke and laughter.
Rajan Sethi, Restaurateur & Managing Director, Bright Hospitality
Rajan Sethi’s memories of Lohri are from the ancestral town of Chakwal in pre-partition Punjab. For him, the bonfire wasn't ceremonial; it was essential for survival during harsh January nights.
"We always said ‘Aadar aaye, dilather jaaye’ (May abundance enter and poverty depart). It was never formal, just a soft acknowledgement of continuity while offering til, gur, phulley, and gajak to the fire," he remembers. Focusing on the seasonal and land-driven ingredients, Rajan Sethi’s Lohri thali has always been simple, filled with rewari, gajak, phulley, til laddoos, and jaggery.
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“After feeding the fire, it became a kitchen,” he says. “Once the offerings were made, sweet potatoes, and sometimes even regular potatoes wrapped in foil, were buried under the embers and left to roast slowly, without any timers, just instinct and patience.”
Eating makki di roti with sarson da saag, standing close to the heat with cold air all around, is what Rajan Sethi fondly remembers of Lohri. Even at his restaurant, Ikk Panjab, he continues to practice his belief that context matters as much as the food, and ensures that seasonal intelligence is taken into account when designing the menus.
Dr Aarti Kapur Singh, Media Consultant & Food Historian
For Dr Aarti Kapur Singh, Lohri is a tapestry of family milestones and farm-to-fire connections. Her most vivid memory is her mother circling the fire with her nine-day-old brother, while Aarti herself struggled between the ritual of offering popcorn to the flames and the temptation to eat it.
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Her Nani (maternal grandmother) had a specific couplet: "Jinne paaya, ohna da bhala, baaki saare challo, jhelo paala!" (Whoever offers will prosper; the rest can brave the cold!). “Wheat and rice grains from our family fields in the village were sent to us in Delhi. My grandparents made sure the sacks were worshipped and opened in front of the bonfire, and everyone would offer a fistful of the grain to the Lohri fire first,” Aarti Kapur Singh reminisces. “One sack would then be donated to our watchman, and the rest would be for us. The Pooja began with offering a lump of gur (jaggery) that my Nani had made at home.
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While Aarti didn’t cook on the Lohri fire at all, her family had a ritual of borrowing one stick or burning ember to light up the chulha made afresh to make ganne ki kheer. “We roasted sweet potatoes on the embers and distributed them as parshad too,” she says. “From gajrela made in the morning to til bhuggas made by the kilo, Lohri at my grandmother’s home was a true feast. She would also make coarse bajre ki roti to have with saag and fresh butter for dinner.”
