“Doctor, should I eat rice or roti?” she asked with the sincerity of someone choosing between two marriage proposals. Her husband, sitting beside her, smirked and whispered, “She’s hoping you’ll say rice. That way, I’ll have to eat it too.”
I looked at them, this middle-aged couple from Anandanagar—she diabetic, he pre-diabetic—both equally obsessed with what lands on their dinner plate. It wasn’t just about rice or roti. It never is. It was about nostalgia, digestion, blood sugar, body image, family politics, WhatsApp forwards, and what the neighbour’s daughter’s dietitian said.
In my clinic, this question pops up at least twice a day. Sometimes it comes disguised—“Doctor, carbs are bad, right?” or “Isn’t wheat more fibrous?” or “My cousin lost weight after switching to rotis.” But at the core, it’s always the same battle: fluffy rice versus dry chapati. The battle of the grains. The Mahabharata of modern Indian kitchens.
I usually start by asking, “What did your grandmother eat?” The answer is almost always local and seasonal. A Mangalorean will say rice. A Punjabi will say roti. A Kannadiga from rural Tumkur might say ragi mudde. And then I say, “There lies your answer. Go back home—on your plate.”
However, we live in an era when tradition is questioned and trends are treated as if they were the truth. Some fitness gurus vilify rice as if it owes them money. Others promote millet as if it’s the holy grain that will save humanity. And poor chapati is caught in between, rolled thin, eaten dry, and blamed for everything from constipation to belly fat.
Neither rice nor roti is the enemy. The problem is quantity, quality, and context. I’ve had patients who ate five chapatis for dinner and wondered why their sugar didn’t drop. Others switched to brown rice, but cooked it with so much ghee and dal that the calorie count surpassed that of a biryani.
Ayurveda doesn’t demonise food. It invites you to look at food as medicine. Rice, especially when well-cooked, is madhura (sweet), snigdha (unctuous), and sheeta (cooling). Perfect for pitta types, fever recovery, or those with a high metabolism. It soothes the stomach, builds ojas, and can be digested well if eaten mindfully.
Roti or wheat, on the other hand, is heavier, more guru (dense), astringent, and drying. It suits kapha types and those with strong digestive fire. But chapati isn’t always easy to digest. For individuals with weak digestion, bloating, or dry skin, excessive wheat can exacerbate vata, especially if they’re chewing on cardboard-like phulkas cooked without a drop of ghee.
I remember a young software guy from Indiranagar who came to me with bloating, irritability, and insomnia. He’d recently started a “wheat-only” diet because his gym trainer told him to ditch rice. “Doctor, I eat four rotis with raw paneer every night,” he boasted. I wanted to hand him a rice plate and a lullaby. His vata was through the roof. His bowels weren’t moving, his mind was racing, and he was one sleepless night away from giving a TED Talk on colon unrest. We switched him back to warm rice with ghee, moong dal, and a spoon of pickle. Within a week, he was sleeping better, thinking clearer, and pooping like a champion.
Then there’s the opposite story. A retired bank manager with a pot belly, joint pain, and high triglycerides who insists on eating three bowls of rice at night. “I don’t feel full with roti,” he says. “And besides, rice is soft on my gums.” True, but not when it’s cooked in excess, eaten late, and followed by dessert. For him, I recommend light millets or a thin jowar roti with a cup of thin buttermilk. He grumbles at first but returns later, saying his knees feel younger.
Food is personal. It is memory, medicine, and metaphor. Rice is like a warm hug on a rainy day—soft, comforting, and easy to digest. Roti is like a sturdy pair of shoes—firm, filling, and keeps you grounded. Both can nourish. Both can harm. What matters is not just what you eat, but how, when, and how much you eat. Eating rice in the afternoon with sabzi, ghee, and a small portion of dal is divine. Eating a plate of biryani at 11 p.m. with cola and dessert is digestive suicide.
Ayurveda advises us to eat according to our agni, or inner digestive fire. A person with strong agni can digest either, but if your fire is flickering, give it something warm, simple, and soupy. I often tell patients to rotate. Rice for lunch, roti or millet for dinner. Or eat what your gut loves and what your mind digests.
But oh, the politics of the Indian thali! Mothers-in-law who treat wheat like religion. Sons who’ve gone keto and now fear carbs like they’re poison. And husbands who pretend to love quinoa but secretly romance curd rice at midnight like it’s an affair. I once had a patient who secretly ordered idlis every morning, despite pretending to follow an oat diet. His wife found out when she saw an idli sambar stain on his white kurta. Food guilt is real. And ridiculous.
I once told a teenage girl to eat a little rice with ghee to help her painful periods. Her aunt gave me a disapproving look. “Doctor, ghee? In this age?” I smiled. “Yes, in this age. And especially in this rage.” Because what’s the point of being thin and tired? Lean and irritable? That’s not wellness. That’s war with your body.
Food should nourish, not punish. A plate should comfort, not confuse. Ayurveda isn’t about strict food rules; it’s about cultivating awareness. Listen to your body. Notice how you feel after eating. Try both and see which one suits you. And don’t let anyone shame your rice or bully your chapati.
Rice or roti? Your gut already knows.
