Pootling: The Joy of Going Nowhere in Particular

 

 

There are days when we do not want to rush anywhere. We walk slowly, drive without hurry, look at the trees along the road, stop to browse a shop window, make a cup of tea, rearrange a few books, water the plants and perhaps do nothing particularly important. English has a wonderfully informal word for this kind of unhurried movement: pootling. It is a word that sounds almost as leisurely as the activity it describes.

What does “pootling” mean?

Pootling is the present participle of the British informal verb pootle. To pootle means to move, travel, walk or drive slowly and without any particular hurry or purpose. Cambridge gives the sense as moving somewhere slowly and with no real purpose. Oxford describes it as moving or travelling “without any hurry.”

So:

• We spent the afternoon pootling around the old town.
• He was pootling along the country road in his car.
• I like pootling around the garden on Sunday mornings.
• She pootled off to the kitchen to make some tea.

There is something affectionate about the word. Pootling does not necessarily mean being lazy. It suggests doing things at one's own comfortable pace, without being driven by a timetable. Perhaps that is why the word fits so beautifully into today's conversations about slow living.

Where did the word come from?

This is where the story becomes interesting. The Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary dates pootle to the 1970s and describes it as a blend of poodle and tootle.  But dictionaries and lexicographical sources also record some uncertainty about its exact ancestry. One explanation traces pootle to an alteration of the earlier poodle, while another suggests a blending of words associated with aimless movement, including doodle and potter.

There is evidence that poodle/poodling existed earlier, particularly in British usage. Lexicographer Sue Butler notes that pootle appears to be a later variant of the 1930s poodle, in much the same playful way that toodle relates to tootle.  So pootle seems to have emerged through exactly the sort of playful word-making that English does so well: sounds and existing words getting blended, altered and softened until a new expression takes shape.

And what a suitable word it is!  Even its sound seems to move slowly: poot-le.

Pootling is not simply “walking”

This distinction makes the word special.

If I say:

I walked to the market.

I have merely described how I travelled.

But:

I pootled to the market.

suggests something more. Perhaps I looked at the flowers outside a shop, stopped to talk to somebody, watched a street vendor preparing food and took a slightly longer route home.

Pootling contains an attitude towards time.

It says: I don't have to get there immediately.

That is why pootling along is such a common form.

You can pootle along a road, pootle around a garden, pootle about the house, or pootle off somewhere.

It can be used for people and, particularly in British and Australian usage, for vehicles as well. A car can pootle along a country lane. A boat can pootle along slowly. A bicycle can pootle through a village.

Did writers use the word?

Yes—and this is where pootle becomes particularly interesting to a reader. It has found its way into modern literature, journalism and travel writing because it conveys something that a more formal word such as travel or proceed cannot quite capture.

For example, Michel Faber uses the word in Under the Skin. His character Isserley gives herself permission to “pootle along” at a relatively modest speed while driving. The word fits the scene because the movement is relaxed rather than urgent.

The word has also appeared in writing about Becky Chambers's A Closed and Common Orbit. A Guardian review describes the characters as tending to “pootle about” rather than driving the larger plot forward. Here the word is used almost metaphorically: the characters are moving through life without constantly pushing the story towards its next dramatic event.

That is an interesting literary use of pootle. It need not describe physical movement alone. A story can pootle along. A person's day can pootle along. Even a novel can be said to pootle along when its pleasure lies more in observation and atmosphere than in rapid action.

Connie Willis's All Clear, for instance, was described in a Guardian review as a novel happy to “pootle along gently.”  The word therefore carries a literary idea of its own: a narrative need not always hurry.

Pootling and the literature of everyday life

This brings us to something larger.

Many beloved writers have understood the pleasure of apparently uneventful moments. A character sitting by a window, walking through a village, wandering around a garden, travelling by an old road or stopping for tea may not be doing very much. Yet such moments can be the heart of a book. The word pootling gives us a modern, informal vocabulary for that experience.

It is particularly appropriate to travel writing. A journey need not always mean reaching ten destinations in three days. Sometimes the best travel is about pootling along a road, noticing what is around us and allowing the landscape to reveal itself slowly.

Contemporary travel writing uses the word precisely in this spirit. Martin Dorey's Take the Slow Road: England and Wales, for example, describes travelling the slower way and speaks of “pootling along the coast.”  That is almost a philosophy of travel in one expression.

Is “pootling” used in ordinary conversation?

Definitely—but there is an important qualification.

It is primarily British and informal. Cambridge and Oxford both mark pootle as British informal English.

It is not a word that every English speaker around the world would naturally use.

In Britain, however, one might quite normally hear:

“What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Nothing much. Just pootling around the house.”

Or:

“We pootled down to the village for lunch.”

There is also a lovely expression:

“Pootle about”

It means to move around casually without any particular destination or urgency.

And:

“Pootle along”

suggests continuing at a gentle pace.

The noun pootle is also possible, particularly in British usage, meaning a leisurely stroll or wander.

Pootling versus pottering

For Indian English speakers, pottering may be a more familiar word.

There is considerable overlap.

Pottering around the house and pootling around the house can describe almost the same activity.

But pottering often suggests casually doing small jobs—especially around the house or garden.

Pootling has a stronger sense of moving or travelling leisurely, sometimes without a particular purpose.

So you might say:

I spent the morning pottering around the garden.

But:

We spent the afternoon pootling around the old town.

Both are wonderfully unhurried words.

Perhaps we need more pootling

Our lives are full of hurry.

We hurry to work. We hurry to school. We hurry through breakfast. We hurry through books to finish the TBR list, films, holidays and conversations. Even leisure sometimes comes with a schedule. That is why I find pootling such a delightful word. It gives a name to an activity that our productivity-driven vocabulary often fails to recognise.

Going nowhere in particular can sometimes be the point.

Pootling may mean taking the longer road home.

It may mean walking through a neighbourhood instead of immediately taking a vehicle.

It may mean browsing a bookshop without knowing what you want.

It may mean sitting with a cup of coffee and watching the world outside.

It may mean opening a cookbook, reading a few pages and deciding that the recipe can wait until tomorrow.

There is no achievement attached to it. And perhaps that is its greatest charm.

A little word for a slower life

Pootling may have emerged from playful combinations of older words, and its precise etymological history is not completely settled. But its modern meaning is wonderfully clear.

To pootle is to move without rushing.

To pootle around is to allow ourselves a little purposelessness.

To pootle along is to accept that not every journey needs to be fast.

In an age obsessed with speed, perhaps pootling is a small act of resistance.

Sometimes we don't need to race towards the next destination.

Sometimes we can simply pootle along and see what we discover on the way.

Cookbooks and the Expensive Hindrance: When Recipes Become Coffee-Table Books

  

    

A cookbook is meant to be used.

Its pages should carry the stains of a hurried morning breakfast, the faint marks of turmeric, the folded corners of a much-loved recipe and perhaps even a handwritten note saying, “Add a little less chilli next time.” A cookbook should ideally live in the kitchen, not merely decorate a bookshelf.

Yet today, cookbooks are increasingly becoming expensive possessions. Beautifully designed, richly photographed and attractively produced, they can be priced beyond the reach of many ordinary readers. The irony is that a book about everyday food is becoming inaccessible to the very people who cook that food.

When the price becomes a barrier

Cookbooks are often more expensive than other books because of their production costs. Colour photographs, high-quality paper, large formats and elaborate design all add to the price. There is nothing wrong with making a beautiful cookbook. Food is visual, after all, and photographs can help us understand a dish. But when the price becomes a significant barrier, we must ask another question: who gets to read these books?

A cookbook may contain recipes from different regions, traditional cooking methods, stories of communities and valuable knowledge passed down through generations. If its price limits access to only a small section of society, much of that knowledge remains confined to private bookshelves.

And there is another problem.

Where can we borrow a cookbook?

Libraries have traditionally been important spaces for making books accessible to people who cannot buy them. But cookbooks are sometimes treated differently from other books. Concerns about damaged pages, food stains, missing pages or the practical difficulty of handling them can make libraries reluctant to lend them. That creates an uncomfortable situation.

A person may be interested in learning about Indian regional food, traditional recipes or healthy home cooking but may not be able to afford a ₹1,000 or ₹2,000 cookbook. If the library does not lend it either, the book effectively becomes inaccessible.

We then have to ask: what is the readership of such books?

A cookbook that nobody can afford to buy and nobody can borrow risks becoming little more than a coffee-table book.

A cookbook should enter the kitchen

The success of a cookbook should not be measured only by how beautifully it looks on a shelf.

Its real success is when someone reads a recipe and decides to try it.

It is when a young person learns to make a traditional dish.

It is when a forgotten regional recipe finds its way back into a household.

It is when a working person discovers a simple meal that can actually be prepared on a busy weekday.

It is when a grandmother's recipe reaches another generation.

The journey of a cookbook should not end with publication. It should begin in the kitchen.

Can publishers think beyond the expensive edition?

Publishers and authors could explore innovative ways of making cookbooks more accessible without compromising the value of the original work.

One possibility is to have different editions. A beautifully produced premium edition could cater to collectors and serious cookbook enthusiasts, while a simpler, affordable edition could contain the same recipes with fewer photographs and a more economical format.

Another possibility is the paperback kitchen edition—smaller, lighter and designed specifically for everyday use. It need not have glossy pages or elaborate photography. Clear instructions, measurements and practical information are what matter most.

Publishers could also consider recipe collections from larger books. Instead of expecting everyone to buy a 250-page cookbook, selected chapters could be published as affordable mini-books—breakfasts, pickles, vegetarian meals, regional recipes, festive cooking and so on. Digital editions, where appropriate, can provide another route to accessibility, particularly when priced substantially below the physical edition.

What about libraries?

Libraries could rethink how cookbooks are made available. Special kitchen collections, reference copies and controlled lending systems could help. Libraries could also organise cookbook reading and cooking sessions, where readers explore a recipe together and discuss its history and method.

Imagine a library announcing:

“This month we are exploring Tamil home cooking.”

A few cookbooks are displayed. Readers browse them, discuss recipes and perhaps attend a demonstration. Suddenly, the cookbook is no longer a static object. It becomes a community resource.

Authors too have a role

Authors who write about food are not merely collecting recipes. Many are documenting culture, memory, agriculture, traditions and family histories. That knowledge deserves to travel. Authors could consider releasing selected recipes through public talks, library programmes, newsletters or affordable recipe booklets. They could collaborate with schools, community kitchens, reading groups and libraries to take the knowledge beyond the printed book. Of course, authors and publishers must earn from their work. Accessibility does not mean expecting creative work to be free. It means creating more than one doorway into the work.

From bookshelf to kitchen shelf

Perhaps we need to change the way we think about cookbooks.

A beautiful cookbook can certainly be a coffee-table book. There is pleasure in looking at food photography and admiring production quality. But that should be only one category of cookbook—not the destiny of every cookbook. The best cookbook is one with a life beyond its cover.

Its pages should open repeatedly. Its recipes should be tried, adapted and shared. Its instructions should become meals. Its stories should become conversations. Its traditional knowledge should move from one generation to another.

A cookbook should not merely tell us what to cook. It should make cooking possible.

And for that to happen, accessibility matters.

Perhaps the future of cookbooks lies not only in better recipes and better photographs, but also in better access—affordable editions, practical formats, library lending, community programmes and thoughtful digital alternatives.

Because food is meant to be shared. And the knowledge of cooking should be shared too.

 

From Soaking to Serving: How Ready-to-Cook Batter Changed the South Indian Breakfast

  

 For generations, making idli and dosa batter was part of the rhythm of a South Indian household. Rice and urad dal had to be measured, washed and soaked. Then came the grinding, mixing and fermentation. The batter needed time, attention and, quite often, a little help from the weather.

Today, breakfast can be much simpler.

Open the refrigerator, take out a packet of ready-to-cook idli or dosa batter, stir it and the tawa or idli steamer can take over. What once required planning a day ahead can now become a convenient weekday breakfast. This is where the growing popularity of packaged batter has made a difference.

Brands such as iD Fresh Food have made ready-to-cook idli and dosa batter familiar to urban households. The brand built its identity around fresh, traditionally prepared batters, while newer and regional manufacturers have also entered this growing market.

Another familiar name in South Indian food, MTR Foods, has also entered the fresh-batter space. In 2026, MTR launched its Minute Fresh Batter range in Hyderabad, offering dosa batter and rice rava idli batter.

The idea is simple: bring convenience without completely taking away the traditional character of the food.

A batter that saves time

For a working couple, a student living alone, an elderly person or simply a family facing a busy weekday morning, ready batter can be a practical solution. There is no need to remember to soak rice and dal the previous evening. There is no waiting for the mixer or wet grinder. And there is no uncertainty about whether the batter will ferment properly.

 Take out what is required, adjust the consistency if necessary and start cooking.

One batch can provide breakfast for several days, depending on the quantity purchased and the family's needs. And the possibilities go beyond plain idlis and dosas. The same batter can become uttapam, paniyaram or a quick evening snack with the addition of onions, vegetables, curry leaves or spices.

But is packaged batter healthy?

This is where consumers need to move beyond the attractive words on the front of a packet.

“Fresh”, “traditional”, “natural” and “healthy” are useful descriptions only when supported by the ingredient list, nutritional information, storage instructions and appropriate food-safety standards.

In 2024, the Bureau of Indian Standards held a stakeholder programme in Chennai around standards for ready-to-use idli batter, dosa batter and dal-vada batter. The relevant Indian Standards are IS 18246, IS 18253 and IS 18269.

That is encouraging for consumers because the ready-batter industry is no longer simply an informal convenience business. Standards and food-safety requirements matter when food is manufactured, packed, transported and stored at scale.

Some brands emphasise traditional grinding, natural fermentation and the absence of preservatives. For example, Bengaluru-based B.fresho describes its batters as naturally fermented, preservative-free and stone-ground, with cold-chain handling.

Independent testing can also provide another perspective. One recent independent laboratory assessment listed iD Fresh's protein-rich idli and dosa batter with an A+ rating, while another tested Akshayakalpa's idli-dosa batter with an A rating.

Of course, a brand's claims and a particular product's test results should not be generalised to every product in its range. Reading the label remains important.

 Convenience without guilt

There was a time when buying ready-made batter might have been viewed as taking a shortcut. Perhaps we need to change that attitude. Convenience is not necessarily a compromise. We use washing machines without feeling that we have abandoned cleanliness. We use pressure cookers without believing that traditional cooking has disappeared. Similarly, buying good-quality batter does not mean that we have forgotten how our mothers and grandmothers made idli and dosa.

The wet grinder can still have its place on weekends.

On a busy Monday morning, however, a packet of well-made batter can be a blessing. The real question is not whether the batter comes from our kitchen or a food manufacturer. It is whether it is fresh, safely produced, properly stored and suitable for our family's needs.

South Indian breakfast has always been about simplicity: fermented batter, a hot pan or steamer, chutney, sambar and a hungry family. Ready-to-cook batter has simply shortened the distance between “What shall we have for breakfast?” and “Breakfast is ready!” And sometimes, on a busy morning, that is exactly the convenience we need.

International Literacy Day 2026: One Day, One Story, A Thousand Smiles

   

September 8 is International Literacy Day—a day that reminds us that literacy is not merely about knowing how to read and write. It is also about opening the door to imagination, knowledge, curiosity and a lifelong love for learning.

This year, as we celebrate International Literacy Day, an initiative that beautifully brings books, children and readers together deserves attention.

One Day, One Story – ODOS 2026

Every year, Pratham Books conducts One Day, One Story (ODOS), a wonderful reading initiative that takes stories beyond the pages of a book and into the hands of children.

For ODOS 2026, two books from the Pratham Books catalogue are selected and made available to registered Reading Champions. These champions then become storytellers, readers and friends to children around them.

The idea is simple:

Choose a book. =  This year's books -  I LOVE TO READ   &   ASHA'S VOICE 
Gather children.
Read together.
Share the joy of a story.

And sometimes, the simplest ideas create the most meaningful experiences.

Reading in the language closest to the heart

One of the most beautiful aspects of ODOS is its celebration of Indian languages.

The selected books are available in several Indian languages, allowing Reading Champions to choose books in their regional language or mother tongue.

There is something special about hearing a story in a language that feels familiar.

A child may understand the words more easily.
A grandmother may enjoy narrating it.
A parent may remember stories from their own childhood.
And a child who is still discovering the world of books may realise that books can speak their language too.

Literacy becomes more meaningful when children can experience reading not as a classroom exercise, but as something joyful and familiar.

Books travel where children are

ODOS is not confined to one school, one city or one kind of reader.

The initiative reaches Reading Champions across India, creating opportunities for people in different places to bring children together around stories.

Physical copies of the selected books, along with the ODOS banner, are sent to the registered Reading Champions.

And then comes the best part.

There is no rigid classroom.

No particular place is prescribed.

No complicated arrangement is necessary.

A Reading Champion can gather children and read at a convenient time and place—perhaps at home, in a school, a library, a community space or simply under a tree.

The book becomes the meeting place.

The Reading Champion

A Reading Champion need not be a professional teacher or a storyteller.

Anyone who believes that children deserve the joy of books can become part of such an initiative.

The role is wonderfully uncomplicated: take the book to children and read with them.

Read aloud.

Pause.

Ask questions.

Look at the pictures.

Let the children respond.

Laugh at the funny parts.

Wonder about the characters.

And perhaps, after the story ends, listen to the children create stories of their own.

That is how reading slowly becomes a habit.

And perhaps even more importantly, it becomes a shared experience.

Literacy is more than learning alphabets

When we talk about literacy, we often think about classrooms, alphabets, words, examinations and textbooks.

But a child's literacy journey can begin much earlier and much more naturally—with a story.

A child who listens to a story learns new words.

A child who looks at illustrations learns to observe.

A child who asks "Why?" learns to think.

A child who predicts what might happen next learns to imagine.

A child who narrates the story back learns to express.

And a child who discovers a favourite book may become a reader for life.

This is why initiatives such as ODOS are significant. They make reading an experience rather than an assignment.

Two books can begin a reading journey

ODOS may place two books in the hands of a Reading Champion, but those two books can travel much further.

From one reader to a group of children.

From one story to another story.

From one language to another.

From one generation to the next.

Perhaps a child who listens today will pick up a book tomorrow.

Perhaps another child will ask for the same story to be read again.

Perhaps someone will discover a new favourite character.

And perhaps a Reading Champion will discover that reading aloud to children is as enjoyable for the adult as it is for the child.

Because the joy of reading is contagious.

Let stories do what stories do best

We don't always need elaborate programmes to encourage children to read.

Sometimes, we simply need to put a good book in front of a child and give them time.

Give them a reader.

Give them a story.

Give them the freedom to listen, imagine, question and enjoy.

That is the spirit behind One Day, One Story.

And on International Literacy Day, it is worth remembering that literacy is not only about creating readers who can decode words.

It is about creating children who want to read.

Because once the joy of reading enters a child's life, the book need not remain open only for one day.

One day. One story.
One child. One book.
And perhaps, the beginning of a lifelong love affair with reading.

A little story can go a long way.

Happy International Literacy Day 2026!