Arrrrgggggh!!!!!!
That’s exactly my expression when next time someone tells me to get them rasgullas, just because I am going to Calcutta…oops Kolkata. And no its not Rasgullas or Rosgullas as you want to pronounce it. Its Roshogolla. The right expression is ‘Ro-sHO-GOl-LA’. Please stress on the syllables.
I am sure most Bongs would understand this.
Why is that everytime any Bong or ProBong goes to his native place (this again is a very Bengali expression) s/he has to return with Roshogollas? Does a Punju get back canisters full of lassi when he returns from Ludhiana or a Tam Brahm return with boxes full of steaming idlis when they returning from Chennai ? Why this special favour reserved only for the Bong ?
You may say, ‘Boss all these are available where I stay…’ My reply, ‘aren’t Rasgullas available where you stay?’
What I comprehend, sympathise & empathise with you and your request is that you want the most heavenly experience when you pop those syrupy roundels in your mouth & are hesitant in eating those sorry things that they call rasgullas at your mithai-ki-dukaan.
What you may fail to understand is that Roshogollas are very messy in nature and not also very easy to transport. It’s ok that I may be travelling Business Class on the most happening airlines flying out from Kolkata, its messy in spite of that.
The tin that you demand filled with the stuff are available off any self-respecting supermarket shelf in most of the metros that we reside in.
The question is then why this rant? This rant is because I want to introduce you the finer nuances of eating not only an Roshogolla, but also the other huge repertoire of misthi that Bengal (and this is unified Bengal that I am talking about) has to offer to suit all palates.
Roshogollas literally translates itself from the term ‘Rosher-Golla’ or ‘Syrupy Roundels’. These roundels have to be had hot. In fact some claim that the hot chenna ball shouldn’t be even taken home. You should have it at the mishtan bhandar itself. It at the most it needs to be transported to be consumed, then the clay bhaand (pot) can only do justice to it, as the plastic interferes with the heady aroma. In fact the mishti has to be had within 30 mins. of transportation. Why 30 mins? Because any longer and you may lose your share to someone else…
The chenna ball called Roshogolla has to be made from cow’s milk, as buffalo milk with so much fat in it will only harden the ‘golla’. The sight of the Roshogollas boiling in the huge kodai at the mishti-er dokaan (the sweet meat shop) at any time of the day, especially during the foggy winters would incite any self – respecting Bong Moshai to hasten to the nearest hole-in-the wall mishti-er dokan & buy a pot full of these.
Now the most important question. Which is the best shop to pick these heavenly roundels? Well if you ask me, the next time you are in Kolkata, just ignore those big names who would hygienically remove the Roshogollas from a tray. Walk over to the ol’ ramshackle shop with an old Kelvinator fridge and the Roshogollas kept in an aluminium bowl next to the kadai, just hot enough to be popped into your mouth.
Once you have satiated your greed with atleast 4-5 of them in your stomach, instruct him to pack some to take back. Also give him the mantra that will separate the boys from the men, ‘Dada, ektu rosh o diye deben…’ (Dada, please put some syrup in it too).
I hope now you will comprehend the whole issue of not getting Roshogollas for you when I return. Some things are best had hot, on the spot.
For other mishti that is not to be had hot, on the spot and can also be transported, well that another blog and you would be introduced to the wonderful world of sondesh, kheer-kodombos, mihi-dana, seta-bhog, jeeleepes and their ilk.
And if this blog has whetted your appetite enough, take the immediate flight to Kolkata and feast your heart, mind, body & soul on Roshogolla that represents everything that is Bangali-yana in all its glory.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
‘Has the school given you your diary yet?’
‘Hain ma’ is the answer that my mother would get by the last week of June every year, during my school years.
Ma, would then open the diary pages to check out the semester exam schedule for that year. It was an exercise diligently carried out every year, of course to set my study schedule. However years later, Ma let me on to a little secret. She would surreptitiously also match the exam dates with the most awaited dates published in a small handbook with a pink page she called the Paanjee. Ma was checking out the dates for Pujo.
Pujo, Durga Pujo or Dugga Pujo, call it by any name, it is always synonymous with the Bangali ethos and upbringing. Even for a Probasi Bangali or Pro Bong (as we are now known) like me these are the dates of dates.
I distinctly remember that preparations for Pujo would commence, albeit at a very small scale from July itself. Bombay, would be romancing the rains & the Pro Bong families would scourge the markets for deals on suiting, shirting & dress materials. With no malls & least dependence on readymade apparels the lady of the house, mostly mums would then visit their friendly neighborhood tailors for shirts and trousers. The saris were of course, already selected, fought for, bought, cellophane wrapped and stored in May itself, during the annual trips to Kolkata. So much was not even thought for by other communities, when they were making pickles during summers.
We would get into the Pujor mood by August mid itself. Mumbai prides itself to be a very cosmopolitan city. This character comes to fore during the annual Ganeshotsav celebrations where the city gears itself for throngs of devotees bowing their head to the Vighnaharta. The Pro Bong in the parents would then revel in the celebrations and also reminisce … Kolkatar Pujor moton naa … Kolkatar Dugga Pujo toh hajaar gune bodo…
Kids like us then knew the inevitable. Pujo is nearly here.
Pujo was heralded in my house when I was rudely woken at around 4.30 a.m. on the Mahalaya morning to see the house reverb with the rich baritone of Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s intonation of Ya Devi Sarv Bhutesu Shakti Rupena Sanskrita… on All India Radio. The goose bumps that we got inspite of the radio static are alive even today. The ear would help visualize Maa Durga’s triumph over Mahisashur. TV channels are yet to create the magic on screen, in spite of amazing production values.
And then the Dhaaks. Give the Dhaakis to herald Sharodotsav into the psyche of a Bangali. Agomoni, Bodhon, Sandhi Pujo … nothing is complete without the Dhaakis. Thumping heart beats, the dhaakis, the whirling feet of devotees dancing before Maa & the heady smoke from the Dhunuchis. Even today, I am sure, the dhuno smoke reminds all Bangalis of Durga Pujo.
Bhog in the afternoon on 3 days was the highlight. Nothing, absolutely nothing can beat the aromas wafting from the tubs of kichudi, tarkari, tomatoer chaatni & payash. Growling stomachs did justice to all in the shaal pata donas, inspite of the October heat that sapped all energies.
Evenings were always reserved for the ubiquitous adda sessions till late in the night, punctuated by Moglai porothas, mutton rolls, egg devils & kosha mansho. A Bangali and good food are always together. These sessions were always preceded by performances by top notch Bangali artistes also widened our outlook for Bangali culture.
Fond memories are made of listening to the ilk of Dwijen Mukhopadyay, Manna De & his upcoming protégé – Kavita Krishnamurthy, Bhupen Hazarika, Hemanta et al. And then there were the night long Jatras by ‘leftist’ directors like Utpal Dutt & Mrinal Sen.
Bisarjan was a nearly teary affair, inspite of mansho-bhaat once we returned. Bidding good byes to 5 days of revelry with no rules to follow at home and outside was too good to be true. But then all good things surely do come to an end. What followed then was writing long letters to elders wishing them Subho Bijoya & visiting family friends for the Bijoya celebrations. The small parties, of were they after parties, post Durga Pujo were very necessary to wean us off the festivities.
Years later, post my graduation, very reluctantly I was coerced by Ma & Baba for the ultimate Pujo experience in Kolkata. I kept questioning them whether it was worth the effort on my part to be part of the extravaganza, deserting my friends here in Mumbai. For a Pro Bong like me, meeting my friends during Pujo was the ultimate in buddy-ship.
As the train passed Kharagpur & hurtled towards Howrah I remember seeing the waves of undulating white kaash phool. When I came out of Howrah Station I was greeted by dancing Dhaakis. These 2 images have stuck to my mind & are always associated with Dugga Pujo.
This is what Salil Chowdhury meant when he wrote, ‘Ai re choothe ai, Pujor gondho eseche…’ the gondho of Pujo is what the Bangali lives for through-out the year. Those 5 days are absolutely special & nothing can pull him away from that.
As we await the conch shells to blow, the dhaakis to play & the dhunos to waft in our mind, let the incantations of ‘Rupon dehi, dhanan dehi…’ brighten our lives for years to come.
‘Hain ma’ is the answer that my mother would get by the last week of June every year, during my school years.
Ma, would then open the diary pages to check out the semester exam schedule for that year. It was an exercise diligently carried out every year, of course to set my study schedule. However years later, Ma let me on to a little secret. She would surreptitiously also match the exam dates with the most awaited dates published in a small handbook with a pink page she called the Paanjee. Ma was checking out the dates for Pujo.
Pujo, Durga Pujo or Dugga Pujo, call it by any name, it is always synonymous with the Bangali ethos and upbringing. Even for a Probasi Bangali or Pro Bong (as we are now known) like me these are the dates of dates.
I distinctly remember that preparations for Pujo would commence, albeit at a very small scale from July itself. Bombay, would be romancing the rains & the Pro Bong families would scourge the markets for deals on suiting, shirting & dress materials. With no malls & least dependence on readymade apparels the lady of the house, mostly mums would then visit their friendly neighborhood tailors for shirts and trousers. The saris were of course, already selected, fought for, bought, cellophane wrapped and stored in May itself, during the annual trips to Kolkata. So much was not even thought for by other communities, when they were making pickles during summers.
We would get into the Pujor mood by August mid itself. Mumbai prides itself to be a very cosmopolitan city. This character comes to fore during the annual Ganeshotsav celebrations where the city gears itself for throngs of devotees bowing their head to the Vighnaharta. The Pro Bong in the parents would then revel in the celebrations and also reminisce … Kolkatar Pujor moton naa … Kolkatar Dugga Pujo toh hajaar gune bodo…
Kids like us then knew the inevitable. Pujo is nearly here.
Pujo was heralded in my house when I was rudely woken at around 4.30 a.m. on the Mahalaya morning to see the house reverb with the rich baritone of Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s intonation of Ya Devi Sarv Bhutesu Shakti Rupena Sanskrita… on All India Radio. The goose bumps that we got inspite of the radio static are alive even today. The ear would help visualize Maa Durga’s triumph over Mahisashur. TV channels are yet to create the magic on screen, in spite of amazing production values.
And then the Dhaaks. Give the Dhaakis to herald Sharodotsav into the psyche of a Bangali. Agomoni, Bodhon, Sandhi Pujo … nothing is complete without the Dhaakis. Thumping heart beats, the dhaakis, the whirling feet of devotees dancing before Maa & the heady smoke from the Dhunuchis. Even today, I am sure, the dhuno smoke reminds all Bangalis of Durga Pujo.
Bhog in the afternoon on 3 days was the highlight. Nothing, absolutely nothing can beat the aromas wafting from the tubs of kichudi, tarkari, tomatoer chaatni & payash. Growling stomachs did justice to all in the shaal pata donas, inspite of the October heat that sapped all energies.
Evenings were always reserved for the ubiquitous adda sessions till late in the night, punctuated by Moglai porothas, mutton rolls, egg devils & kosha mansho. A Bangali and good food are always together. These sessions were always preceded by performances by top notch Bangali artistes also widened our outlook for Bangali culture.
Fond memories are made of listening to the ilk of Dwijen Mukhopadyay, Manna De & his upcoming protégé – Kavita Krishnamurthy, Bhupen Hazarika, Hemanta et al. And then there were the night long Jatras by ‘leftist’ directors like Utpal Dutt & Mrinal Sen.
Bisarjan was a nearly teary affair, inspite of mansho-bhaat once we returned. Bidding good byes to 5 days of revelry with no rules to follow at home and outside was too good to be true. But then all good things surely do come to an end. What followed then was writing long letters to elders wishing them Subho Bijoya & visiting family friends for the Bijoya celebrations. The small parties, of were they after parties, post Durga Pujo were very necessary to wean us off the festivities.
Years later, post my graduation, very reluctantly I was coerced by Ma & Baba for the ultimate Pujo experience in Kolkata. I kept questioning them whether it was worth the effort on my part to be part of the extravaganza, deserting my friends here in Mumbai. For a Pro Bong like me, meeting my friends during Pujo was the ultimate in buddy-ship.
As the train passed Kharagpur & hurtled towards Howrah I remember seeing the waves of undulating white kaash phool. When I came out of Howrah Station I was greeted by dancing Dhaakis. These 2 images have stuck to my mind & are always associated with Dugga Pujo.
This is what Salil Chowdhury meant when he wrote, ‘Ai re choothe ai, Pujor gondho eseche…’ the gondho of Pujo is what the Bangali lives for through-out the year. Those 5 days are absolutely special & nothing can pull him away from that.
As we await the conch shells to blow, the dhaakis to play & the dhunos to waft in our mind, let the incantations of ‘Rupon dehi, dhanan dehi…’ brighten our lives for years to come.
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