This by far has to be the best Pithe that I have ever prepared. I mean you can not go wrong with milk and sugar and ghee but still when I set out to prepare it I dint have such great expectations. It turned out so so so good that already my family is demanding me to make it once again.

Now I am not sure if Rosh puli and Manoranjan pithe are same. The Rosh puli recipe that I had handwritten in my recipe diary (dont remember from where, as this goes back to my college days) is exactly the same as of Manoranjan Pithe from 'The Calcutta Cookbook". The only different part for Manoranjan pithe is, you are supposed to shallow fry the semolina dumpling till golden before adding them to the thickened milk. If anyone of you know more about the pithe please let me know.

Like any other school going kid I never paid heed to our neighboring countries till I turned 14. I was a good student, so I knew their historical background or geographical location but they existed only in text books. Till one day I read 'Nakshi Kantha'r Math', a poem by Bangladeshi Poet Jasimuddin... A melancholic tale depicting the tragic love story of Saju and Rupai, a village girl and a peasant boy who hopelessly fall in love, get married but soon are hit by tragedy and are separated.

Shaju, the young wife waits for her husband to return home and starts embroidering her life's tale in a Nakshi Kantha, an embroidered quilt. In her wait to mmeet her husband she sews on the happy memories of their wedding, Their married life and then the sorrows, the pains and despair of her lonesome life. Years go by and finally Shaju dies of broken heart and hopelessness. According to her wishes her grave is covered with that piece of quilt. Next day as dawn breaks over the field , people discover the body of Rupai by Shaju's grave. Who finally returned to his beloved wife and joined her in death. To immortalise their love, the villagers renamed their village as 'Nakshi Kantha'r Math'...The field of the embroidered quilt.

Its a beautiful story narrated in such a descriptive manner that the story comes to life in front of your very eye. Like a water colour image where you can almost see the village, the fields, the starry nights and can feel the throbbing lives of it's people.

Chunk, chunk....Chonk.

chunk, chunk....Chonk.

I tried to hear very carefully. the sound is very faint yet It was not hard to notice it. The hours after dark in a village always are very quiet and a chilly night like this makes everything audible. It's the day of Sankranti at my Grandfather's house. I was barely 12 years old then when I suddenly wanted to see S dida making her famous Soru chakli and Patisapta. She used to work for my grand father's family earlier but not any more. Two shops in the market selling fruits and vegetables by her sons took them out of the misery and she now can relax and take care of her grand kids at home.