the tiny dark man in spotless white dhoti and panjabi – in bengal the kurta has been called that for a very long time – had just reached the palm tree at the end of the unpaved gravel strewn path leading up to the house. rimi peered out of the window, her eyes getting brighter with each step the man took, as she unconsciously closed the book lying on the desk. she’d study later. now, it was time for bismil…
there was no facebook in my grandmother’s time. when she made batches of a hundred pantuas, no one quickly went and took pictures on their iphone and posted it on fb. there was no iphone too then. pantua, in case you’ve never had of it, is this delightful bengali mishti or sweet. it’s a lot like gulab jamun, but it isn’t that ubiquitous dessert. pantua is made mainly of chhana or cottage cheese, i.e. paneer… with a bit of khoya…
“again! do it again!” chanted the children. the old man shook his head in a slow sort of way and undid the plait he had made with his long white beard. he started riffling through the silvery strands with busy gnarled fingers, as if looking for something. he stopped all of a sudden. the children gasped and gathered closer together, staring intently. the old man peered at a point in his beard and with a bellowing, “tobey re beta!” which…