My great-grandmother blamed it on the winter sun, which poured sweetness and light into the notun gur from the first sap-tap of the date palms around Chinsurah. And if the first pot of distilled ambrosia, mustily redolent of terracotta, was reserved for Poush-heralding pithe-payesh, the second invariably found its way into the cast-iron wok reserved for her home-stamped confections. Not that all the chhena so tenderly tempered reached the palm-heart sandesh mould &mdash much of it got snatched warm in childish fistfuls while the indulgent back was turned.
As the season of quilts wore on, the weekly treat was supplemented by great-uncles on their daily Kolkata run &mdash with the citified avatar from Dwarik&rsquos in the big city, perhaps Surjo Modak in en-route Chandannagar or Rishra&rsquos Felu-moira. Dwarik dubbed his &ldquosheeter sonjiboni&rsquo&rdquo (winter&rsquos elixir). The matriarch would none of it &mdash how could they compare with the goodness of homely hearths But they were the next best thing, which heartened busy daughters, though her son-in-law remained partial to Balaram and Radharaman Mullick&rsquos on Poddopukur Road.
In our less-blessed days, Balaram&rsquos notun/nolen gurer sandesh does brisk business, while disdainful North Calcuttans prefer the authenticity of Nokur, near Hedua, or Banchharam on Keshab Chandra Street. But for the closest approximation to grandma&rsquos softer, grainier confection, all await visitors (or hawkers) from border-town Bongaon, bearing the best makha sandesh kneaded in all the two Banglas.
