Even for a very un-Bengali Bengali, not eating sweets takes the level of blasphemy against everything Bengali to a whole new level. At home in US it is easy. In India, I had to come up with all sorts of tricks – the common one being “Sugar aachhey” (meaning I have diabetes). The identity of Bengalis is so intimately intertwined with eating sweets (and trust me on this one, they are nothing short of heavenly) that sometimes even after forwarding an argument that is designed to shut down all debate “daktarer maana” (meaning the doctor has proscribed it), I have had a few hosts saying “Kichhu hobey na. Ekta osudh kheye nebey”. (meaning – don’t you worry, take a pill after the sweets).

Today, in a bit of misguided adventure, I ventured into where I have not ventured in a long time. I decided to dig in to the sweets section in the lunch buffet arranged at the JW Marriott in Kolkata. And when I say “dig in”, I went all in. Rosogolla (there is no such thing as a Bengali plate without Rosogolla), Pantooa, Mihidana, Sitabhog, Gajorer Halwa. Name it and I had it. Admittedly, I put about one fourth the portion of what others were putting in their plates.

These things usually soak in sugar syrup and are often fried (some of them in clarified butter called ghee). Certainly not for the weak of the heart – at least not the ones insisting on keeping their heart valves and pipes clean. Or for those not wanting their sugar levels to scale nearby highrises.

But, I swear, they are the most delicious tasting stuff one can have in God’s green earth!!

Again, why are great tasting things so bad for you?