Sweeter than history

Rosogolla for a win, sandesh for a funeral, a prawn-shaped platter for a wedding. Why does Bengal have a sweet for every occasion? How have the treats been shaped by distress, caste, craft, gender? A new book traces the journey of mishti

- Sukanya Datta

How much meaning can a simple concoction of milk, sugar, rice flour and jaggery hold?

In West Bengal and Bangladesh, mishti, or sweetmeats, are ritual, emotion, heritage, craft, commerce, and, above all, full of contradictions. There's a recipe for every occasion and budget, with prices ranging from a mere rupee to Rs 1,000. There are rosogollas for election wins and good report cards. Chomchom for weddings. Fried bonde for Sunday breakfasts. Hollow melt-in-the-mouth batasha for the unexpected guest. Even conch-shaped sandesh as tributes to loved ones at a shraddha.

"The sociality of mishti goes beyond need, nutrition and logic," says Ishita Dey, assistant professor of sociology at South Asian University, Delhi.

This obsession with sweets in Bengal can be traced back to the fact that the region has historically had an abundance of sugarcane. The expansion of this crop's cultivation, along with tapping of juices from Palmyra palm trees and the production of indigenous varieties of sugar and crystallised sugar sweets, such as monda or batasha, have all shaped the mishti culture, notes Dey.

Dey's new book, Sweet Excess: Crafting Mishti in Bengal (2026), traces dessert in this part of the world as a celebration of excess.

Moving across sweetshops, domestic kitchens, festivals, recipe books, her book explores how caste, religion, science, and even law and policy, shape these foods.