Living: Sweets; Syrupy Salvo

India Today
September 7,1998

LIVING: SWEETS
Syrupy Salvo

The traditional Bengali sweet-maker is being given a run for his money as a range of innovative and value-added Marwari varieties flood the market.

By Udayan Namboodiri

Prabhu Bhog It's not a sour issue but the Hooghly sure is on fire. For the sixth year in a row, the official Independence Day reception at Calcutta's Raj Bhavan had as part of its sumptuous fare sweets from Gangaur, a Marwari sweet shop in Russel Street. So what's all the fuss about? Tell this to the tradition-bound Bengali sweet-lover and he will seethe with anger. Bengali sweet-makers too are smacking their lips in anticipation of a fight. Navin Joshi of Gangaur -- who says he is a "proud son of Bengal" though his ancestors were Brahmins from Rajasthan -- is ecstatic at having scored over the Bengali sweet. "We will bounce back," retorts Manjulika Das, director (quality control) of K.C. Das, the famous house of Bengali sweets. "The present governor has heard about K.C. Das."

Sweet Lovers So has every Bengali who will vouch for the lingering taste of the melt-in-the-mouth rosogollas that K.C. Das has been making for over a hundred years. The question now is whether the taste of the new Marwari sweets is lingering a wee bit longer. It's a scandal that's causing much heartburn. West Bengal Finance Minister Asim Dasgupta is reported to have quipped that the bills for the Raj Bhavan Independence Day reception will have problems getting passed.

The war is on. North Indian sweets vs Bengali sweets or is it the Bengali chamcham vs the Marwari version, malai chamcham. The tussle to win over the Bengali tastebuds is not easy. Any tampering with the composition of traditional sweets is the easiest way to invite Bengali ire. So corporate strategies are being worked out. The name of the game is innovation and value addition. And considering the fact that there are about 15,000 sweet shops in Calcutta alone, there can be much gnashing of teeth. A sweet-by-sweet analysis shows that the syrupy slugfest is getting real bitter.

The sandesh, some say, is as old as the Bengali script. But the connoisseur's first choice for sandesh is no longer the 170-year-old Bhim Chandra Nag of Bowbazar in north Calcutta, another Bengali institution. The north Indian sweet shops Gangaur and Haldiram have added value to sandesh with kesar, saffron and pista toppings. Sandesh with toppings cost Rs 5 each compared to the Re 1 or Rs 2 for the plain variety. Karapak sandesh (hard varieties) even have strawberry and orange flavours. Paras Shah, Haldiram's manager at its Kankurgachi outlet, says that mango and strawberry crush from Pune are used on narampak (soft) sandesh and are "gobbled up in no time by a clientele which is desperate for change".

You can't dismiss the kheermohan as a rosogolla-wannabe anymore. It has a spanking new identity. At Gangaur, Joshi has demonstrated innovation which has made the traditional kheermohan into a new delicacy. An upper crust of khowa (hardened condensed milk) is added to kheermohan and topped with cream and ringed with small rosogollas and sprinkled with pista nuts. The result is Nehru Bhog which costs Rs 7.

The chamcham, which is a relative of the rosogolla, is also emerging in different avatars. Malai chamcham is among the new favourites. The toppings are meant to add value to the sweet.

These value-added sweets are creating ripples among the locals much to the annoyance of the traditional Bengali sweet-maker. "Sticklers for tradition still come to us," claims Haradhan Nag, patriarch of Bhim Nag Sweet Sellers. "There is nothing ingenuous about these new sweets. They are just making use of elements from Indian sweet-making traditions. These are all gimmicks."

That may be the case but a lot of Bengalis are developing a taste for the innovative sweets with frills and toppings. It is not that the traditional Bengali mishti man has shut his eye to the voluminous changes occurring on the surface of sandesh. K.C. Das is, of course, a major innovator. Ten years ago, it launched the Mac Sandesh Amrita Kumbha, sparking a creative phase in the sweet industry. It is hard, goblet-shaped and filled with nalen gur (seasonal jaggery) in winter and chanar payesh (kheer) at other times. Now that another creative phase has begun, the family which patented the rosogolla-making machine is giving Gangaur a "befitting reply".

It is called the Prabhu Bhog. Basically a take-off on the rosogolla, it seems formidable in terms of calories -- gola kheer, kheer gratings and pista nuts. But pop it into the mouth and it vanishes in moments. What matters is that the taste doesn't vanish. For all the riches that go into it, at Rs 8 it is quite a steal and a much sought after delicacy in the social gatherings from Chitpore to Gol Park. "It's doing well in Bangalore as well. In Calcutta, it is snatching away Marwari customers too," says a proud Manjulika Das.

The scramble to add value to mishti is having positive spin-offs too. The cakes, pastries and ice-creams which theatened to replace Indian sweets on the dessert menu are being pushed aside. "K.C. Das and all the rest, including Marwaris, are giving the mishti a new respectability," says Mani Shankar, popular Bengali author. Affordability and novelty are giving it the sweet edge.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating and all eyes are now focused on the coming Bijoya season following Durga Puja when it is customary to exchange greetings with mishti packets in hand. A shift is anticipated with Marwari sweets standing a better chance of being wedged into these packets. Moreover, Bengali sweets being milk-based are perishable within 24 hours. "That's what prevents the mishti from getting a national appeal," says Shah, whose Kankurgachi outlet is still 90 per cent Bikaneri.

At the moment what matters is not national appeal but the fact that all sweets are undergoing drastic changes. Sweets like the still popular fried, brown and syrupy Ledikeni, which is named after Lady Canning, wife of the British governor general who quashed the Sepoy Mutiny, are still around. But the popularity of the frill-added sweets, which cost five or six times more, is indication that no price is too big to pay for a yummy mouthful and a lingering taste. If in the process of innovations, the good old plain sweets like sandesh lose their bite, the traditional Bengali sweet maker, it can be said, will be left all mishti-eyed.

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