Cooking!

Tasty things take time

Being a bangal, the quintessential bengali renaissance woman - poetic, romantic, and for lack of a better word in English, dukho-bilashi, I see life through a sepia filter. Ironic to my default disposition of wallowing in despair, I was born in the city of Joy, Kolkata, or more specifically south Kolkata, into a family of culinarians, where the air hung thick with nostalgia, the scent of freshly fried luchis, and spirited debates over whether mishti doi from Balaram Mullick or KC Das reigns supreme.

This space exists to remind me - on difficult days when models refuse to converge and stakeholders demand "insights" by EOD - that life transcends p-values and confusion matrices. It's the smell of gondhoraj lebu, tales of bygone eras echoed by the trams, the warmth of a cup of Darjeeling tea, and the quiet certainty that somewhere in Jadavpur, my roots remain anchored no matter how far I wander.