Who doesn't like to eat mother's hand cake. The mind danced with joy even thinking of the cake in the mother's hand, water came to the tongue. But not everyone will have this good fortune. Because many of us do not have a mother. So those who are still lucky enough to eat mother's cake should obey their mother and respect her. Thanks to God, because my mother is alive now.
We all like to sit next to our mother and tell her story and eat her mother's hand cake. When winter comes, the smoke of eating cake falls in our region. So my mother does not want to deprive me of this joy at all. I am getting a little more caress from my mother due to the privilege of staying at home. And there are always a variety of fun foods made by mother's hand. But I am very sorry for those of you who are not able to stay with your mother.
However, the incidence of winter has increased lately. So my mother decided to make a cake at home. I find my mother very busy when something good is arranged in our house.Mother is busy making cakes with a belt around her waist. So at this time I help my mother. Mom usually makes cakes for breakfast. But the fragrant smell of the cake does not sit on my reading table in any way.
So despite the mother's prohibition, I eat cake at night. But when my mother saw me eating the cake with joy, all my pride was shattered when she saw my happiness.
One of the things I like most about eating this winter cake is sitting next to the oven and talking to my mom. This winter my mother made delicious cakes for us even today.
I can't say the exact names of the cakes. So the picture of the cake you see in the picture is made by my mother's hand. We call it 'Kushali Pitha'. This cake needs to be made; Coconut, sesame, date molasses, milk etc. This cake made by my mother is so delicious to me that even after the cake is finished I find the cake in my mother's kitchen. I know the cake is gone but I still do it.
Just as winter enhances the beauty of our nature, so does the beauty of winter enhance these fun cakes of rural Bengal. As the winter fog grows, so does the joy of eating my cake. In the middle of the winter mist, I could see my mother's magic face.
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