When Eid Mornings Felt Like Magic – Childhood Ramadan & Growing Up

 A nostalgic reflection on Ramadan and Eid childhood memories, and how Eid feels different when you grow up. An emotional diary-style story.    

    There was something different about Eid mornings in childhood.

The house would wake up before the sun.
Soft whispers. The sound of utensils in the kitchen. The smell of something sweet being prepared with love. New clothes folded carefully on the bed like a promise.

Ramadan itself felt different back then.

We didn’t fully understand the depth of fasting. We didn’t know about patience, discipline, or spiritual cleansing. We only knew that something sacred was happening. Something beautiful. Something that made evenings warmer and mornings softer.

I remember trying to fast for half a day, feeling proud of my small effort. Waiting eagerly for iftar. Watching elders pray with a seriousness that felt mysterious and strong.

And then came Eid.

Eid wasn’t just a festival. It was reward. Celebration. Togetherness.

The excitement of wearing new clothes. The gentle fragrance of attar. The joy of meeting relatives. The innocent happiness of receiving Eidi. The laughter. The sweets. The feeling that the world was kinder that day.

But festivals feel different when you grow up. 

Now Ramadan comes with responsibilities. Planning meals. Managing time. Balancing work and worship. Understanding the weight of prayers. Feeling the spiritual depth more — but missing the simplicity of childhood.

Eid mornings are quieter now.

The excitement is softer. The innocence has changed shape. Some elders are no longer around. Some traditions feel lighter. Some gatherings feel smaller.

Growing up doesn’t remove the beauty of Ramadan or Eid.
It just changes the way we experience it.

As children, we waited for Eidi.
As adults, we give it.

As children, we counted days for Eid.
As adults, we count blessings.

And maybe that is the real growth.

Maybe the innocence of childhood was about receiving joy.
And adulthood teaches us the grace of giving it.

Ramadan stands at the doorstep again.

And somewhere inside, the child in us still waits for that magical Eid morning — when faith felt simple, happiness felt effortless, and love filled every corner of the house.

Maybe this year, we won’t just prepare our homes.
Maybe we will prepare our hearts too.

Maybe Ramadan was never just about fasting from food.
Maybe it was always about softening the heart.

About pausing.
About remembering.
About returning to something pure inside us.

And as Eid approaches once again, I don’t just pray for celebration.
I pray for peace.
For forgiveness.
For hearts that feel lighter than yesterday.

Because perhaps the real magic of Eid isn’t in new clothes or sweet dishes.

It’s in the quiet moment after prayer…
when your soul feels clean,
your heart feels grateful,
and you realize that growing up didn’t take away the innocence —

It simply brought you closer to faith.

Why Holi Feels Different When You Grow Up – Childhood Memories & Adult Realities

 Holi feels different when you grow up. A nostalgic story about childhood Holi memories, changing friendships, and the quiet emotions of adult life.

    There was a time when Holi didn’t need planning.

It just arrived — like laughter running barefoot through narrow lanes.

The night before Holi used to feel magical. I would keep my old clothes ready beside my pillow, as if they were a ticket to freedom. Buckets filled with colored water stood proudly in the bathroom. Balloons soaked overnight like secret treasures. Sleep came late, excitement came early.

That was childhood Holi.

Back then, Holi was not just a festival of colors — it was a festival of fearless joy. We didn’t care about stained faces, messy hair, or sunburned skin. We cared about one thing: who to color first.

Friends would gather without calling. Doors stayed open. Laughter echoed through every corner. We would run through the streets shouting, “Bura na maano, Holi hai!” and no one really minded. The colors washed away by evening, but the happiness stayed for days.

But festivals feel different when you’ve grown. Just like Holi, even Eid feels different when you grow up — especially if you remember the softness of childhood Ramadan and those magical Eid mornings.

Now, Holi arrives quietly.

Now, Holi arrives quietly.

There are no water balloons soaking overnight. No early morning knocks on doors. No gang of friends waiting downstairs. Instead, there are WhatsApp messages, forwarded wishes, and carefully filtered photos.

Adulthood brings responsibilities. Work deadlines. Household duties. Emotional distances. Some friends moved away. Some relationships changed. Some people who once colored our faces are now just memories in old photo albums.

The festival of colors slowly turned into a festival of memories.

As children, we celebrated Holi loudly.
As adults, we celebrate it silently.

Now we think about skin care before applying color. We worry about cleaning the house later. We hesitate before stepping out. Somewhere between growing up and growing busy, the carefree madness faded.

But maybe Holi hasn’t changed.

Maybe we have.

Maybe the real meaning of Holi was never just about colors on our cheeks. Maybe it was always about connection. About forgiveness. About laughing without ego. About letting go of old grudges — just like we let colors wash away.

Growing up teaches us something deeper about festivals.

It teaches us that the brightest colors are not the ones in packets. They are the ones in relationships. In shared meals. In unexpected visits. In childhood memories that still make us smile.

This Holi, maybe we won’t run through the streets.
Maybe we won’t drench ourselves in color.

But maybe we can call an old friend.
Forgive someone silently.
Sit with family a little longer.
Or simply close our eyes and remember the child who once believed that happiness came in pink, yellow, and blue.

Festivals feel different when you’ve grown.

They are less noisy.
Less chaotic.
But sometimes… more meaningful.

And maybe that’s not losing magic.
Maybe that’s understanding it.

Maybe growing up doesn’t steal the colors from festivals.
Maybe it simply teaches us where the real colors live.

Not on our faces.
But in our memories.
In the laughter that still echoes somewhere inside us.
In the people we miss a little more during festivals.

And somewhere deep within, the child in us still waits —
holding a fist full of gulal,
believing that happiness can still be that simple.

Nolen Gur Rosogolla Recipe | Soft & Spongy Bengali Jaggery Rosogolla at Home

 Nolen gur rosogolla is a winter-special Bengali delicacy, where the classic soft and spongy rosogolla meets the deep, caramel-like aroma of date palm jaggery (nolen gur). Unlike regular sugar syrup rosogollas, this version has a richer flavour, gentle sweetness, and a beautiful natural colour.

In this recipe, I’m sharing a step-by-step homemade method using liquid nolen gur, along with traditional techniques to keep the rosogollas soft, round, and perfectly spongy. Each step is explained clearly, exactly the way it’s done in Bengali homes during winter.

Whether you’re making rosogolla for the first time or trying a jaggery version for the first time, this method will help you get perfect results at home.

Step 1: Boil the milk

Take full-cream cow milk in a heavy-bottom pan and bring it to a boil on medium flame.
Stir occasionally so the milk doesn’t stick to the bottom.

Once it comes to a rolling boil, lower the flame.

Tip: Always use full-cream milk for soft and spongy rosogolla.

Step 2: Prepare the curdling agent

In a small bowl or ladle, take lemon juice or vinegar and mix it with a little water.

This diluted solution helps the milk curdle gently without making the chhena hard.

 You can also use sour whey or citric acid solution.

Step 3: Curdle the milk

Slowly pour the diluted lemon juice/vinegar into the hot milk while stirring gently.
You’ll notice the milk splitting into white curds and greenish whey.

Turn off the flame as soon as the milk curdles completely.

     Do not over-stir, or the chhena will turn grainy.

Step 4: Strain the chhena

Place a muslin cloth or fine strainer over a bowl and pour the curdled milk into it.

The whey will drain out, leaving soft chhena behind.

Step 5: Wash the chhena

Rinse the chhena under running cold water.

This step removes the sourness of lemon/vinegar and helps in getting perfectly soft rosogollas.

Gently squeeze out excess water—do not make it too dry.

    Ideal chhena should be moist, soft, and crumbly, not sticky or watery.

Step 6: Prepare the Nolen Gur Syrup (Light Consistency)

Instead of regular sugar syrup, this rosogolla is made using liquid nolen gur (date palm jaggery).

In a wide pan, add:

• liquid nolen gur

• water (to make a light, pourable consistency)

Mix well and place the pan on medium flame.
Let the syrup boil for 10–15 minutes until it becomes aromatic but remains thin.

     The syrup should be light and flowing, not thick or sticky.

Step 7: Strain the Gur Syrup

Turn off the flame and strain the boiled nolen gur syrup through a fine strainer or cloth to remove impurities.

Keep this hot strained syrup aside for boiling the rosogollas.

Step 8: Knead the Chhena Until Smooth

Transfer the drained chhena to a plate.
Knead it gently with the heel of your palm for 8–10 minutes until it becomes:

• smooth

• soft

• non-grainy

• slightly greasy

When a small portion rolls into a crack-free ball, the chhena is ready.

Step 9: Shape the Rosogolla Balls

Divide the kneaded chhena into small equal portions.

Roll each portion gently between your palms to form smooth, crack-free balls.

Keep them slightly small, as they will expand during boiling. 

Step 10: Boil Rosogollas in Hot Nolen Gur Syrup

Bring the strained nolen gur syrup back to a gentle rolling boil.

Carefully drop the chhena balls into the hot syrup.
Cover the pan and cook on medium-high flame for 10–15 minutes.

The rosogollas will puff up and absorb the beautiful jaggery aroma.

Do not overcrowd the pan.

Step 11: Transfer to Room-Temperature Gur Syrup (Shape-Saving Step)

Do not leave the rosogollas in hot jaggery syrup.

Carefully remove the rosogollas with a slotted spoon, gently squeeze out the excess hot syrup, and place them into a bowl of room-temperature liquid nolen gur syrup, which is a little thicker than the boiling syrup

This step:

• stops overcooking

• prevents syrup thickening

• keeps rosogollas soft

• helps them retain their perfect round shape

Step 12: Rest & Absorb Flavour

Let the rosogollas rest in the room-temperature syrup for 2–3 hours before serving.

They become:

• softer

• juicier

• richer in nolen gur flavour 🍯

Serving Suggestions

Serve nolen gur rosogolla:

• at room temperature

• or lightly chilled

They taste best when rested overnight, as the flavour deepens beautifully.

🔸 Avoid reheating jaggery-based rosogollas.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

•  Using thick gur syrup

•  Overboiling rosogollas in jaggery

•  Leaving them in hot syrup for too long

•  Skipping the transfer to normal-temperature syrup

Why You’ll Love This Recipe

• Made with pure nolen gur, no artificial sweetness

• Soft, spongy, and melt-in-mouth

• Traditional Bengali winter delicacy

• Perfect for festivals, guests, or gifting

Making nolen gur rosogolla at home is more than just preparing a sweet—it’s about celebrating Bengal’s winter flavours, patience, and tradition. The moment these soft, spongy rosogollas soak up the aroma of liquid jaggery, the entire effort feels worth it.

Serve them fresh or after resting overnight, and enjoy the warmth of homemade sweetness. Once you try this nolen gur version, it’s hard to go back to the regular one.

If you loved this recipe, don’t forget to share it with fellow sweet lovers and save it for winter evenings.