How Delhi’s Bengali Community is Celebrating Poila Boisakh 2025: Food, Rituals & Modern Traditions

On the eve of Poila Boisakh, the air in South Delhi’s Chittaranjan Park grows thick with the scent of gondhoraj lemon, incense, and deep-fried beguni. Poila Boisakh, the Bengali New Year, falls on April 15 this year, and preparations are already well underway. 

Streets bustle with shoppers selecting crisp taant saris in red-and-white hues, queues snake out of sweet shops with patrons clutching boxes of sandesh and mishti doi, and temple courtyards prepare for community gatherings. It’s a scene that, despite its North Indian backdrop, feels every bit like Kolkata—only refracted through the diaspora lens.

In CR Park and Beyond: A City Gears Up for a Homecoming of the Heart

“I always tell my students that CR Park during Poila Boisakh is not just a place, it’s a feeling,” says Deboshree Mukherjee, a high school teacher and resident of the neighbourhood for two decades. “You hear Rabindra Sangeet from every corner; people exchange mishti and calendars—it’s as close as we can get to home, away from home.”

The CR Park Kali Mandir will once again serve as a cultural nucleus, hosting the traditional Mangalarati and bhog followed by evening recitals of Tagore’s poetry and dance performances. Yet, the spirit of the new year stretches beyond its temple walls. As Delhi's Bengali community becomes increasingly intergenerational and experimental, Poila Boisakh is being celebrated not just as an occasion steeped in tradition but as one alive with new expressions.

Supper Clubs and Handicrafts: Contemporary Culture Finds a Table

This year, one of the most exciting additions to the festivities is the Poila Boisakh-themed dinner curated by Toonika Guha, the founder of the Bengali supper club Toontooni’s Table. Her immersive dining experience, held at her Delhi home, offers a nuanced retelling of Bengali cuisine.

“As a Bengali who was born in Calcutta and lived there for the first 19 years of my life, Poila Boisakh is a festival I always celebrated growing up,” she shares. “Since I’ve started my supper club and want to share more of the Bengali cultural experience with more people, I felt it would be a good opportunity to do a dinner event for Poila Boisakh. I want people to see Bengali food and culture beyond just Rosogolla and mishti doi.”

Her Poila Boisakh menu is a playful blend of memory and innovation. “The beauty of Poila Boisakh is that it’s about embracing the new while celebrating our heritage,” she says. Guests will experience Calcutta-style aloo dum puchkas and chicken/veg chops alongside modern interpretations like nolen gur cheesecake with sea salt and a College Square chicken puff pot pie.

“It’s about bringing people together through food,” Toonika adds. “Like any festival, it’s a celebration of community. It’s also a way to engage with a culture that may not be dominant in Delhi but is very much alive.”

Just a few lanes away in CR Park’s Pocket 40, Bangla Canvas, a Bengali restaurant run by Joyjeet Maity, is taking things a step further. In addition to its Poila Boisakh menu, the restaurant is hosting a pop-up Bengali handicrafts bazaar within its premises—featuring everything from dhokra figurines to kantha-stitched stoles.

“Poila Boisakh is all about warmth, celebration, and good food that brings people together,” Joyjeet says. “While the soul of the menu lies in Bengali tradition, it’s also important to make it inviting for all kinds of guests.” His menu this year includes homely dishes like Mutton Dakbunglow and Alu Posto, paired with refreshing additions like Lichu Lanka Shorbot.

“For me, it’s about recreating that sense of home on a plate,” he reflects. “Even a simple Beguni can take someone back to a childhood evening, waiting by the kitchen as Ma fried them in mustard oil.”

Sweets, Saris, and Sustained Traditions

Few things mark a Bengali celebration more distinctly than sweets. Enter Sandesh, a newly opened sweet shop in CR Park run by Sucharita Modak, which draws on a family legacy dating back over 150 years to Surendranath Dey & Sons in Kolkata.

“My sweets have their authenticity, taste and purity intact,” Sucharita says with quiet pride. “Every Bengali festival is marked with sweets—Poila Boisakh is no different. For many of our customers, a bite of our kheer kodom or jolbhora is like travelling back in time.”

Meanwhile, at Pankaj Restaurant in Market No. 3, affectionately called “Pankaj da’r dokan” by locals, the kitchen is abuzz with preparations for their Poila Boisakh special. Known for its homely meals and loyal clientele, the small establishment is introducing a limited-edition thali for the festival.

“During Poila Boisakh, guests walk in looking not just for food, but for a feeling,” Pankaj da says. “A crisp Kolkata Style Fish Fry might remind someone of their college days in North Calcutta, while a plate of Fish Kobiraji brings back memories of Park Street evenings. People don’t just eat—they relive.”

Debodeep Basu, a CR Park resident of five years and a finance consultant, echoes this sentiment. “What I love is how the community reinvents tradition. You can have a daab chingri at a fine-dining restaurant or kosha mangsho at a street-side stall—it all coexists here. That’s what makes this celebration in Delhi so rich.”

Back at the clothing stalls in Market No. 1, last-minute shoppers pick out jewellery and crisp cotton saris. “We’ve seen a real shift in how younger Bengalis dress for Poila Boisakh,” shares a local shopkeeper. “It’s less about heavy benarsis and more about breathable fabrics and statement accessories—but the red and white never go out of style.”

A Festival in Translation, Yet Deeply Rooted

As the city prepares to usher in the Bengali new year, the celebration is unfolding not just across temple grounds or family kitchens, but through curated dinners, nostalgic menus, and even sari pop-ups. It’s a festival in translation—one that continues to evolve with the diaspora, but never at the cost of its roots.00 pp

“There’s a deeper connection at play,” says Joyjeet. “Even those experiencing Bengali food for the first time can sense that emotion on the table.”

Perhaps that’s the most remarkable thing about Poila Boisakh in Delhi—it is neither a replica of Kolkata nor a reinvention of the festival. It is, instead, a testimony to the quiet persistence of culture, one that survives in mustard oil-slicked memories, in sweets handed down over generations, and in voices that come together each year to say: Shubho Noboborsho—happy new year.