Some recipes are more than instructions. They are memories. They are grief. They are love passed down by hands that are no longer here.
For me, that food is gujiya. Gujiya is a traditional Indian dessert usually made for holidays and celebrations. It’s a crescent-shaped pastry filled with sweet khoya, raisins, and spices, fried until golden and covered in sugar. In my family, gujiya meant something special was happening. It meant everyone was together. It meant my grandparents’ house was loud, warm, and full.
As a child, I would sit nearby while my grandmother made them. She moved with confidence and patience, folding each gujiya by hand, sealing the edges just right. No recipe, no measuring cups. Everything was done by instinct, by memory, by practice shaped over decades. I watched closely, knowing even then that I could never make them the way she did.
My grandparents have passed away. With them went the original source of so many of our family traditions. The kitchen feels quieter now. When I make gujiyas with my mom, it is never quite the same. The filling is close, the shape is almost the same, but something is missing. Their hands are missing. Their voices are missing. The feeling of being small and safe in a room where everything smelled like home is missing.
Making gujiyas today feels different. It’s still sweet, still familiar, but it carries a heaviness with it. There’s nostalgia, but there’s also sadness. I’m aware every time I make them that no matter how close I get, they will never be exactly like hers. Her hands aren’t there to fix the edges or tell me I added too much filling. The kitchen feels quieter.
And yet, I still make them.
I think that is where Advent meets this recipe.
Advent is a season of waiting. Of remembering what has been lost and believing in what is still possible. It sits in the tension between grief and hope. The world, much like a family after loss, is not what it once was. And still, Advent insists that something good is coming.
Making gujiya is like that for me. I make them while remembering what I’ve lost, but also thinking about what could still be. I imagine one day making them with my own family. I imagine one day teaching my own children how to fold the dough, telling them stories about their great-grandparents. I imagine laughter returning to the kitchen in a new way, shaped by different voices but rooted in the same love.
Gujiya reminds me that traditions do not end when people are gone. They change. They stretch across generations. They carry grief forward, but they also carry hope.
In Christianity, Advent points us toward the birth of Christ, the arrival of hope into a broken world. God entered history not in perfection, but in vulnerability, family, and ordinary life. A child born into a lineage, into tradition, into a story already marked by loss and longing.
In that way, gujiya feels like an Advent food for me. It reminds me that love does not disappear when people do. It becomes a memory. It becomes a ritual. It becomes something we choose to continue, even when it hurts a little.
I may never make gujiya as well as my grandmother did. But I continue anyway. Because in the making, I remember. In remembering, I hope. And in the hoping, I believe that one day, this recipe will belong not just to my past, but to my future as well.
Gujiya (This is my version: close to what I remember, even if it’s never exactly the same.)
Ingredients:
For the dough:
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- ½ cup melted ghee or butter
- Water (as needed)
- A pinch of salt
For the filling:
- 1 cup khoya (milk solids), crumbled
- ¼ cup raisins
- ¼ cup sugar (adjust to taste)
- ½ teaspoon cardamom powder
- Optional: raisins or coconut
For frying:
- Oil or ghee
Instructions:
Step 1: Mix flour, salt, and melted ghee. Slowly add water and knead into a firm dough. Cover and let it rest for about 30 minutes.
Step 2: In a pan, lightly roast the khoya on low heat until soft and fragrant. Turn off heat and mix in sugar, nuts, and cardamom. Let the filling cool.
Step 3: Roll the dough into small circles. Place a spoonful of filling in the center, fold into a half-moon, and seal the edges (pinch or use a fork).
Step 4: Fry the gujiyas on low to medium heat until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.
Step 5: Let cool slightly before serving or eat one right away, like I always do.
Lauryn Singh is a college student who enjoys spending time with her family, baking, watching sitcoms, and visiting local farmers’ markets.