"Maa ka haath, maa ka swaad."
( A mother's hands, a mother's taste. )
Purnia ki mitti,
Pune ki kadhai.
Rashmi grew up in Purnia, Bihar, in a household where Chhath was not a holiday but an axis. Everything in the weeks before November rotated around the preparation — the soop, the offerings, the Thekua. Her grandmother made it every year, the same way, without measuring anything. Rashmi watched, absorbed, and eventually took over.
When she moved to Pune, she found what many Bihari families find here: the food exists, but not quite the way you remember it. The Thekua from shops is too sweet, too soft, too industrial. She started making her own. She always had.
"Pehli baar yahan banaya toh bechne ki soch nahi thi. Bas chahiye tha ki woh swaad wapas aaye — Chhath ki subah wala swaad." ( First time I made it here, I wasn't thinking of selling. I just wanted that taste back — the taste of a Chhath morning. )
Friends who tried it asked for more. Then their friends. Then the gifting requests started. Thekua by Rashmi began not with a launch or a logo, but with a WhatsApp group and a waiting list.
Today, four years in, she makes everything herself, in small batches, from the same recipe her grandmother used. No machine has ever touched the dough. Every order is placed personally, made personally, and delivered with the story of why it matters.
