Ghevar and its deep link with rains: Was Ghevar originally invented as a medicine?

The first rains in Rajasthan don’t just cool the dust and soften the parched soil — they also mark the arrival of ghevar. Sweet shops suddenly stack golden discs high, syrup dripping, silver leaf glinting under shop lights. Ghevar isn’t just dessert; it’s monsoon itself, crisp and airy like the season’s first breeze, rich and celebratory like the festivals it’s tied to. But here’s the twist: some food historians believe this indulgence might have once been invented not for feasting, but for healing.

Rain in every bite

Unlike laddoos or barfis, ghevar isn’t shaped by hand. It’s made by pouring thin streams of batter into hot ghee, layer after layer, until a honeycomb disc emerges. Try making it in December and it will fail; the batter needs monsoon humidity to puff and set just right. That’s why ghevar belongs to Saawan, the rainy month, appearing alongside Teej and Raksha Bandhan. Its very existence is tethered to clouds and rain.

The festival sweet with a hidden logic
Traditionally, ghevar is sent to married daughters and sisters during monsoon festivals, a symbol of love, fertility, and prosperity. But beneath the ritual lies a practical side. Think about the season: the rains bring not only joy, but also dampness, sluggish digestion, and a higher risk of infections. Ghevar; fried in ghee, drenched in syrup, sometimes laced with saffron or nuts, is a calorie-dense, energy-giving food. Was it originally designed to help the body cope with the season’s toll, long before it became synonymous with celebration?

Ayurveda’s quiet whisper

Ayurveda insists the body needs different foods with each season. In the monsoon, when agni, digestive fire is believed to weaken, you’re advised to eat rich but stabilizing foods. Ghee strengthens immunity, sugar restores energy, spices like cardamom cool the body, and even the edible silver leaf once had medicinal associations. Seen this way, ghevar fits neatly into a monsoon prescription: sweet, nourishing, protective. What we call mithai today may once have been a seasonal tonic.

From remedy to ritualOver centuries, ghevar’s medicinal undertones blurred into cultural ritual. Sweet makers perfected its airy texture; families began exchanging it as a symbol of festivity and love. Walk through Jaipur during Saawan and you’ll see its transformation in full glory, towers of golden discs stacked in glass counters, the air thick with the smell of ghee and sugar, shoppers lining up with boxes tied in red string. The original “medicine” has become memory, ritual, and joy.

So which is it, cure or craving?

The truth is, it’s both. Ghevar probably began as a seasonal food meant to support the body during rains. But food in India rarely stays one thing; it gathers meaning, emotion, and ritual as generations carry it forward. Today, ghevar isn’t eaten because it’s “good for you.” It’s eaten because it belongs to the rains, Because no Teej or Raksha Bandhan feels complete without it, because biting into its syrupy crunch feels like welcoming the monsoon itself.

And maybe that’s the real medicine, a food that ties body and season, ritual and memory, joy and nourishment into one golden, rain-soaked disc.