Until last year, Deepavali to me, meant sel roti — call it a Nepali doughnut that’s not as sickeningly sweet nor as revoltingly gooey as its American counterpart. You will find coils of sel roti stacked high on ornate plates during Dussehra and Deepavali in every Nepali Hindu household.

I also know it as that very rare dish the Parajulys do well. Those family members involved in deep-frying the rice batter claim there’s a secret recipe.

This year’s Dussehra sel roti, the family boasted, was the best so far. The Deepavali sel roti, they pronounced, would have big, spirally shoes to fill.

I, of course, wouldn’t know. Because life isn’t miserable enough, I have given up all added sugar, you see.

Until I went on a self-imposed embargo against added sugar, I didn’t know anyone whose addiction was as bad as mine. I often wolfed down half a cake for breakfast.

When asked what desserts I’d like up in the air, I’d demand flight attendants bring me all available options. Other noteworthy accomplishments?

I’d demolish a bag of Lindt chocolates in under five minutes — just 21 tiny balls that endowed me with 1,600 calories. I once consumed two large slabs of Dairy Milk Silk in one go.

Fistfuls of M&Ms disappeared from under my nose as I chewed on them like they were popcorn. Sugar binge at midnight Assorted Deepavali mithai | Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT Deepavali last year was when things went truly downhill.

I was eating two to three dark chocolate cakes at Pumpkin Tales in one sitting and two to three cloud puddings at Kappa Chakka Kandhari every time I visited. When I devoured four Big Chill pastries one winter night in Delhi after I had eaten two the day before, I knew I was in trouble.

I’d need to change. But I needed accountability.

Simply giving up sugar without announcing it on social media was boring. I needed awe.

I needed hero-worship. I declared on Instagram, with the gravitas of a person on a mission, that I’d end my relationship with added sugar.

This would also mean not consuming honey or maple syrup or some other ghastly substitute. The first few weeks were sad.

I’d claim I didn’t miss any sugar but found myself ordering plate after plate of cut fruit. Several schools of thought believe fruit juices do more harm than good, but I drank them by the gallon because they contained no added sugar.

I was irate, yes, but I had the sanctimonious air of a smoker who had just quit. I didn’t sleep any better.

I waited for something life-changing to manifest. Nothing did.

I’ll admit it was freeing not to be enslaved to a vice, but that was it. About two months in, the sugar noises stopped.

The sight of someone salivating after an M&S dark chocolate was amusing. My fridge in Sri City heaved with chocolate boxes from Trader Joe’s — they make for such delightful, pocket-friendly presents — simply because, for the first time in my life, I trusted myself not to go on a sugar binge at midnight.

I also gave up looking for a halo to materialise. I didn’t lose weight.

I decided that this was one of those sacrifices that would have no payout whatsoever. Zero temptation Representative image | Photo Credit: Getty Images/Istock What of festivals, though, you ask?

What happens when Deepavali comes around? How do I resist when everyone around me is gobbling jalebis?

Surely I sneak in a morsel when no one’s looking? By now — the eleventh month I have gone without any added sugar — my relationship with the drug is akin to my vegetarian family’s rapport with meat.

There’s zero temptation. I just don’t feel like I am missing out on anything.

But it does make me an insufferable tool. I demanded a hummus cake for my birthday two weeks ago.

When indignant people refused to indulge in such gross blasphemy, I cut a proper, poisonous cake but didn’t eat any of it. My experiences of new restaurants and new countries are woefully circumscribed because I don’t subject my body to added sugar (never mind that I’ll happily adulterate said body with the choicest trans-fat at every opportunity).

I will celebrate my sugar-embargo anniversary around Christmas this year. What next?

I wouldn’t want to go back to cake breakfasts — that’s for sure. I know I am incapable of moderation.

Will I continue eschewing the biggest joy of my former life? The lack of temptation is sufficient reason to.

What about Deepavali then? What will I do when everyone stuffs themselves with burfee, sel roti and ladoo?

I’ll have an insipid idli instead.Prajwal Parajuly is the author of The Gurkha’s Daughter and Land Where I Flee. He loves idli, loathes naan, and is indifferent to coffee.

He teaches Creative Writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City. Published - November 07, 2026 08:00 am IST