In the urban landscape, pitha is an FMCG, neatly packed in gift boxes of a dozen or so, the “best before” date printed prominently alongside the MRP.

Why, pitha can even be had by credit card, booked online and delivered to your uncle based in Texas, US. What if the Texan cowboy had never heard of the cowherd in Janjimukh in Sivasagar, who speaks in a Bihu song about his longing for a pitha made by his beloved.

But what makes the pitha — whose nature varies according to the stuffing like ground sesame seed or coconut — the quintessential “must have” for the biggest and all-encompassing festival of the state is its “durability”.

Niva Saikia from Sivasagar, who has turned pitha-making into a cottage industry and is one of the biggest sellers of the eatable across the state during Bohag Bihu and Magh Bihu, explains that “pitha, despite its very fragile quality, is surprisingly durable. If stored properly, they can be served till a month of their preparation”.

Saikia is a regular to Guwahati to sell her pithas which are big hit in the numerous “pre-Bihu melas”.

“Pitha-making is a cumbersome process and is certainly not the same as cooking instant noodles. Housewives in Guwahati often ask me how to make pithas, I explain it to them but the next Bihu they are back in my stall to say that they could not do it. So buying pitha is the only alternative for them. After all, no Assamese household will go without its stock of pithas during the Bihu days,” she adds.

Evelina Chaudhury, a mother of two and an employee in a private sector bank, admitted that she gave up all attempts to make pitha after a couple of failures.

“They simply crumble when I try to turn them over during the baking process,” she says.

This despite the fact that she comes from a semi-urban town in Upper Assam where her mother used to prepare pithas during the Bihus late into the nights.

“I grew up watching her making pithas but never really tried my hand thinking that it will be as easy as it looks,” Choudhury says.

Others like Suimi Baruah, a housewife, has no regrets.

“I can buy it. Why take all the hassle?”

However, across rural Assam, Bihu is when the rhythmic dhengklush-dhengklush sound of the dheki — the traditional grinder — breaks the stillness of the night, and mixes with the beats of dhol to create a surreal atmosphere.

“I simply cannot forget those days of my childhood when I would stay awake till midnight accompanying my mother and sister when they ground the rice to make pithas. There will also be the sound of dhol and pepa as the youths would gather at one place and rehearse for the coming days,” recollects Tridip Hatimuria, an IT professional hailing from Lahowal in Dibrugarh and now based in Miami, US.

In his early fifties, Hatimuria confided through an e-mail that he was surprised to see the “urbanisation of Bihu when I visited Guwahati in April last year. Even the kopou phool was sold at NEDFi Haat.”

The kopou phool — the Assamese name for the foxtail orchid — is an inseparable item for the female Bihu dancers (nasonis) who would not be seen without one in their bun.

But then, kopou phool is a rare commodity in the concrete jungle. So dancers who take to the modern Bihu stage in urban centres have the perfect alternative — kopou phools made of paper that look just like the original.

After all, Bihu now is a visual treat.

As the long, curly-haired singer “rocks” on stage at a Bihu function and strobe lights create a disco-like atmosphere, the youngsters in the crowd — with tattoos on their perfectly toned biceps — hold up their hands, their forefingers and little-fingers pointing upwards in the classic sign of the devil’s horn.

In their language, Bihu is “cool maan”.