The house I grew up in was near a temple on a hill. We woke up in the morning to the sound of bells and were often kept up all night with jaagrans. I was fascinated by the temple and its goings-on. It was a daily ritual to go to the temple with the nanny, heads covered with gaudy red and gold gota chunnis, thalis in hand decorated with flowers. We would get our foreheads plastered with red tikas and ask for double helpings of prasad. All gods had their special days and their own prasad. Monday was Shivji with white sugar patasa, Tuesday was Hanumanji with orange, sticky, sweet boondi full of ghee, Thursday was Vishnu with melt-in-the-mouth besan laddoos, and Friday was gur channa from Santoshi ma.
This was guilt-free eating since prasad was a divine blessing and did not have calories. True or not, I was an ardent believer. I ate religiously with devout fervor. I was being blessed by the lord himself. And no cycling was required to earn these sweet treats
( Note : This is women personal opinion )