In The Festive Spirit Of Belonging

I have not lived in Delhi NCR for quite some time now. I have barely even stepped foot in the area. However, as the days grow shorter and the air turns crisp, a familiar haze settles over Delhi - the smog has returned, enveloping the city in its choking embrace. As much as it is a deadly public health crisis that happens every year, it is also a subtle reminder of the nicer, more beautiful things to be witnessed in the coming weeks. The smog signals that winter is coming, and with it, the flurry of festivals that colour these dreary months.

It is almost whimsical for me to imagine this, and I cannot make others imagine what I can visualize or feel. But I can smell the fresh jasmine flowers being plucked and strung into a gajra. I can hear the tinsels and charms from earrings, bracelets, and anklets in the way the human body moves and automatically falls into the rhythm of the dhols and shenais. My mouth waters at the mere thought of stuffing myself with the hot, straight-out-of-the-oil puris.

 

I'm probably letting my imagination run way faster than I could keep up with. While my own festive fever burns brightly, I can't help but notice the contagious holiday spirit spreading across the populace. The Pink City, despite its name, has become an open exhibition of colours, sounds, and lights beaming throughout the city. The bazaars and galis are decked out for the season - sarees and lehengas shimmering with delicate mirror work catch my eye as I weave through the crowded lanes. Tiny mirrors stitched into the clothes wink at me, like little festive guides lighting the way amidst the hustle and bustle. When I peer into the small mirrors adorning the fabrics, I don't just see my reflection looking back - I see the alley itself reflected, strung up with fairy lights, overflowing with laughter and cheer.

Oh, how I've missed the controlled chaos that erupts as the season's first festival nears. The realization that we must make multiple trips to the market to stock up on decorations, ingredients, and new clothes. Frantically searching for a tailor as we discover our old festive wear no longer fits after the year's growth spurts and waistline expansions. Finding a tailor last minute who, opportunistic as a festive-season Uber, quotes us a higher price, aware we haven't the time to haggle if we want our outfits ready for the big day.

 

Of course, in the festive season, any trip to the market is incomplete without becoming a full-body workout session. All that walking around gets your daily amount of steps in. You get legs and arms day in the same day because of all the lifting and carrying of the shopping bags with sweets, gifts, clothes, and more.

 

Now that COVID, too, has become something of the past, and social distancing norms have ceased to exist, the crowds, the chaos, the hustling, and the bustling that come with the festive season are all back. Well, actually, I could do with fewer crowds around me. That is definitely one thing I am not very keen on this or any festive season.

 

As the festive season approaches, all I hope is to make up for the lost time in the UK. I was in the UK for almost two years. Despite being surrounded by a robust South Asian – Indian diasporic community all around me, something was always lacking, especially when it came to this time of the year. Our celebrations were scheduled for the nearest weekends and preferably on days when there were minimum tube and train strikes. I would often not be aware of events that were happening such as garba nights and only came to know about them once they had passed. There were entry tickets for all such events, and as a student, it was not always viable or feasible.

When I went to the UK, COVID was still ongoing so my college or the student accommodation could not risk planning huge-scale events. By the second year, I had found some sort of footing there and even hosted a huge Diwali party at our house along with my flatmates. It did not go as planned, for me at least. I missed home terribly, especially the dancing, the food, the gifts, and to some extent interaction with the crowds.

And so here I stand, on the cusp of a new festive season. The familiar smog ushers in the celebrations, conjuring memories of chaotic preparation, glittering bazaars, weary muscles, and childlike glee. My years abroad have only amplified that bone-deep longing for the distinctly Indian brand of festive magic - the vivid colours, aromatic feasts, raucous music, and teeming crowds.

I have missed this, missed it more than words can encapsulate. Missed being part of a community brought together by the threads of tradition, celebration, and love. This year, I revel in shedding the detached observation of an outsider looking in. Once again, I plunge joyfully into the heart of chaos, the heat of crowds, the dizzying rush of festival mania.

Wherever the coming days take me, whatever fortunes and trials cross my path, I know this - I have reclaimed my place in the nurturing embrace of festivities past and present. Like the glittering mirrors adorning the market stalls, my heart reflects the soul of this community and season. Once more, I am home.