Festive chill in air back with nostalgic embrace

Life’s varied hues, playing hide and seek; now bright, now dull; now azure, now grey; reflect an entire spectrum of human emotions, like the mesmerising, ever-shifting patterns of a kaleidoscope.

But no matter how many curveballs life throws our way, nothing can stop the silver lining from making a space for itself through the thick, dark clouds. We human beings have this innate ability to open the window of nostalgia and let the warm sunshine of memories flood in to warm the cockles of our hearts.

As the festive season comes knocking, I’m donning my nostalgia cap, ready to traverse the times and spaces I left behind in the rear-view mirror of life.

The first memory that comes to mind is that of watching Ram-Leela till midnight on the neighbouring grounds, and then re-enacting each episode in the classroom with friends during recess the next day.

But the pinnacle of these festivities was the eighth Navratra, the glorious Ashtami, a day when we girls were treated like royalty. Ashtami is a day-long celebration dedicated to the girl-child, marked by kanya or kanjak pooja when young girls are invited and treated as goddesses. Excitement and anxiety would keep us tossing and turning in our beds the previous night, peering out of the window for the earliest glimpse of dawn. Being late or missing out on even one invitation felt like a holy sin. Attired in our finest frocks, and ribbons in our plaits, we hopped from house to house with boundless enthusiasm. We came home only to leave the steel plates containing halwa-poori and chana as prasad, covered with a beautiful red chunni adorned with gota and kinari. The only thing we didn’t leave was the crisp red two-rupee notes collected from each house, as we could trust no one with our ‘hard-earned’ money. These notes remained clutched tight in the hand, with a mental calculation going on all the time.

It was an ineffable experience to see the uncles make us sit in a row and serve those delectable goodies. Amid the chants of ‘Jai Mata Di,’ they blessed us by placing their hands on our heads. But before that, the high spot was when the boys, with whom we usually fought like cats and dogs while playing, were asked to wash our feet! We watched with amused curiosity as they sulked and scowled while doing so.

By the end of the day, we would be in seventh heaven, not only for the special treatment that we had received, but also to find our pockets noticeably heavier.

That was the apex of festivity for us, a memory that has stayed etched in my heart forever. I can already sense the festive chill in the air, and it’s like a warm, nostalgic embrace.

The writer is a Patiala-based retired associate professor in English and can be reached at -njkaur1953@gmail.com