It was a Sunday morning, but not the lazy morning that Riya would’ve liked. She was frantically preparing for the day ahead. The energy in the kitchen was palpable. As was the enthusiasm of the tiny bobbing dots which had started crowding the sky outside. Big and small, tailed or winged, kites in multitudes of colours were as ubiquitous as the clouds in the sky. It was Uttarayan. Her favourite time of the year. As an unspoken agreement with their friends, Uttarayan was always celebrated on Riya’s terrace. No invitations needed. So, she was busy piling up supplies of snacks and drinks for the extravaganza that lay ahead. As a girl, born and brought up in Maharashtra, Makar Sankrant/Uttarayan was always about Tilgul, the small, sugary balls made of sesame and jaggery, which used to exchange hands from morning till night. It was a day to roam around the neighbourhood, collecting sweetmeats and then eating the day’s loot to your heart’s content.
But once she came to Gujarat, the festival took up a whole new meaning. The differences in culture in these neighboring states was so stark. There was no sign of tilgul. It was as if it never existed. Chikki ruled the palates here. The day was more of a celebration, of merry making for kids and adults alike. And the highlight of the day was the kite-flying. Kite-flying like she’d never seen before.
Initially, she wondered, ‘What’s so special about kite flying?’ It’s no rocket science! But soon she realized it’s an art. From selecting the right ‘Patang’, making sure you have the strongest ‘Manjha’, tying the ‘Kanna’ correctly, to balancing a kite hundreds of meters away on a nearly invisible thread, with just enough ‘thumkas’, it’s nothing short of an art.
Over the years, this became the day she looked forward to the most! Not just for the fun of flying kites , but also for the festive, positive vibe it brought along. For all the happy faces it brought along. And that’s why she was particularly uneasy today. This was probably their last Uttarayan in this house. They were planning to shift to a new place. She could not help but feel a lump in her throat. She’d already started feeling lonely.
She was snapped back to the present by a tug at her shirt. She saw her younger child waiting for her. Her friends had started trickling in. It was time to prep her young warriors. Adhesive tape on the fingers to protect from manjha cuts, sunscreen over the face, caps and sunglasses on, and they were ready. The sky was getting crowded with kites and laughter and hope. While ‘Kai po che’ were the only sensible words to be heard that evening.
Amidst the ruckus, Riya was trying to drown her thoughts. Gazing toward the faraway kite she thought, “The mind is so similar to a kite. In turbulence, the more we try to control it, the more it swirls around. But we let it loose and it finds its own direction.” As she looked around at familiar faces and warm smiles, she knew some things won’t change. The place may change, but the laughter, and the kites, and the hands holding them won’t. She felt the lump in her throat vanishing.
Strange, how a kite can teach you life lessons!
