In India, it is always time to celebrate some festival or the other. That makes a child’s life one constant high — and as children we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

As soon as a friend from one corner of the country was done with celebrating in her unique style, it would be time for a festival that was special to another friend from another part of the country or another community.

Thus, we started the year with a bonfire with our Punjabi friends, we went on to another bonfire and a lot of splashing of colour, we celebrated Tamil New Year and Telugu New Year by experimenting with kolam and muggulu (rice powder designs) on the floor, we tried to learn how to wear a half-sari like our Kerala friends at Onam — and in the process, we learnt something about the different customs and the different costumes of the country.

At Diwali time, as a matter of course, all of us would be lined up in each house on our beat, including our own, and we would roll out cotton wicks and place them lovingly in clay diyas (lamps) and when they were lit, we would loudly claim ownership of the longest lasting ones ... Not for us today’s easy-to-place and easy-to-discard tea lights or their equivalent.

We would also participate in sweet making — though, more often than not, that participation was more of a hindrance than a help to our friends’ families since we would put our sticky little fingers into whatever was being prepared and then run off to enjoy those special treats in our special hiding places.

Sometimes, we would get lucky and get something new to wear for the big day: Like if a particularly close friend was getting a new outfit and we were almost part of her family, we would be lined up in front of the tailor-master for measurements and when that extra length of cloth had been cut and sewed, we would strut around together pretending we were twins. Or we would accompany our friend to the shops and actually choose the material we wanted.

Food, clothes, activities — everything connected with those many, many festivals of our childhood was about being together.

Naturally, this led to clashes too — and the ‘festive’ spirit was often completely ignored as we argued and fought and tussled over inconsequentials; but I can’t recall any of those fights being serious enough to lose a friend. We were back together before the day was up. Why would we give up on all the fun to come by sticking to our guns on whatever issue we didn’t see eye-to-eye on?

There was so much more enjoyment to be had together ... and this continued through our teen years and into adulthood.

Now, however, festivals have a different meaning for us and it is more about acquiring than about sharing. All through the year, we are bombarded by festival ‘discounts’ on all manner of material goods. Our newspapers get bulkier as advertisements cover the front pages, the back pages, most of the pages in between and dozens of flyers are stuffed in as well. Willy nilly, our eyes fall on those brightly emblazoned ‘offers’ — most of them available online.

And thus, each one of us goes off to his or her individual portal — whether on a desktop or laptop or phone — and we browse on our own, we order on our own, we don’t need to go out together and actually touch or taste what we plan to buy.

Yet, even as I look back with nostalgia at the prolonged togetherness of the old days, I wonder whether today’s solitary decisions and individual online forays serve to make us more appreciative of the moments when we finally get together to celebrate.

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.