Lately I had a virtual celebration of the festival of Raksha Bandhan (celebration of the love of a brother for his sister) for my daughter. As I celebrated, I felt that age old sickness.
No quarantine can ever cure this because I often get these inevitable pangs of nostalgia. Be it the festival time or relative visits at my home in India, my brain catapults me into 90s.
The list is longer when you are a 90s kid because no one can beat the things being missed. Sadly, this pandemic has taken a lot from us but “some things never change.”
Life can throw a curveball; it is our unwavering spirit that keeps us going
I stress on the festive spirit and the social connections. Weren’t we all sneakily looking for these during the lockdown? On time we found the Zoom app and religiously followed it to build our strong social support networks.
We are following social distancing, but we are still social beings because we all know how difficult it is to plough a lone furrow.
Festivals are all about that spirit, stepping aside of our mundane routines, strengthening the bonds, and reviving those relations, even if virtual.
That day as I feasted my eyes on the special delicacies made by my mom and had reminiscences of my childhood, my daughter sat in front of the screen all dressed up ready to show her handmade rakhi (extraordinary times call for extraordinary gestures) to my nephew. They both giggled and fancied the whole idea enacting their roles.
Apparently, our happiness hormones are released more on festivals than any other time of the year. May be this is the new normal, I thought, when our own life and family has taken the spotlight and our neighbours took a back seat.
Down the memory lane
Fourteen years, in Dubai, I am still clinging to those days of yore. But when I read scientific evidences prove nostalgia is good and it has incredible powers, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I still crave for those carefree days when I would visit my cousins in Meerut, a small city in India, for celebrating festivals.
Little did I know, I would find myself searching for that city of chaotic sights, buzzing streets and crowded alleyways, that once left me exasperated (after all Delhiites are quite notorious for being big-time snobs). Long waits got over when it was time for Raksha Bandhan, and everyone started gearing up.
Everything was meticulously planned from dresses to gifts to selecting the best rakhis. Invitation calls from cousins sounded more like a threatening call. You better come or suffer the consequences.
If only I knew that twenty-five years down the lane I would be writing about those days as the best days of my life. Time when only being with cousins was enough than publicising those moments on Facebook or posting selfie stories with those #hashtags.
I vividly remember the drive to Meerut with those bumpy roads and air quality such that your lungs were almost warning you to better let them rest in peace. Relishing the famous street chaat on the way. Disregarding all health and hygiene measures which has become more important than ever in corona times.
Shutting my eyes to all this I could only feel the excitement building up inside me to meet everyone. As we got down from our Hyundai Santro, I recall the mysterious faces of those neighbours staring at us for acting like a rowdy bunch celebrating miraculous victory.
I gazed at the guava tree in the garden standing tall with its luscious fruits and story of my Humpty Dumpty great fall while plucking those pink guavas.
There is a myth that you are the lucky one if you get hold of that pink guava as it is eaten by a parrot. How true is that is still a mystery, but my belief is still unshaken.
Life can throw a curveball; it is our unwavering spirit that keeps us going.
Reema Ahuja is a freelance writer and an educator based in Dubai
