“Yes, beta. Today we thank Mother Earth for her abundance,” Daadi explained while arranging the completed laddoos on a plate. “All across India, people celebrate this harvest festival in their own special ways. In Tamil Nadu, they call it Pongal, where families gather to cook sweet rice in new clay pots until it overflows – symbolizing abundance. In Punjab, they celebrate as Lohri, lighting bonfires and singing folk songs. In Assam, it’s Magh Bihu, where communities come together for feasts and cultural events. In Karnataka, women exchange ‘Ellu Bella’ – a mixture of sesame seeds and jaggery with at least ten families. And here, we prepare special dishes like khichdi from the new grain. Each region has its own way, but they all share the same spirit – gratitude for nature’s bounty.”
“It’s a beautiful example of how our ancestors linked astronomical events with social customs and spiritual practices.” Daadi began arranging the completed laddoos on a plate. “The til and gur we use aren’t just delicious — they’re perfect winter foods. Sesame seeds generate heat in the body, and jaggery provides energy during the cold months.”
Just then, they heard the sound of children shouting “Kai po che!” – the victory cry of kite flyers. Tarkik rushed to the window to see a spectacular display of kites dotting the sky in various colors.
“Daadi, can we go up to the terrace to fly kites?” he asked eagerly.
“Of course, but first, help me with one more important tradition.” She handed him a small bag of til-gur laddoos. “We need to share these with at least ten families in our neighbourhood. Do you know why?”
Tarkik thought for a moment. “Is it like how Surya and Shani reconciled? To maintain good relationships with our neighbours?”
“Very good!” Daadi patted his shoulder proudly. “The saying goes ’til-gur ghya, god god bola’ – take these sweets and speak sweetly. It’s a reminder to let go of past differences and maintain harmony in our community.”
Before heading to the terrace, Daadi carefully arranged the puja items: fresh flowers, til, gur, new clothes, and a small pot of khichdi made from the latest harvest. She handed Tarkik a small copper lota filled with water.
“Would you like to help me with the morning puja?” she asked. “You’re old enough now to understand the meaning behind our traditions. Would you like to offer the arghya to Surya Dev?”
Tarkik nodded eagerly. Following his grandmother’s instructions, he faced the morning sun and carefully poured the water as an offering, chanting “Om Suryay Namah”, “Om Adityay namah”, “Om Bhaskaraye namah”, and then “Om Grihni Suryaya Namah” as she had taught him. The water sparkled like diamonds in the morning light as it fell from the lota.
“Remember,” Daadi said softly, “just as the sun nurtures all life without discrimination, we too should spread light and warmth in our community. The sun doesn’t withhold its rays from anyone, rich or poor, good or bad.”
