One Celebration

I woke up tangled in my blanket, pillow half on the floor, and the faint smell of something sweet and delicious gliding through the house. My phone buzzed with “Eid Mubarak” messages, while my sister sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, already scrolling through her own.

“Get up, get up,” my sister whispered, nudging me from the side of the bed. “It smells like something’s really cooking today.”

I yawned. she grinned, tossing me a hair tie. “Come on. It’s a proper celebration in the kitchen.”

And it really was.

The house was alive. Utensils clanked, languages overlapped, and something festive was definitely bubbling on the stove. Ma was in the kitchen, dupatta flung over one shoulder like a superhero cape, speaking in rapid Telugu while passing a bowl of bright mango pickle to our neighbor through the side door.

“Try this!” she said with a smile. “Fresh batch for Ugadi!”

The aroma was sunshine and spice in a bowl.

“That’s the pickle, right?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“It’s not just pickle baba,” Ma replied, still stirring something with superhero-level focus. “It’s Gudi Padwa too, you know,” dad added proudly

"what is this?" I asked, pointing at a plate of something golden and crispy.

"Ah, that’s puran poli," Dad grinned. "It’s a must for Gudi Padwa, Maharashtrian New Year. We make it with jaggery and lentils-"

"And a lot of ghee," Mom added, shaking her head.

In the midst of it all, my sister was caught, cramming a spoonful of jaggery into her mouth. 

“I saw that!” Ma called without even turning.

We laughed, because of course she did.

While the smells grew richer and the home busier, our parents began preparing for our Navratri rituals too. Appa lit the incense while Ma arranged the tiny lamps on a thali. Between the spicy, the sweet, the crispy, the sticky and all the languages flying through the house it was like every part of us had gathered in together for our Navratri aarti, clapping in rhythm to the chants with tiny lamps flickered like stars around the room. The smell of ghee from the puran poli, the tang of pickle, the gentle hum of prayers all of it filled the house with something that felt bigger than any single festival.

And as the sky deepened into twilight, we stepped outside to look for the Eid moon The sky had just the right kind of stillness, like it knew something special was happening and we spotted it, a gentle sliver above the buildings.

the crisp crescent that everyone had been waiting for all month. It sat there, glowing, floating in a calm blue sky just a shade above evening.

And I thought of home, just a few floors below with diyas flickering, chants echoing quietly, colors of red and more with all the 3 festivities celebrated. And up here the twilight colors and that shy silver moon watching over us all. The contrast but the complimentary moment made me smile and as an artist, something about it just… melted me.

I looked over at Ma and Appa so different in where they came from, what they cooked, how they prayed, but standing side by side. Celebrating each other. Admiring the rituals, the flavors, the unique beauty of it all. Their open love for Eid, their joy for Ugadi, their pride in Gudi Padwa and Navratri, it all came together so naturally.

“You know,” I said softly, “we’re all celebrating different festivals tonight… but somehow it all feels the same. Like we’re just calling joy by different names.”

Appa nodded. “Different routes,” he said, eyes on the moon. “Same celebration. Same joy.”

Ma smiled. “We’ve always wanted you and your sister to grow up knowing this. You can carry all of it. Celebrate all of it. Love all of it.”

And that day, under the soft moonlight and the color of prayer, our phones buzzing with messages, our plates unique with food, and our hearts a little fuller than usual, I realized something important.

The world can feel so scattered sometimes but on days like this, I see how connected it all really is. Maybe we just need to shift our lens a little and see that its messy, mixed and layered  but most of all magical and together as one.

I smiled my way through the whole day, grateful for this beautiful mix I get to call home.

- Monisha Vyas

Let me know what'd u think :-)

Until the next one, take care!