English Literature – Articles ☆ 🌼The Fragrance of Onam and a House Full of Memories ☆ Shri Jagat Singh Bisht ☆

Some friendships are not bound by distance; they live on in the warmth of memories. ❤️

Onam brings a strange, deep nostalgia to me.

There is the usual nostalgia that we summon on every festival—the “those were the days” kind. But this is something deeper. It spreads far beyond a few memories. It carries within it layers of feelings, emotions, friendships and moments that have quietly travelled with me through the years.

I see an old-fashioned house.

Wooden grills at the entrance. British-era roof tiles. A stone floor, with modest, hard stone tiles. Nothing grand, nothing ostentatious—but the house had something far more precious: warmth.

It was the home of my childhood friend, Mukundan.

We studied together from kindergarten right through to university. His little sister, Maa and Achchan made up the family. And somewhere along the way, I ceased to be merely a friend who came visiting. I became a familiar presence in that home—someone who belonged there. 🏡❤️

And then there was Onam.

Onam day transformed that simple house.

It was decorated almost like a temple. The family dressed in the traditional attire of Kerala. There was a sense of cheerful busyness everywhere, with a steady stream of guests arriving throughout the day.

And I was usually there too—quietly sitting on a chair in some corner, watching it all unfold.

A home witness, perhaps. 😊

I watched Onam come and go year after year—from our childhood to adolescence, from youth to adulthood, and even into our middle years.

And then came the Sadya. 🍃

Served on a banana leaf, it was a feast of colours, aromas and flavours. I loved every bit of it. But I had a particular weakness for the sweet dish—payasam.

Maa knew that.

So, with the affection that only a mother can bestow, she would serve me a second helping.

And then, quite often, a third.

This was not a one-off indulgence. It happened year after year, for countless Onams.

Looking back, I realise that what she was serving me was not merely payasam.

She was serving affection.

And some flavours, once infused with love, never leave you. ❤️

How swiftly good times fly!

The children we once were have grown into senior citizens, with greying hair and a lifetime of stories behind us.

So much has changed.

Yet, remarkably, our fondness for each other has not.

Mukundan has now moved back to his native Kerala—God’s Own Country—and this Onam he will be enjoying his Sadya with his family there.

And I shall be having mine here in Indore, at the good old Indian Coffee House, a place with its own Kerala connection. 🍃🥥

Geographically, we are far apart.

But I suspect that distance will count for very little today.

There, the banana leaf will carry the fragrance of Sadya.

Here, the same fragrance will arrive through memory.

There will be the bustle of family and friends.

Here, there will perhaps be a quiet smile as an old friendship comes alive in the mind.

And perhaps, at some point, when both of us taste that familiar sweetness, we will be transported to the same old house once again.

The house with wooden grills.

The British-era tiled roof.

The stone floor.

The little sister.

Maa and Achchan.

The stream of Onam visitors.

And somewhere in a corner, a young boy sitting quietly on a chair, waiting for Maa to give him just one more helping of payasam. 😊❤️

Years have passed. Lives have changed. Distances have grown.

But some friendships refuse to grow old.

They simply become more precious with time.

This Onam, Mukundan and I may be celebrating far apart, but perhaps our hearts will beat to the same old rhythm—and feel the same warmth we once felt when the fragrance of our childhood Sadya filled that beloved home.

🌼 Happy Onam, Mukundan.

Some festivals arrive on the calendar.

Some arrive straight in the heart. ❤️

• Jagat 🥰