I woke up this morning and was disoriented for a bit with the extreme silence around me. I then realize the ten day feast at my church down the road has drawn to an end yesterday.
Every August, my church celebrates this grand and colourful feast. Since I live four doors from this church, I can hear the festive singing like the choir was in my living room. For ten days prayers and hymns are offered throughout the day. On the other 355 days of the year, my road is one of the sleepiest in the city. But during the feast, the whole road is lit up with fairy lights and hundred of stalls selling everything from egg bhajis to glass bangles pop up.
Ever since I moved out of my hometown for studies and work, I have not had a chance to experience the whole ten days. This time around, I was surprised when i realized I missed these festivities. Every day on my way back from the evening prayers, I browse through the stalls. Though I have no intention of buying pink plastic guns or glittery purple bangles, the riot of colors is fun to watch. I was amused to note that this year's hot selling item were neon lit horns that every other person from grown men to little girls had perched on their heads.
Apart from the fun and festivities it amazes me how some of the traditions associated with this feast have been carried for more than a hundred years. Simple things like this about my town never cease to amaze me.
I was super excited to be experiencing all this after a long long time and decided to enthrall my sister on the phone. As I rattled on, she dryly replied that I sounded like a wannabe booker prize writer. Ah well I am going to pretend she meant it as a compliment.
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