The preparations started with my Mama posting photos from the previous fair held 19 years ago and another one before that when I was in school. Vetting apetite of the people who had planned to visit and coxing others who were still on the fence. As the date drew closer, more stories were shared, plans were made. The 10 day fair was an opportunity to reconnect with my extended family, after a long absence of 12 years on my part. So I decided to stay for the entire duration, making sure I miss nobody who would visit even for a short duration.

I arrived the night before the beginning of the fair to see the procession and the first day festivities. The taxi left me half way in the bazar as the roads were blocked. The enthusiasm was overflowing, and it seemed like the entire town was in the street. I walked down the familiar road of our childhood. The Lakshmi temple, the cold-drink place where my mama once treated me with ginger soda, the Vithoba temple -our summer vacation stomping ground, surprised at the changed facades of the houses we knew so well, and then the comforting first glimpse of my grandparent’s front door and the house, unchanged. Eager hugs as I enter the house, giving each other a loving once over, barrage of questions, comments, offers of food, tea. A welcome assault on all senses after a long time away.

Everyday, new people arrive, and the story repeats. The minute you entere the main door, you are greeted with familiar aromas wafting out of the kitchen. As you make a beeline for the kitchen to investigate, you are interrupted by a story telling session going on in the outer room or a loud explosion of laughter in the inner room. The stories and jokes repeated over and over till every new entrant is caught up. Every rendition expressed with equal enthusiasm, and receives the same explosive laughter everytime.

Every newcomer makes a beeline for the Lakshmi ensconed in her temporary house. In the evening there is the fair to explore with cousins, their spouses I am meeting for the first time, nieces, and nephews. A walk around the town taking in our old childhood haunts while Mama tells stories about their childhood. My mother’s primary school, a temple deep inside a private estate. The walk ending at a tea stall to enjoy piping hot tea and some more stories. An evening walk with my parents and my aunts to see the new piers at the river. Another round of stories.

A trip to the market to get some more vegetables as mami plans khatkhata for the next meal. Khatkhata, a stew made of multiple vegetables is much more than just a meal. The preparations engages everybody. There is a rhythmic co-existance as each mavashi, mami, cousin picks up a vegetable to clean, cut and add to the pile. Peppered of cousre with some more stories.

The hugs, the laughter, the walks, the memories, the food making me whole after a long time of being without.