{"id":4006,"date":"2016-07-21T16:22:32","date_gmt":"2016-07-21T10:52:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4006"},"modified":"2016-07-21T16:22:32","modified_gmt":"2016-07-21T10:52:32","slug":"gujarat-ahmedabad-uttarayan-kites","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=4006","title":{"rendered":"How to Fake It, If You Can\u2019t Fly It: A Cheat Sheet to Makar Sankranti"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

C<\/span><\/p><\/div>

\n\nelebration has so many facets, so many different practices, that it is easy to get lost sometimes. But I also think that\u2019s the innate beauty of festivals; it has something to offer to every single person. In <\/span>Ahmedabad<\/span><\/a>, from where I come, there are too many festivals and colours to lose yourself to. <\/span>\n\nYet Uttarayan binds almost all of us. <\/span>\n\nWe kickstart the year with \u201cKai po che\u201d being yelled across terraces. No one is immune to not offering their \u201cpatang kaat\u201d nemesis from saamnewaali building a reminder that this time victory is coming <\/span>home<\/span><\/a>. A week before the actual festivities, the city is covered with colourful kites, hanging by electricity poles across the city.<\/span>\n\nWindy afternoons and multiple attempts to fly a kite defined my childhood. Years later, I still can\u2019t fly one, but I have chosen to accept my fate. My relationship with Uttarayan or Makar Sankranti, is like that of a <\/span>sibling<\/span><\/a>. There\u2019s a lot of cribbing, but at the end of the day, I\u2019ve come to love it as my own. The undhiyu and fly AF sunglasses are a bonus.<\/span>\n\nThe anticipation for this festival, which is more like an event in my city, is felt by the third week of December itself. You\u2019d see little children run after kites to catch them while donning a <\/span>Santa<\/span><\/a> hat. Just like the merriment of Christmas organically blends in with the spirit of Sankranti, our businesses also witness a swift transition. Kiosks that are selling diyas during Diwali move on to \u201cjingle bells\u201d for Christmas before settling on white finger tapes and maanjha for Uttarayan. \u00a0<\/span>\n\nSince I was a child, Uttarayan heralded an excursion to our Nani’s house. With the naivete of <\/span>childhood<\/span><\/a>, my brother and I\u2019d decide to go to the old city just a day prior to the D-Day and then take our own sweet time to pick out a kite, even though they more or less looked the same.<\/span>\n\n

My relationship with Uttarayan, is like that of a sibling.<\/p><\/blockquote> \n\nThe following day, after Maa\u2019s shrill wake-up call, we\u2019d dress in whatever she thought was appropriate \u2013 choice is an illusion, especially when it\u2019s given by your mother \u2013 and head out to seize the day. True to <\/span>stereotype<\/span><\/a> about Gujarati households, my extended maternal family would set the table for lunch at 12 pm. I vividly remember life coursing through my lethargic sleepy self when the smells began to waft through the house: \u00a0freshly fried puris, coriander-garnished undhiyu, mari khaman, basundi, and five other types of pakwans that I never got around to eating. The variety in our food spread is matched in equal measure by the bevy of personalities you get to meet during Uttarayan.<\/span>\n\nThere are people like my mama, who will start buying kites in hundreds almost two months in advance. Such kite fanatics don\u2019t just direct all their efforts to buy the right kite, but also to hijack everyone\u2019s kites. \u201cAhiya aap, hu chagaai aapu\u201d (Give me the kite, I\u2019ll fly it for you) is their catchphrase and the victims are poor <\/span>children<\/span><\/a> like me, who never end up learning how to fly. I remember this one time, he missed lunch and evening tea, because \u201cjordaar pawan hatu\u201d (it was amazingly windy).<\/span>\n\nAnd on the other spectrum are pseudo enthusiasts who can\u2019t fly a kite, but won\u2019t allow their lack of talent to stop them from clicking sunkissed pictures for the \u2019gram. And your honour, I am guilty. Every attempt at flying a kite for me has been underscored by a cut, bleeding finger. But does that mean I don\u2019t deserve cute pictures that I can show my kids? I think not. So after stuffing my face, doing <\/span>baraat dance<\/span><\/a> to the latest Bollywood earworm, complaining about dhoop (sorry, Jaadu, I swiftly move to the podium of glory when the lighting is just right). By now, the script is familiar to me: I\u2019ll get rejected multiple times, but will finally manage to convince someone to give me their kite to pose with. Hello, fresh memories!<\/span>\n\nIt is the first time in 22 years that I am not home for Uttarayan; when I am not taking in the crisp winter breeze or binge-eating my way through farsaan. The first time that I haven\u2019t gotten into a fight with my mother because I wanted to spend Uttarayan with my friends instead. And also the first time I am not going to witness my city draped in colours or be left spellbound by the night sky full of lamp kites. <\/span>\n\nA part of me is trying to convince myself that I wasn\u2019t a huge fan of the festival anyway. On the other hand, a part of me is filled with <\/span>nostalgia<\/span><\/a> and homesickness because it isn\u2019t just a festival, but a feeling of being home. I miss belonging. Things might have changed over the years, but the ritual of going to nani\u2019s became just this thread from my childhood I ache to tug this time. Can you hear <\/span>adulting<\/span><\/a> screaming \u201cKai po che?\u201d<\/span>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My relationship with Uttarayan or Makar Sankranti, is like that of a sibling. There\u2019s a lot of cribbing, but at the end of the day, I\u2019ve come to love it as my own. Windy afternoons and multiple attempts to fly a kite defined my childhood. Years later, I still can\u2019t fly one, but I have chosen to accept my fate.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":318,"featured_media":4007,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[107],"tags":[3657,1225,5318,238,19,7340,2812],"class_list":["post-4006","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-pov","tag-celebration","tag-childhood","tag-festival","tag-gujarat","tag-india","tag-uttarayan","tag-winter"],"yoast_head":"\nHow to Fake It, If You Can\u2019t Fly It: A Cheat Sheet to Makar Sankranti<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"My relationship with Uttarayan or Makar Sankranti, is like that of a sibling. There\u2019s a lot of cribbing, but at the end of the day, I\u2019ve come to love it as my own. Windy afternoons and multiple attempts to fly a kite defined my childhood. Years later, I still can\u2019t fly one, but I have chosen to accept my fate.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4006\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"How to Fake It, If You Can\u2019t Fly It: A Cheat Sheet to Makar Sankranti\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"My relationship with Uttarayan or Makar Sankranti, is like that of a sibling. There\u2019s a lot of cribbing, but at the end of the day, I\u2019ve come to love it as my own. Windy afternoons and multiple attempts to fly a kite defined my childhood. 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