Conversations.

Presently, my house has about sixteen people scurrying up and down the house carrying plates of fruits, vermilion, sweets, vegetables, mirrors, holy threads and an agglomeration of pretty red and yellow things. The ground floor has a flirtatious aroma of mouth watering aaloo puri, while the elders laugh loudly making the tiny kids flee around the house from one place to another.
And no, there's no wedding in the house. This is just how my darling Bong family celebrates Lakshmi Puja. And this is exactly why, I absolutely love all these sixteen people who're taking turns in yelling my name out with not-so-polite tones for me to ditch this bunch of cyber garbage and go and participate.

My eldest uncle has been priding over the alpana (some thing you make with rice paste) I helped to make. He's been rewarding me with tiny toffees while my mother has been stuffing coconut sweets into my mouth for no apparent reason. My father is patting (punching) me on the back and bellowing with unnecessary happiness about how nice the red hideous kurta looks on me, and my tiny niece is having the time of my life sneezing and laughing at the same time on the apparently witty ways my elder brothers seem to have adapted to make the world realize how hilarious they are. (Talk to the hand,I said.)

And everybody is just randomly screaming and jumping around from place to place, stuffing on sweets and lovingly cursing the weather. The house feels breathing (sneezing) and alive.

Which is why, when you're in a terrible blue and unsure about the world under your feet, all you need is a darling of a crazy Bengali family laughing even when jokes aren't cracked, and pulling on your cheeks like you're the newborn of the house even though you're seventeen.

Rolling my eyes with a wiiiide grin,
Nil :-)