We didn’t own the season https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margazhi . It owned us. Every note, every footstep, every jasmine petal that fell—we collected them without realizing. Now, years later, I try to name the pieces, but some things refuse names. So, welcome to “We Had No Idea It Was Rare : We Were Just Puddles On The Floor”.

Some seasons arrive unannounced, settling on your shoulder like a cherished weight, infused with the scent of dust, ragas, and the intoxicating fragrance of jasmine. We never asked for their presence, nor did we take note of their subtle arrival. Yet now, I find myself pondering: could anyone dare to call it mere luck, or is it a profound fortune to capture such moments in words?

To know the deets of youthful keepsake the one I treasure till my last breath, click on Youthful Keepsake : A Sentimental Connection – Wander, Feast & Thrive

We Were Just Puddles On The Floor : We Had No Idea It Was Rare

We were fortunate to live in a neighborhood where everything unfolded beautifully during our youth. Those golden mornings are forever engraved in my memory. Just before Margazhi, a thrilling ritual would occur as someone secured a speaker to a stand on the power line across from our home, near the majestic Lord Ganesh Temple.

By 4 a.m., the songs and slokas would start, echoing across the street, sung by voices that belonged to famous singers, Thirupavai among them. They switched on the music from a room inside the wedding hall across from our house. We never needed an alarm. That music became the alarm, and we resented it sometimes, but it was a blessing.

Early in the morning, as people arrived fully dressed for pooja, a sense of community enveloped us. The aroma of Ven Pongal being served as prasadam filled the air, and we couldn’t help but dream of ways to savor those extra helpings. Together, we would strategize our mornings, hoping to collect more of that delightful dish, cherishing every moment of sweetness that brought us closer.

The priests greeted us with heartfelt nods, their familiarity bringing a sense of belonging to our street. As mid-morning unfolded, the temple blossomed with the presence of cherished figures who delivered uplifting lectures, beautifully sharing the story of Andal and gently reminding all of us about the profound importance of Margazhi.

Pooja was performed with deep reverence, and prasadam was lovingly distributed to everyone present, fostering a sense of community and belonging. As evening approached, colorful stages came alive, and delicious spreads were lovingly arranged for all to enjoy, filling the air with a warm anticipation for the enchanting moments that were about to unfold.

Carnatic Musicians Would Come Straight To Our Street : We Were Just Puddles On The Floor

Carnatic musicians would come straight to our street. We didn’t buy tickets, we didn’t fight for seats. We just walked in, small notebooks in hand, knowing that autographs were waiting. Some singers or instrumentalists even came to our house for evening tiffin if we invited them. Flute N Ramani ate at our table once, and others came before and after.

It was a beautiful kind of magic, one we cherished without realizing how rare it truly was. The music resonated through the walls, the floors, and filled the air with warmth. Pongal felt even sweeter, as it unfolded after those cherished mornings, and Kanu Pongal brought the joy of heading to the temple farm with our dear neighbor kids, where we placed heartfelt offerings and joined together in the pooja.

Everything felt vibrant and intimately ours, unburdened by plans or crowds. The ragas enveloped us like a tender embrace, leaving traces of their essence in puddles and shadows, in the quiet spaces between words. Some seasons arrive like this—unexpected yet filling our hearts with awe and a deep sense of connection.

So, when I think about it, things just aren’t the same around here anymore. Mornings are pretty chill, poojas barely happen, and the streets are just… normal. But those memories? They stick with me—the Mantapam, the singers, the sounds, the smells, the prasadam, those puddles, the ragas—they’re all still a part of me. It was a time that just showed up, and we were young enough to really soak it all in without even realizing how lucky we were.