Navarathri Festival

This Navratri was not just a festival, it was divine grace dancing through our home in the form of two beautiful souls.

For nine blessed days, we celebrated my little kid as the living proof of the Goddess Durga herself. We had bought 9 new dresses for my kid in the sacred colors of Navratri, and each day, my daughter would transform into one of the avatars of the Devi Balambika before our eyes and her innocence will shine brighter than our Navaratri Golu decorations and serial lights.

The Golu came to life with my kid's presence and her innocent smile and giggles. How much my Vinayagar should have loved me to give me this wonderful daughter? All this lifetime is not sufficient for me to thank him for this grace. I am forever grateful to him.

My mother entrusted me with the sacred duty of cooking on these Navratri days, I was responsible for he Nivedhyam preparations, but she made sure I understood this, cooking during Navratri isn't just about food, it's about devotion. As a simple gesture, She taught me to wash my hands between dishes, to move mindfully from one preparation to the next.

In the rush of festival cooking, I would sometimes forget these little disciplines. That's when my little one would notice. She'd come close and whisper gently, "Papa, you forgot to wash your hands again."

I would smile at her observation skills and obediently go wash my hands before continuing. But sometimes when my mind was too scattered and I kept forgetting even after her reminders, those times, she would run straight to her grandmother and inform her that her Papa keeps forgetting the discipline. "Patti! Patti! Papa is not following the discipline properly!"

Then, My mother would arrive at the kitchen doorway, a small stick in her hand, her face mock-serious. "Show me your hand right now," she would command in her most stern voice.

Just as I extend my hand and she will raise the stick, my little daughter would rush between us like a tiny shield. "Patti, no no! Don't beat him! Please! He will follow the discipline from now onwards, I promise!" My mother would scoop her up, laughing, "I know you, Kanna. I was only playing. I know very well, you would not bear him getting hurt."

And we all dissolve into laughter that will fill our kitchen with more sweetness than any sweet dishes I could make.

Every morning before the Golu decorations, my mother and my daughter would sit together in their own world of devotion. My little one would climb into her Patti's lap, and together they'd recite the ancient prayers - Soundarya Lahari, Lalitha Sahasranamam, Devi Mahatmyam, and 108 Amman Potris.

After each potri, my daughter's small hands would carefully select a flower and place it in the thamboolam plate with such reverence. Watching her little fingers arrange flowers for the Goddess, I could see the true care and devotion flowing through her.

This year added another beautiful soul to our home, the neighbor boy, my little daughter's new friend. He visited our home every single day of Navratri. He would stand near the Golu, quietly helping my daughter with whatever she needed. They moved together like they had known each other for lifetimes.

I watched from the corner as they played, as they laughed, as they discovered the world together. He made sure her dress didn't trip her when she ran. He held her hand even when she was standing still. Whatever excited her, she'd immediately showed him and his eyes would light up with the same wonder.

They read comic books together, heads bent close over the pages. They helped each other with small tasks. They were two souls bubbling with innocence, and their presence filled our home as multi-folded divine grace, with their presence there was some special aura surrounding our home.

Every evening, the boy would come to me first, wrap his arms around me in a hug, and then run off to play with my daughter. In those brief moments, I felt my papa-heart expand to hold both these precious children.

After the Golu visitors had left and after their bhajans transformed into the bhajans of crickets, we all would gather for dinner in our veranda, the Golu lights still glowing softly behind us. My daughter would taste the food I had prepared, her eyes closing in appreciation. "Wow, Papa... tasty!" she would exclaim.

Then she would turn to her friend, offering him a bite. He would taste it thoughtfully and nod his head in agreement with her verdict, as if they were judges at a divine court which produced a verdict of my daily Nivedhyams.

I then would smile, my heart full, watching these two souls sharing not just food but trust, not just a meal but a moment.

As the evening deepened, the kids were tired after their daily chores. The boy would fall asleep on my shoulders, his small weight a blessing I would carry carefully. My daughter would drift off on my mother's shoulders, wrapped in her Patti's eternal love.

I would then take the sleeping boy home while my mother carried my little one to her room. But just before we reached the doorways—as if their souls couldn't bear even the temporary separation of sleep—they would both suddenly wake up.

And then the waving would begin. Hands raised, eyes still drowsy, smiling through their sleepiness at each other. Waving goodbye until the distance made them disappear from each other's sight but I know they stayed in each other's heart as they both fell asleep.

Standing there, watching these two pure souls reach for each other even in their drowsiness, I understood this, This is how loving souls are connected to each other.

Not by force or obligation. Not by convenience or circumstance. But by that invisible thread that makes them seek each other's presence even when consciousness fades, that makes them wave goodbye with such tender urgency, that makes this small separation for sleep feel like something they want to resist.

This Navratri, Lord Vinayagar blessed our home with a living demonstration of what sacred love looks like. In the laughter of children, in the protective care of young souls finding each other everywhere, the divine was playing.

My little daughter was worshipped as the Goddess. But through her, we all learned to see the divine in each other in the boy who protected her steps, in the grandmother who protected us all with her wisdom, in the shared meals and shared prayers and shared moments of pure, innocent joy.

Nine days of celebrating the Goddess taught me that She doesn't just reside in decorated Golu displays. She lives in the way we care for each other, in the way young souls recognize and protect each other, in the way love flows through generations like the prayers my mother taught my daughter.

This was Navratri as it was meant to be not just a festival to observe, but a divine play to participate in, to witness, to be transformed by.

And my papa-heart overflows with gratitude for every blessed moment.

As I close my eyes tonight, I can still see them - two small hands waving through the twilight, two hearts already knowing what takes most of us a lifetime to learn: that love is simply recognizing the divine in another soul, and never wanting to let it out of sight.

May the Goddess who played in our home during these nine sacred days continue to bless these two beautiful souls as they walk through life together, hand in hand, hearts connected by that invisible thread of divine love.