The crisp chill of January always takes me back to my childhood, to those magical evenings around the Lohri bonfire. Born into a Sikh family, I grew up celebrating this beautiful festival with a sense of joy that only tradition can bring. Back then, Lohri wasn’t just an event; it was an emotion—a celebration that brought our family, neighbors, and community together in a way that felt so special, so authentic.
I remember my grandfather lighting the bonfire as we gathered around, bundled in woolens, the smoky warmth filling the air. The flames danced as if echoing the laughter of the children running around. We’d toss sesame seeds, jaggery, and peanuts into the fire, each act a silent prayer of gratitude. The elders would sing Sundar Mundariye, their voices rich with pride and nostalgia, and I’d join in, though my little voice barely kept up with the rhythm.
Lohri was never just about the rituals; it was a time for stories—stories about our ancestors, the land we came from, and the traditions that defined us. My parents would recount tales of how Lohri was celebrated in their village, where the entire community would come together under the starlit sky. It was their way of keeping us connected to our roots, even as life became more modern and fast-paced.
Now, living away from those village landscapes, I find myself clinging to these traditions even more. The world has changed so much, but every Lohri, I make it a point to recreate that warmth and spirit at home. The makki di roti and sarson da saag, the bright phulkari dupattas, the songs—everything feels like a bridge to the past, a way of honoring where I come from.
This year, as I gather my family around the bonfire, I think of my son, and the responsibility I carry to pass these traditions on to him. It’s not just about teaching him the rituals but helping him understand why they matter. It’s about showing him that in the midst of life’s chaos, these roots give us strength and identity.
Lohri, for me, is a reminder to pause and give thanks—for the warmth of loved ones, the blessings of abundance, and the deep ties to a culture that has shaped who I am. It’s my way of keeping my heritage alive, one flickering flame at a time.
So, this Lohri, as the bonfire crackles and the laughter fills the air, I’ll take a moment to be grateful—not just for the harvest and the new beginnings it promises, but for the gift of being connected to my roots.
Wishing you and your family a Lohri filled with warmth, joy, and endless blessings!
Smalltreasuresoflife 