chapter 15

It was mid-January, and Ahmedabad was buzzing with excitement. The sky was already speckled with colorful kites as the city prepared for Uttarayan, the festival that celebrated the arrival of longer days. But this year, Aarti had something new to look forward to—Kabir’s Lohri celebration.  The night of Lohri“Okay, Mehta, are you ready for your first Lohri experience?” Kabir asked, leaning over the adjoining balcony railing. He was dressed in a kurta-pajama, his excitement almost contagious.  Aarti, wearing a warm shawl over her pastel salwar suit, smiled at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Singh. But I’m warning you—this better involve food.”  Kabir laughed. “Of course! Lohri without food is like Uttarayan without kites. Come on.”  Aarti followed him into his apartment, which smelled heavenly of roasted peanuts, gajak, and gur rewri. A small bonfire crackled on a raised platform on his balcony, its warm glow illuminating the night.  “This is beautiful,” Aarti said, admiring the setup.  “Wait till we do the rituals,” Kabir said, handing her a plate of jaggery and peanuts. “We circle the fire, offer these, and pray for abundance. It’s simple but meaningful.”  They performed the ritual together, Kabir explaining every step with enthusiasm. Aarti watched him with quiet admiration. For someone so carefree, he had a deep connection to his culture.  After the Lohri rituals, Aarti couldn’t resist teasing him. “Not bad, Singh. You Punjabis know how to celebrate. But tomorrow is my turn. Uttarayan is all about energy, excitement, and cutting kites.”  Kabir grinned. “Oh, I’m ready, Mehta. I told you—this Delhi boy knows how to handle a kite. Let’s see if the great Gujarati kite warrior can keep up.”  Aarti smirked. “Challenge accepted.”  Kite Flying DayThe next morning, the city was alive with the sound of laughter and shouts of *“Kai po che!”* Aarti had set up her kite station on Kabir’s balcony, which had the best view of the skyline.  “Here,” she said, handing him a kite and a reel of manjha. “This is the good stuff—sharp, durable, and perfect for cutting.”  Kabir inspected it like a curious student. “Looks legit. Let’s see if it works.”  As they began flying their kites, Kabir struggled initially, the string slipping through his fingers.  “Hold it tighter, Singh,” Aarti instructed, laughing at his awkward attempts. “It’s not a cooking knife. You need control.”  “Easy for you to say,” Kabir retorted, trying to keep his kite steady. “You’re a kite flying warrior.”  Soon, Kabir got the hang of it, and his competitive streak kicked in. “Alright, Mehta. Let’s see who cuts whose kite first.”  “Big talk,” Aarti said, narrowing her eyes. “Bring it on.”  The two of them stood side by side, maneuvering their kites with precision. The sound of their strings scraping against each other filled the air.  “Almost there,” Aarti muttered, focusing on Kabir’s kite.  “Not so fast,” Kabir replied, pulling his string taut.  With a sharp tug, Aarti’s manjha cut through Kabir’s string. His kite drifted away, and Aarti raised her arms in victory.  “Kai po che!” she shouted triumphantly.  Kabir shook his head, laughing. “Alright, fine. You win this round, Mehta. But it’s not over yet.”  As the afternoon turned into evening, they sat down on the balcony, sipping chai and munching on gajak. The sky was a vibrant mix of orange and purple, dotted with countless kites.  “This is nice,” Kabir said, leaning back against the wall. “Two festivals, two traditions, one balcony. Who would’ve thought?”  Aarti smiled. “It’s like blending the best of both worlds. Lohri’s warmth and Uttarayan’s excitement—they go surprisingly well together.”  “Kind of like us,” Kabir said without thinking, then quickly added, “I mean, in terms of our backgrounds and traditions.”  Aarti glanced at him, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re right.”  They sat in comfortable silence, watching the last kites of the day soar high, both feeling that something more than just traditions was beginning to take flight.. To be continue...