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Happy Onam

Happy Onam
Once upon a time, there was a place I was much familiar with. A place where happiness was the only emotion. Where the subjects yearned the return of a King who defied the gods in his sense of justice and honour. An Utopian society, undivided and just. My childhood was filled with memories of fragrance that Onam brought in. From collecting the flowers that brought colours to my life to the taste of sadya, that I yearned year after year. Twenty years had gone too fast. Here I am in midst of an Onam, commercialized and ravaged by media and forces of demand and supply. Where the citizens were forced to pay and celebrate Onam. When half the society starves and crumbles, under the talons of corruption and injustice. Onam visits us hopelessly when we were forced to buy flowers from the market, for we live in apartments. An Onam I am not familiar with. I switched through various television channels, with each one pushing the limits of brand promotion an inch further. The yards had vanished, replaced by artificial gardens or concrete. Beggars dotted the market trying to calm their starving bowels. This is the Onam I am not familiar with. Kitchens had gone silent and televisions roared, for sadyas were delivered on the door step. So all I could do was to walk mindlessly to find some flowers to honour the Great King. May he return and take his rightful throne, to bring the warmth of happiness and justice for his people and beyond.


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