As I moved miles away from home, my perception of festivals shifted. What once felt like a warm hug now lingers like a distant memory. Festivals used to be intertwined with culture and affection as relatives filled my home with sweets, warmth, and tons of love. Now, as an international student, I find myself reminiscing on those memories with bittersweet heartache. The excitement has dimmed, and the magic of festivals feels quieter now.
Back home, every festival danced to its own rhythm. Holi, for instance, is about celebrating the triumph of good over evil and is full of colourful memories. I still recall all the girls in my neighbourhood ganging up against the boys and throwing water balloons at them from my patio. My parents headed to our neighbour’s houses to exchange good wishes with tilaks (a mark stamped on the forehead with the ash of a sacrificial fire). Every year, buying packets of balloons, colours, and water guns was our unspoken tradition. Holi holds a special place in my heart; my dad reminds me every year that I was born on this very day.
Diwali, though, is the one that truly echoes home to me. Celebrated to mark Lord Rama’s return from 14 years of exile, it has always been a time to reconnect with family and my roots. A month beforehand, we deep cleaned our houses to welcome Goddess Lakshmi, adorning every corner with diyas, lights, garlands, and rangolis. My mother and I took sweets to relatives’ houses and they would do the same. My home filled with the sweets’ aroma, adding to the festival’s enchantment.
The most beautiful part of Diwali is the sacred tradition my family followed of praying to Goddess Lakshmi, Lord Rama, and Lord Ganesha, seeking their blessings for the year ahead. We have a container filled with raw milk that we then filled with silver coins of different denominations, including a special silver coin with Goddess Lakshmi stamped on it. After the prayer, we take turns pulling out coins and putting tilak on each; it’s considered lucky to get the special one. After the ritual, we share sweets and burst crackers together.
When I moved out, things started to change. I remember my first Holi here — it was amazing, but only because it was celebrated in the comfort of my university. I remember the crowd dancing to songs, and the celebration hit home for me. But, this year, Holi came and went like any other day. I didn’t do anything to mark it. It’s as if, over time, the excitement I had for the day has started to fade.
Diwali no longer holds the same anticipation either. Decorating a rented basement or spending extravagantly on decor doesn’t feel necessary when I don’t have my family around. I think it’s the same for many international students; I don’t see anyone going out of their way to do something festive in their rented spaces, which don’t feel like ours anyway. Still, Diwali means so much to me, I’ve created my own small tradition: I buy sweets for my close friends, and deliver them personally, just like my mom and I did back home. I hope to do it every year; it makes me feel connected to my roots and like I celebrated the festival in my own way.
As an international student, managing everything by yourself means it’s easier for traditions to slip into the background. Celebrating these festivals may not feel as meaningful as it once did, especially when you are without family in a house that isn’t a home. But our roots weave us together and it’s unfair to cut ties entirely. While homesick, chasing dreams overseas, it’s understandable if celebrations get overlooked. Yet, doing a small gesture — video calls with your family during rituals, dressing up, or anything that makes you feel at home — can help create the magic of these festivities, even when you’re miles away from home.
