|| Where October Smells Like Shiuli ||

October, according to me, is home.

It is childhood.
It is shiuli flowers scattered across the morning, the kind of beauty that feels a little Piku and a little like an old photograph.
It is the undying affection of Nani ka ghar, Kolkata’r bari, a proper Bengali bhoj, dhunuchi, dhaak, and the kind of laughter that only happens when the whole family is together.

October is Pujo.

It is cousins running around, grown-ups yelling from another room, plates being passed around, and nostalgia quietly unfolding in between it all.

Now, of course, we have all grown up.
We live in different metro cities, have calendars full of meetings, deadlines and “will catch up soon” messages. There is no Pujo chhutti anymore. There is office. There is reality. There is the everyday grind where simply showing up is sometimes the only way forward.

But then… how do you deny luchhi ar chana dal?
How do you say no to khichurir bhog?

You simply cannot.

It is also dressing up in your finest Pujo jama, stepping out into the October night, roaming the streets with your cousins and feeling, for a few hours, like the king and queens of your own little universe.

It is careless laughter.
It is “ektu ar bhaat dao” at Mashi-Mama’s place.
It is eating far more than you planned and staying longer than you should.

Time moves. We grow up. Cities change. People get busy.

But some memories refuse to grow old.

They remain tucked away somewhere in the softest corner of us — smelling of shiuli flowers, sounding like dhaak, tasting like bhog, and feeling exactly like home.

So here’s a little nostalgia dump from a childhood that still lives somewhere between Pujo pandals, family kitchens and October evenings.

Part 1. 🪷