This year’s Krishna Janmashtami will forever stay close to my heart. It wasn’t just another festival – it truly felt like celebrating Krishna’s birthday itself, with devotion, joy, family, and a touch of mischief, just the way Krishna would have loved it.
It all began with a trip to my favorite shop, NH Dasara Dolls in Gandhi Bazaar. I had been nudging Amma to get something special, not just decorative but story-like. That’s how the Govardhana Giri set came home, welcomed wholeheartedly, and became the spark that lit up our celebrations.
From there, the day unfolded in the kitchen. The smell of flour, jaggery, and spices filled the air as we began making chaklis. I tried my hand at them for the very first time, but to my dismay, I couldn’t even crack two properly. The ones I managed were so tiny that Amma looked at them with a smile and said, “These are like bombe baagina” – little treats made for children. It was a small tease I secretly enjoyed, because it carried both love and encouragement. It reminded me of my Ammamma, who used to make these exact snacks more than a decade ago while we children sat on the steps waiting to eat them. This time, I was at the other side of the story.
Next came kodubale, those crunchy little finger rings of joy, and then the many types of undes. I kept asking Dodda endless questions about them, and she patiently explained each one -ellu unde, rave unde, kadle unde. But the proclaimed star of this story was my husband. He took full charge of all the mixing and shaping, rolled out the panchakajjaya with flair, and finally proclaimed himself to be the star of the kitchen. Watching him so happily involved made the process even sweeter. Dodda, meanwhile, worked tirelessly all day, her quiet resilience inspiring me not to give in to tiredness. Elders, I realized are the anchors of festivals carrying tradition not in words but in actions.
By afternoon, it was time for what I was most excited about the decoration. Amma and me planning together, carefully arranging and rethinking, while my husband pitched in here and there to add his own touch. The highlight was the jhula for Krishna, where we placed our dearest idols: the striking pitch-black Udupi Krishna radiating unmatched grace, the Muddu Benne Krishna in Tanjore style gifted by a dear aunt, the timeless Radha-Krishna, and the tiniest Krishna on a swing gifted by cousin Pooja. Dodda lit the deepas, Amma and I tucked in strings of mallige flowers, and suddenly the whole space glowed with devotion and joy. What was supposed to be an hour-long task stretched into three, but when we stepped back, it felt worth every second.
By evening, family began arriving, and the house came alive with chatter and laughter. Colloquially we call this ‘Gouji’ a word that perfectly captures the happiness of togetherness during festivals. Our uncle led the puja, guiding us through every step, and then came the Arghya Pradhāna — the most important part of the festival. Krishna, placed gently on a coconut, is offered water, bilpatre leaves, and milk in reverence. This sacred act is performed in order from the eldest to the youngest in the family making it deeply symbolic of continuity and blessings. When this is complete, we seek the blessings of our elders in what we lovingly call habbada namaskaragalu in Kannada special salutations offered only on such special occasions. With lamps glowing and chants echoing, it truly felt like Krishna himself was among us.
After devotion came indulgence – pet pooja. Plates were filled with gojjavalakki, mosru avalakki, soft moode idlis wrapped in jackfruit leaves, and all the sweets and savories made through the day. These weren’t just dishes they were the part of Udupi and South Canara traditions, connecting us to generations before.
And speaking of Udupi, Janmashtami there is celebrated like nowhere else. At midnight, under the Rohini Nakshatra, Krishna’s birth is marked with grandeur, processions, and devotion that last till dawn. My father in law, who was there this year, described the magic the temple glowing, bhajans filling the air, crowds spilling into the streets. Even from afar, we felt connected, as though the spirit of Udupi had spilled into our own celebration. We missed him beinh here dearly.
And somewhere in the middle of all this, I found myself drifting into a little daydream what if Krishna really celebrated his birthday at home with us? The kitchen would be in chaos not because of us, but because he’d already stolen half the butter and hidden it in little pots around the house. My tiny bombe baagina chaklis would be his favorite he’d grab them, laugh, and run before anyone could catch him. Radha would be chasing after him, trying to pull his ear, while he cheekily slipped a kodubale ring onto her finger to win her back. Dodda would pretend to scold him but secretly hand him an extra unde. And my husband, would find Krishna declaring, “I’m the real star here!” as he sat happily on the jhula, grinning ear to ear. His birthday party wouldn’t need balloons or cake it would be just this: butter, sweets, music, and a house full of love.
As the night drew to a close and the house grew quiet, my heart was full. This was the Janmashtami I had been eagerly waiting for after our wedding filled with endless happiness, new learnings, and big memories. It was a day when Amma’s smile made me laugh, when Dodda’s resilience inspired me, when my husband claimed his stardom, and when I myself felt like a child again an excited cookie, a little kid at heart rediscovering the magic of festivals.
This Janmashtami wasn’t just about rituals. It was about celebrating Krishna’s birthday the way he would have loved it — with joy, mischief, devotion, and family. 🌸
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