The Festival Calendar

January · QuietFour in the morning in Chennai, and the lamps are already lit along the street.She practises her adavus on the terrace, counting under her breath so the neighbours learn the rhythm.Come and count with me. I will give you a name once you keep the beat for a whole line.Meenakshi Iyer Write to her January · FestiveA bonfire in a courtyard in Amritsar, popcorn in a steel bowl, a winter sky full of sparks.Gurpreet hands you a blanket first and a question second: who are you missing tonight?Stand closer to the fire. It is the only honest way to tell me.Gurpreet Kaur Write to her February · QuietPrayer flags are being renewed along the ridge above Gangtok, and the wind is doing the signing.She walks slower than she talks and has asked you to match her pace.Tell me about the place you go home to. I will have your name by the time we reach the pass.Tashi Dolma Write to her February · TeasingThe spring play opens in nine days and the lead has lost her voice, her nerve and her shawl.Mahima directs from the aisle with a pencil between her teeth.Beat. Again, with feeling. Now read the line as if you meant the name I am about to give you.Mahima Chopra Write to her February · TenderCool mornings in Bengaluru, a running route behind the lake and a watch that counts everything.She sends you a number by seven, a joke by eight and a question about your breakfast by nine.Seven thousand steps. Beat that and I will name you something better than your username.Devika Rao Write to her March · FestiveHoli in the haveli courtyard: powder in the air, a ladder against the wall and the old plaster surviving by a miracle.Ritika has covered the carved doors in cloth and left one window open for you.Come in through the window. Wear the shirt you do not love.Ritika Sharma Write to her March · TeasingShe frames the colour thrown into the air a second before it lands.The shot she wants has your laugh in it, mid-air, a little out of focus.Wide, then in tight. Look at the lens. Laugh, and do not tell me what is funny.Zoya Mirza Write to her March · TenderNew-year day in Hyderabad, and the pot on her stove holds six tastes, one for every kind of year.She feeds you first and argues second, as the custom of the house demands.Sit, sit. Take the bitter bit. It is part of the arrangement.Lakshmi Naidu Write to her April · FestiveBohag Bihu in Jorhat: drums, red and white cloth, and a tea garden that has agreed to take the day off.The rainfall report has been replaced by a dance, which she insists is also meteorology.Join the line. I will teach you the step, and you tell me what the weather in you is today.Bornali Hazarika Write to her April · QuietBaisakhi fields in the afternoon sun, wheat the colour of a held breath.Gurpreet takes her stethoscope off and hangs it on a fence post, a thing she does once a year.Walk the field with me. I will listen to everything except your heartbeat.Gurpreet Kaur Write to her May · DrySurat in May: the air like a hot sari, the looms loud and everyone pretending not to sweat.Parveen names the weave of your last message from across the room: loose, plain, hopeful.Bring me a better sentence. I will price it by the metre.Parveen Siddiqui Write to her May · SharpA storm is crossing Kolkata, and she is reporting it live to an audience of one.The mango seller opposite has lost his awning, and she has one more question for him.And then? That is what I will ask you. And then?Ishita Bose Write to her May · TeasingPune at midnight, the office empty, her headphones too loud and a song stuck in a loop.She types the lyrics into a code comment and asks you to find the bug in the chorus.Sing the next line. I will add your name to the function.Sneha Kulkarni Write to her June · RainyThe monsoon reached Kochi at four, and the whole street stopped to look at it like a guest.Ananya says a word in Malayalam and refuses to translate it, because the rain is listening.Guess what it means. Wrong answers are rewarded with tea.Ananya Menon Write to her June · TenderRain on the running track and a puddle she is treating as a personal challenge.She calls this the best weather for slow people, which she is, today, for you.Walk a lap with me. Tell me the three things you have been carrying.Devika Rao Write to her July · RainyRainfall to date: more than anyone budgeted. Humour to date: running low.She writes the estate report with a pen that sticks and a heart that does not.Read me back the last paragraph. Tell me where I sound like I am missing someone.Bornali Hazarika Write to her July · DryCourt is adjourned for the rain, and the judge is eating a samosa at her desk, which is irregular.She delivers a ruling on your last joke: sustained in part, overruled in part.You may appeal. State your grounds, briefly, and in a voice I would enjoy.Anjana Pillai Write to her July · TenderA rainy afternoon in Shillong, an oven with an opinion and a tray of something that smells like an apology.Roshni measures sugar the way other people measure silence.Taste the first piece and say what it is missing. It may be missing you. Do not flatter me.Roshni Thapa Write to her August · FestiveOnam in Kochi: a flower carpet on the doorstep, a long row of dishes on a banana leaf, and a rule that guests eat first.She tells you which one to start with and which to save, and does not ask your opinion.Wash your hands. I have saved you the banana chips.Ananya Menon Write to her August · TeasingThe city is wearing white and gold for Onam, and the judge has joined the procession as an observer.She notes, for the record, that you are tapping your foot.Do not deny it. The court has heard the drums too.Anjana Pillai Write to her September · FestiveGanesh Chaturthi in Pune: processions, drums that rattle the windows, and a city that loses its voice by midnight.Sneha shouts a joke over the drums and then sings the answer, off-key and delighted.Come closer, I cannot hear you. Say the name you want me to use.Sneha Kulkarni Write to her September · QuietRain on the old courtyard in Lucknow and a ghazal half remembered.Farah gives you the first line and keeps the second behind her teeth.Finish it. Marks will be awarded for courage, and deducted for rhyme.Farah Qureshi Write to her October · FestiveDurga Puja in Kolkata: lights down every lane, crowds from end to end, and a pavilion she has been sent to cover.She interviews you instead, since you are the only one standing still.What did you come looking for? And then? And then?Ishita Bose Write to her October · FestiveNavaratri in Chennai: dolls on tiered steps in every front room and a cup of sundal for every visitor.Meenakshi counts your steps up the stairs, in beats, and finds you are half a count late.Again from the bottom. This time with the name I will give you if you make it.Meenakshi Iyer Write to her October · QuietOctober skies over Sikkim, so clear that the mountains seem to have come closer to listen.She stops on the trail to let you catch your breath and pretends it is for the view.Look up. Tell me what you see. I will tell you what to call it.Tashi Dolma Write to her October · BoldAn open-air play in a Chandigarh park at dusk, a borrowed stage and an actor who has forgotten the ending.Mahima calls the cue from the grass and throws you the script.You are on. Do not wait to be introduced; take the line.Mahima Chopra Write to her November · TenderDiwali on the haveli roof: a few hundred small lamps, a stubborn breeze and a restorer lighting them one by one.Ritika says it took her all year to finish this wall, and all evening to forgive it.Hold the matches. Tell me which lamp to light first.Ritika Sharma Write to her November · FestiveDiwali eve in Hyderabad: sweets in four tins, a rule against leaving hungry, and a table that seats too many.She slides a plate toward you before you have taken off your shoes.Eat first. Then argue with me about which tin is best.Lakshmi Naidu Write to her November · DryWedding season in Surat: bolts of silk in every shade of excitement and a shop that smells of ironing.Parveen holds a fabric to your sleeve and names the weave, the mill and the mood.Hold still. I am matching you to a colour, and I do not hurry.Parveen Siddiqui Write to her December · QuietA mushaira in a candlelit courtyard in Lucknow, the cold coming up through the carpet.The professor grades every compliment on the way in and marks yours generously.Recite one line of anything. I will tell you what you meant by it.Farah Qureshi Write to her December · TenderChristmas in Shillong: cake in every window, carols from the hill and snow in nobody's forecast.Roshni has baked too many and given away too few, an error she means to fix with you.Come in out of the cold. There is a slice with your name on it.Roshni Thapa Write to her December · TenderWinter wedding week in Bhopal: forty hours of work and a photographer who has not sat down since Tuesday.Zoya frames the quiet seconds nobody ordered, a hand straightening a garland, a bridesmaid laughing into her sleeve.Tonight she is off duty. Stand by the window and tell me what you are thinking.Zoya Mirza Write to her