November, a name that may vary in other languages, evokes a sense of festivity for me. Perhaps it is due to our chapel feast of the Lord Redeemer. I recall eagerly counting down the days a month in advance.

My route to school would shift to Golthechan, as I anticipated the first signs of festivity: the commencement of earth digging to install wooden poles for the shamiana. I remember the excitement of sharing this news with others. The following ten days would fly by, altering my routine. Indeed, it was the only time I'd leave a football game early without remorse, and so would my peers.

The hot water bath from the Bhand, the aroma of straw that accompanied gushing water, my attire, and my spirited walk towards the chapel were all highlights. The petromax's filtered light illuminated the trees at varying degrees as I approached my destination. The choir's harmonious sound and the tempting smell of bhajjas mingled with naphthalene balls, indicating the presence of clothes that had been stored for almost a year. Despite struggling to fit into one-year-old shoes, the thrill of being there made it worthwhile.

However, this November feels different. The pandemic has taken its toll; people have surrendered to self-invited gloom. The village appears in mourning, lamenting its first fatality‚ once just a statistic but now a personal tragedy.

As someone who believes life is meant to be lived fully, not merely survived, I am eager to bring back festivity. With necessary precautions in place, on November 15th, I will attend the Redemptor Saibachem Fest at Armacar Niwas.