Memories of Aaji: The Special Palkhi Processions

Every year, when the hot summer turns into the soothing rainy season, the city of Pune becomes vibrant and lively. It's a time when people's faith and traditions come together, and the whole city reconnects with its spiritual roots. This is when the annual Palkhi processions take place, and I have been witnessing them since I was very young. The rhythmic beats of the drums and the chanting of holy songs remind me of my dear grandma, whom we affectionately called Aaji.

Aaji was a strong-willed and devout woman, as determined as the mountains surrounding our city. She actively participated in the Palkhi processions and inspired many people in our small community with her unwavering faith and resilience. I still remember how her eyes would light up with excitement when the first signs of the Palkhi appeared. Her enthusiasm was infectious and made my young heart warm.

The Palkhi processions were very important to Aaji. The tradition of the varkaris resonated deeply within her. As the beautifully decorated palanquin carrying the saints' silver footwear moved forward, her faith grew stronger. Surrounded by saffron flags and the sound of cymbals, Aaji would lose herself in the procession, with every step reflecting her devotion.

Despite her age, Aaji never wanted to miss the processions. Instead, she preferred to walk alongside the thousands of varkaris who embarked on this sacred journey. Aaji used to say, "The Palkhi isn't just a tradition. It's a journey of faith, a path to understanding oneself. Each step brings us closer to the divine."

I was around ten years old when I first joined Aaji in the procession. Wearing a small white dhoti-kurta, I walked beside her, trying to keep up with her pace. I didn't understand the chants back then, but the collective energy was contagious. Whenever my feet grew tired and sore, it was Aaji's unwavering determination that motivated me to continue.

Many years have passed since Aaji passed away. The house feels quiet without her morning prayers, and the festive seasons lack the same excitement she brought. However, every year, as the monsoon clouds gather, I feel a peculiar sense of anticipation. I hear the distant beats of the drums, the sound that used to make Aaji's eyes sparkle. The Palkhi processions have arrived.

Walking the same path that Aaji walked all those years fills me with a strong connection—to her, her faith, and her strength. With every step, I remember her words, her teachings, and her unwavering devotion. Through the chants and the beats, I sense her presence, guiding me on this journey of faith.

Even though she can't be here to witness it, Aaji's spirit lives on. It lives in every varkari who takes part in the procession, in every hymn sung, and in every drumbeat played. It lives in the saffron flags dancing in the wind and in the joyful smiles of the devotees. But most importantly, it lives within me, as a tribute to the woman who introduced me to this world of faith and devotion.

The Palkhi processions are no longer just a religious tradition for me. They are a celebration of Aaji's spirit, her faith, and the legacy she left behind. As I walk in the procession, I am walking with Aaji, carrying her memories with me.