Days before Diwali, the house slowly transforms. Mothers and grandmothers tie up their hair, spread old newspapers across the floor, and begin the sacred ritual of faral. The kitchen fills with the sound of the chakli press creaking, children stealing bits of raw shankarpali dough, and the smell of ghee wrapping every corner of the home.

Each item made carries its own story and purpose:

Chakli – The golden spirals symbolized continuity, strength, and patience. Crisp and spiced, they were a reward for steady hands and careful timing; something every mother seemed to have mastered effortlessly.

Karanji – The delicate half-moon pastries, stuffed with roasted coconut and cardamom, were made with a kind of devotion. Watching them puff into golden crescents was a small miracle in itself.

Shev – Fried in batches, it added a salty balance to the sweetness around. And the first few strands were always handed over to whoever wandered near the stove.

Laddoos – Round, soft, and sweet, they carried warmth in every bite. Whether besan, rava, or copra, each version had one rule, made by hand, never hurried.

Anarse and Shankarpali – Reserved for patient hearts. Anarse with its jaggery sheen and shankarpali with its gentle crunch were the essence of a Maharashtrian Diwali with a simple, homemade joy.

Even before the first diya was lit, the faral tins sat neatly on the table, covered with embroidered napkins which denotes a promise of celebration ready to unfold.