As the festive season rolls in, a nostalgic nip fills the air. I have come across a dozen-odd fellow desis in the past fortnight who have talked about the festive season and how they miss being home to enjoy the spirit it exudes. But they have also heaved a sigh of small relief relating the ways and means they have invented to be able to duplicate the effect out here.

Not a big brainteaser - as most of these so-called ideas revolve around eating and the one other thing that puts us apart - chattering. When the Maharashtrian “Ganapathi Bappa” nostalgia kicks in, it is said, Mumbaites and Puneites convene to pray and eat together, hashing over how minuscule the idols are here as compared to the gigantic ones back home. And in the sound of silence they reminisce the blaring devotional songs that beamed out of every street-corner loud speaker.

During Gowri Puja, the Kannadigas flock to their association hallway, enjoying classical music recitals and slices of ‘obbattu,’ with the womenfolk groaning about the hazards of lighting the ‘Aarti’ in their homes, and the absurdity of stirring out into their offices with turmeric-doused bands around their wrists.

During Onam, the Keralites gather around, sharing coconut-laced fare, and quibbling over how the carnations and daisies are but a poor match for the bright, golden marigolds that are used to adorn flower patterns back at home.

And then there are festivals that bring birds of all kinds together. Like Janmashtami, and Diwali, for instance. On both these occasions (as on many others), they queue up at their local sanctuaries, for a peek at the Lord, and a morsel of the ‘Prasadam.’ The cafeterias brim with delicacies and for every group of ten bachelors, at least one will choose to pay a buck for two packs of sambhar carryouts, to relish till midweek. Of course, the sweets and savories will be hankered after too, and some volunteers get a whiff of them even before they’re sold.

It isn’t unlikely for a segment of morning-temple-goers to assemble in a family home at night, to share stories, memories and, yet again, food. Diwali enthusiasts even sit for a gambling session, biting into deep-fried snacks and sipping their Budweisers, while the kids are tucked away in another room or the basement, and allowed a special screening of their favorite movie. The ladies, on the other hand, are happy to light the candles, catch up on their gossip, and recipes.

All this talk of food brings us to the one big fictitious feast concocted by desis who miss the festive merriment back at home. The big old American “potluck,” a rather twisty celebration route for food lovers. Even though potlucks are more rampant during the festive season, they are also for teas, book clubs, mom’s clubs, baby clubs, and any other daily routine that needs more than one person to deliberate over. Funny how they all insinuate the presence of women - the men either just saunter in and join them, or if it’s strictly a men’s gathering, they don’t call it that. So one way or another, the term “potluck” has come to be known as a women’s thing, and as the American equivalent of the desi “kitty party.” Only, here, there needn’t be a kitty to usher the food or fun in.

I have been to at least four potlucks in the past four weeks, and none had a real reason whatsoever. One was to catch up with friends over tea, another to discuss the kids’ playtime, another to simply while time away, and yet another, to do nothing but eat. And in the last one, there even was a prize - no, not for the one that ate best, but, sorry to kill the excitement, for the best recipe. I’m afraid my book club doodads are limited to a cuppa from Starbucks and the shelves of Borders, and occasionally, when my daughter behaves, the hubby, and of course, myself.

While Durga Pujo is just around the corner, my mind is already darting off in a hundred directions. Of course, there’ll be a potluck after the Pujo, but what I’m slightly more anxious about is the one before it - where the outfits and jewelry might get discussed. Not that it doesn’t happen at the venue itself, but I guess that’s a different kind of potluck - one where you discuss what others are wearing, and pay to eat someone else’s food. And well, I do wonder what Goddess Durga is thinking, after all.