Old and Traditional Makar Sankranti

- "Why have you brought Chinese manjha? Do you know how dangerous it is?"

Kabir Solanki

I t was a bright and chilly winter morning in Ahmedabad. The sun was shining softly, and the sky looked wide and blue-perfect for flying kites. Inside a cheerful house, two brothers, Aarav and Shaurya, were buzzing with excitement.

"Come on, Papa!" Aarav shouted.

"Yes, Papa!" added Shaurya. "Tomorrow is Makar Sankranti. Let's go and buy kites today!"

Their father smiled at their excitement and said, "Alright, we'll go. But remember-not too many kites."

The boys quickly got ready, and soon the family was walking through the colourful market. The shops were full of bright kites in all shapes and sizes-diamonds, squares, and even kites with smiling faces. There were reels of string everywhere, and the air felt festive. Aarav and Shaurya happily picked some kites and also bought Chinese manjha, the shiny and sharp string that many people were using. When they returned home, the boys could hardly wait. "Papa, can we fly a few kites today?" Aarav asked eagerly. "Please, Papa, please!" Shaurya added. Their father thought for a moment and said, "Alright. But be careful."

As they climbed the stairs to the terrace, they called out, "Grandpa! Will you come with us?"

Their grandfather, who was sitting with his morning newspaper, looked up and smiled.

"Of course," he said. "I would love to."

On the terrace, the boys took out their kites and the Chinese manjha. Grandpa noticed it immediately. His smile faded a little.

"Why have you brought Chinese manjha?" he asked gently. "Do you know how dangerous it is?" The boys looked at each other and shook their heads.

Grandpa sat down and said, "This sharp string hurts birds. Many birds get injured or die because of it. Even people riding bikes and scooters get badly hurt."

Then his eyes sparkled as he began talking about his childhood.

"When I was your age," he said, "we used only simple cotton strings. We didn't have fancy firkis. We made our own, using thread wound around small wooden sticks. And when we ran out of kites, we didn't buy more-we made kites ourselves, using old newspapers and glue."

Aarav and Shaurya listened carefully. For the first time, the Chinese manjha didn't seem exciting anymore.

After a moment, Aarav said softly, "Grandpa, we don't want to hurt birds."

Shaurya nodded. "Yes. Let's celebrate Makar Sankranti the old way."

The boys quickly went back to the market and returned the Chinese manjha. Instead, they bought simple cotton string. At home, Grandpa helped them make a few kites with paper, sticks, and glue. The terrace soon filled with laughter.

Soon, their kites were flying high in the sky-safe, colourful, and beautiful.

When they saw neighbours using Chinese manjha, Aarav and Shaurya politely told them about its dangers. Some people listened, some didn't-but the boys felt proud that they tried.

That Makar Sankranti was special. Not because they flew the most kites, but because they learned something important.

They learned that traditions are not just old habits-they are wise lessons, meant to protect nature, people, and joy itself.

And as Grandpa watched the kites dancing in the sky, he smiled-knowing that the festival was in safe hands.