The skies over Delhi have been heavy with rain, casting a grey melancholy across the city. Streets glisten with puddles, and the air hangs damp with the scent of monsoon. Yet, in the midst of this gloom, the festive season has arrived like a burst of colour — a reminder that celebration has a way of softening even the harshest days. Among these festivals, Onam has steadily found its place in the capital, with the Sadya — its grand vegetarian feast — becoming a gathering point for memory, culture, and joy.
Onam, Kerala’s annual harvest festival, is more than just a date on the calendar. It carries the story of King Mahabali — the beloved ruler believed to return to visit his people on Thiru Onam — and it thrives on an ethos of togetherness. In Kerala, religion, caste, and status dissolve in its embrace; what remains is love, food, and the spirit of equality. That essence finds its way even into Delhi’s bustling lanes, where communities gather over banana leaves spread wide, awaiting a feast that is not just eaten but experienced.
At OMO Café in Gurugram last weekend, the tables told their own stories. Banana leaves were carefully laid out, ornate flowers adorning their edges, and small bowls of injipulli (ginger chutney) and naranga achar (spicy lemon pickle) catching the eye like jewels. From upperi (salted banana chips) and shakara varatti (jaggery chips) to the soulful simplicity of parippu with ghee, the spread was as much about flavour as it was about memory. Marina Balakrishnan and the team brought to life not just 27 dishes but the spirit of a tradition where abundance is never about excess — it is about generosity.
Guests leaned into this generosity in their own ways. Saksham Khanna, who had travelled across the city for the pop-up, smiled as he explained, “The special part about a Sadya is that you dress up just for the meal, and it instantly brings out the Onam spirit. Then comes the joy of eating with your hands — each dish carrying its own distinct taste, yet somehow blending into harmony when eaten together.” His words captured something deeper: the ritual of Sadya isn’t about fine dining, it’s about surrendering yourself to the experience.
In Central Delhi, the Taj Mahal Hotel embraced this spirit with its first-ever Onam Sadya at Varq. The fine-dining space transformed into an ootupura — the traditional dining hall — with staff dressed in crisp kasavu sarees and mundus, guiding diners through the rhythm of the meal. It was a striking contrast to the modest halls of Kerala House in Janpath, where the Sadya remains humble, affordable, and invariably sold out in minutes. And yet, both spaces — one grand, one austere — reflect different ways the city has come to embrace this festival of abundance.
For some, however, the essence of Sadya lies not in the grandeur but in its rooted simplicity. Mohammad Idris, who grew up in Kottayam, put it beautifully: “The real beauty of a Sadya is the communal experience. Back home, we sit cross-legged in a line, eating with our hands from banana leaves. The serving is shared — sometimes you are being served, sometimes you are serving. That makes everyone equal. That is the spirit of Sadya: equality, prosperity, joy.” He paused before adding, almost wistfully, “It feels strange to see how expensive Sadya has become. Once it becomes elite, it goes against everything it stands for. It was never meant to be a luxury — it was always meant to be for everyone.”
And perhaps that is what makes the Sadya linger in memory long after the last course of payasam is finished. It is never just food on a leaf. It is a reminder of love and tradition, of generosity and belonging.
As theatre actor and Delhi resident Dipali Bhasin shared, “It is never just a feast, but a celebration of love, tradition, and togetherness, served beautifully on a banana leaf. Each dish holds the essence of Kerala’s harvest spirit with flavors that are comforting, soulful, and symbolic. Eating with your hands, course by course, turns the meal into something mindful and grounding. And when shared with friends, surrounded by laughter and warmth, it becomes a celebration of pure joy. For me, the Onam Sadya is memory, culture, and emotion woven seamlessly into food.”
And so, even as rainclouds loom heavy over the city, Onam’s arrival brings with it a reminder: there are seasons of abundance, of togetherness, of stories shared across banana leaves. In every mouthful of Sadya is the taste of belonging — to a community, to a culture, to a moment that refuses to be grey.