Canara Chronicles — Rice, Revelry and Aunty Sass

MonteFest Of the Canara Christians.

As Aunt Silvi leaned back in her old wooden chair, surrounded by a fragrant waft of coconut oil and incense, she raised an eyebrow at her nieces, Doris and Dahlia, who had come home for Montefest. “Ah, Montefest! You two city girls must have forgotten all about it, no? Too busy with your cappuccino lifestyles to remember our Canara Catholic traditions.”

Doris chuckled, knowing well enough that Aunt Silvi’s stories were as much an event as Montefest itself. “Of course not, Aunty. We’re here, aren’t we?”

Silvi waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, you’re here now. But do you even know what you’re here for? Montefest isn’t just about going to church and eating rice. There’s history, culture, and—of course—our lovely Canara Catholic drama.”

Dahlia, always the curious one, leaned in. “Tell us, Aunty. What’s the history? Where did it all start?”

“Ah,” Aunt Silvi sighed theatrically, “Montefest started long before your WhatsApps and Instagrams. Back in 1896, when St. Sebastian Church was built. But the real heart of it—our Monte—is the Nativity of Mother Mary, celebrated on September 8th. We Canara Catholics came from Goa, you know, way back when, during Portuguese times. And, with us, we brought our love for festivals, our talent for drama, and, of course, our knack for making a big deal out of everything.”

Doris grinned, nudging Dahlia. “See? We come from a long line of drama queens.”

Aunt Silvi smirked. “Yes, well, if there’s no drama, are we even Canara Catholics?” She raised an eyebrow for effect before continuing. “Montefest, though, is special. It’s not just a religious thing; it’s a homecoming. All of us—from across the world—return to Bendur like homing pigeons. We gather, we pray, and then we eat. And oh, do we eat.”

“What’s the connection to the harvest?” Dahlia asked, trying to keep things educational.

“Ah, the harvest!” Aunt Silvi’s eyes twinkled. “You think all this food we eat just grows on supermarket shelves? Long before you kids started ordering groceries on your phone, rice was grown right here in our fields. September marks the harvest season for rice, and Montefest falls right at the time when the new crops are ready. You know, back in the day, families would bring the first harvest of paddy to the church as a thanksgiving offering. Imagine that! The very first rice grains, fresh from the fields, being blessed by the priest. Not that any of you would recognize a paddy field if you fell into one.”

Doris rolled her eyes. “Aunty, we know what rice is. It comes in plastic packets.”

“Plastic packets!” Aunt Silvi scoffed. “No respect for the land, I tell you. Back then, we would have Noven Jevan—a big family meal with rice and vegetables. Pure vegetarian, mind you. It was a way to honor the harvest and remind ourselves that the blessings come from the earth and God.”

Dahlia, trying to lighten the mood, asked, “So, do you think that’s where all the drama started? Over rice?”

Silvi burst into laughter. “Of course! Every Canara Catholic festival starts and ends with food—and some kind of drama in between. Montefest is no different. The novenas, the processions, the hymns… and then, the real event: the post-Mass socializing. You see people you haven’t seen in years, and they ask you all the important questions: ‘When are you getting married? How many children do you have?’ It’s an interrogation disguised as small talk.”

Doris, who had recently dodged an auntie’s marriage inquisition, groaned. “So Montefest is like a wedding, without the bride and groom?”

“Exactly,” Aunt Silvi said with a grin. “Only here, the bride is Mother Mary, and we all come to celebrate her birthday. There are plays, too—Konkani dramas, mind you. Real high art. Full of moral lessons, tragic heroes, and at least one drunk uncle.”

“And we all gather for it?” Dahlia asked.

“Yes, we gather for the novenas,” Aunt Silvi said, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you know what the highlight is? The food stalls outside. Ah, those days when I was your age, the churchyard would be full of little stalls selling sugarcane, kaddi manja—the sticky candy, and toys you didn’t need but begged your parents for. Now, of course, you’ll find fancy coffee and ice creams, because apparently, even Montefest isn’t safe from your modern world’s need for convenience.”

Dahlia laughed. “So, Montefest is part harvest festival, part homecoming, part food fest, and a little bit of shopping?”

“Exactly,” Aunt Silvi nodded sagely. “But you mustn’t forget the most important part: the family. For us Canara Catholics, Montefest is the time when everyone comes back home, even if they live abroad or in some distant city. It’s about reconnecting with your roots, even if those roots now grow in concrete.”

“And we celebrate with rice,” Doris quipped.

“Always with rice,” Aunt Silvi said, smiling warmly. “Rice is life here. You city girls might be living on pizza and sushi, but rice—blessed, harvested, and eaten with love—will always bring us back together.”

Dahlia stretched, looking thoughtful. “So, in a way, Montefest is a celebration of everything that makes us Canara Catholics—our faith, our family, our food, and a little bit of drama.”

Aunt Silvi nodded. “Yes, and don’t forget: it’s the one time of the year when you have no excuse not to visit me. Now, go help yourselves to some sanna and chicken curry. After all, you’ve earned it by listening to this old woman’s stories.”

With that, the nieces laughed, realizing that Montefest, with all its traditions and little absurdities, was a reminder that home was never too far away, no matter how modern their lives became.