They said the Sundarban Hilsa Festival is about fish, but for me, it became a journey back to myself

The Burnout Before the Boat 🌆➡️🌊

It started with silence — not the good kind. The silence that follows exhaustion. My inbox was overflowing, my sleep was broken, and joy had started to taste like reheated leftovers. So when a colleague casually mentioned the Sundarban Hilsa Festival 2025, I impulsively booked the trip. “Go eat some ilish,” she said. “Maybe it’ll spice up your weekend.”

I had no idea I was signing up for something far more nourishing — something that would feed parts of me I’d forgotten even existed.

A Different Kind of Entry Ticket 🚗🌧️🛥️

The Journey Inward Begins

We left Kolkata at 5:00 a.m. A grey monsoon morning, half-asleep roads, and a playlist full of Tagore songs. As we drove past villages blurred with mist, my usual habit of checking my phone died slowly, beautifully.

By the time we reached Godkhali Jetty, the air had changed. It smelled of wet earth, ripe paddy, and river. As our boat pushed away from the dock, the city slipped out of sight and something inside me exhaled for the first time in months.

The First Meal: Taste of Memory, Smell of Healing 🍛🌿

A Plate That Felt Like a Poem

Onboard a floating kitchen boat, they served us Sorshe Ilish — hilsa in mustard gravy — with hot rice, fried aubergines, and a green chili tucked to the side like a comma.

I took the first bite. A memory flashed — my mother feeding me during school holidays, her fingers gently separating the bones.

It wasn’t just food. It was recognition. The Sundarban Hilsa Festival wasn’t selling a dish — it was inviting me into my own timeline.

The Boatman’s Quiet Philosophy 🚣‍♂️🌀

“You city people always ask ‘What’s next?’ We just float.”

Raju Da, our boatman, was a man of few words and many silences. He told us stories between boat rides — of monsoon cycles, ilish migration, and his daughter’s dreams of becoming a schoolteacher.

When I asked him what he liked most about the Hilsa Festival in Sundarban, he simply replied, “The quiet between the songs.”

That stayed with me.

A Sudden Downpour and a Forgotten Song ☔🎶

When the Rain Played My Tune

On the second day, we were caught in an unplanned drizzle. We rushed under a tarpaulin near a tea stall. The stall owner, an old woman in a red bordered saree, started humming a song — a lullaby my grandmother used to sing.

I hadn’t heard it in twenty years.

Somewhere in that moment — soaked, shivering, sipping sweet tea, and hearing that melody — I felt younger, older, and more alive than I had in years.

Festival Through the Eyes of a Stranger 📸🧳

The Solo Photographer from Pune

I met Aryan, a travel photographer who had been covering festivals across India. But he wasn’t clicking photos here. He was simply watching, sitting still.

“I came to shoot,” he said. “But the light here makes me want to just sit and absorb.”

He showed me a single shot — a woman preparing ilish curry, her hands wrinkled, her eyes fierce. “This,” he said, “is a portrait of devotion.”

The Sundarban Hilsa Festival 2025, I realized, was a landscape of stillness, not spectacle.

A Folk Story Told in the Firelight 🪔📖

Bonbibi, the Forest, and the Faith

That night, under open skies, locals performed a Bonbibi play. As flames danced and children huddled on mats, the story unfolded — of the jungle goddess, the boy she protected, and how hilsa was once her divine offering.

A child sitting beside me whispered, “She still blesses the fish. That’s why it tastes different here.”

And maybe it did. Maybe it was the faith, the folklore, or the sheer reverence — but every bite felt sacred.

The River Mirror: Seeing Myself Again 🌊🪞

A Moment of Reflection at Dawn

On the last morning, I woke up early. The river was still. A faint mist hovered like a memory not ready to leave. I looked into the water — and saw myself. Not the hurried, tired, anxious version I had carried from the city, but a quieter, simpler me.

The Sundarban Hilsa Festival had fed me, yes. But more importantly, it had slowed me down long enough to remember what I had forgotten:

• That silence heals.
• That food connects us across generations.
• That rivers carry more than just water.

Departure with a Different Heart ❤️🎒

Not Just a Souvenir, But a Shift

On the way back, I didn’t feel like I was leaving the Sundarbans. I felt like a part of me would stay.

Back in Kolkata, friends asked, “How was the Hilsa Festival?” I smiled and replied, “It was delicious.”

But in truth, I wanted to say — it was transformational.

When a Fish Leads You Home 🐟🏡

They said the Sundarban Hilsa Festival is about fish, but for me, it became a journey back to myself.

It reminded me that healing doesn’t always come from therapy rooms or yoga mats. Sometimes, it comes on a rainy boat ride, with mustard-scented air, and a fish that tastes like childhood.

And sometimes, that’s enough.