A Festival Called Farming🌾


                       📍 June 29, 2025

Some days don't just pass…

They stay.

They bloom in your memory like saplings in wet soil.

June 29th was one such day.


The Morning That Began Like Any Other


It started like any other morning. I woke up early and headed to the terrace for practising Yoga, as usual. The breeze was gentle, and I felt calm — unaware of the little joy that the day was about to grow in me.


My cousin had just come home from Hyderabad, and I spent some time with him after breakfast. We laughed, talked, and caught up after months. Then around 10 AM, my brother came and said, "Let’s go to the fields."


I followed him — not knowing I was walking into one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.


🌿 The Mud Beneath My Feet


When I reached our fields, the workers had already begun transplanting paddy.

To step into the field, I had to take off my slippers.

The moment my bare feet touched the cool, wet mud… I felt something shift inside me.


That muddy earth — so soft, so grounding — held generations of effort and love.

It didn’t feel dirty. It felt divine.


🌾 What Naatu Really Feels Like


Since childhood, whenever my father or anyone in the family said, "Tomorrow is Naatu,"

I would feel excited — without even knowing why.


Even in hostel or college, I felt it.

Like some invisible string tied me to that word.


But this was the first time I got to witness it with my own eyes — not just hear about it.

And what I saw… wasn’t work.

It was rhythm, celebration, and soul.


🎶 A Symphony of Soil and Smiles


There was no sun that day. Just clouds — soft and generous.

The breeze was stronger than usual, as if the wind itself had joined the celebration.


The women in the fields moved in a pattern — almost like a dance.

Some were singing. Some laughing. Some joking while planting saplings one by one.


There was no music playing. But the whole field was filled with music.


I didn’t see tired faces.

I saw faces lit with purpose.

Not burdened — but flowing with joy.


📸 Through My Lens, With My Heart


I don’t own a DSLR. But that day, I didn’t need one.

I took out my phone and began capturing everything.


More than 200 photos and videos — of muddy feet, green saplings, smiling workers, flowing water, and breezy skies.


But honestly?

No camera can capture what I felt in those moments.


Each frame I took held a piece of home. A piece of me.


🍲 Where Simplicity Meets Strength


Around noon, the workers paused for lunch.

They didn’t have fancy boxes filled with multiple curries or snacks.


Some had just rice with water, or ganji and Avakaya(pickle) — that’s it.

And yet, I saw something many people miss even with five-course meals —

Happiness. Sharing. Peace.


They passed food around, laughed as they ate, and rested their tired hands without complaint.


It wasn’t a break.

It was a moment of grace.


💚 Witnessing More Than Farming


I didn’t transplant a single sapling that day.

But I walked through something sacred.

What I saw wasn’t just agriculture — it was legacy, community, and dignity.


I watched how the land teaches patience.

How every grain comes from sweat and spirit.

How beautiful rural life is — even in its simplicity.


 🌼 To Be a Farmer’s Daughter


That evening, as I walked back, I felt full — not in the stomach, but in the soul.


To be a farmer’s daughter is more than identity —

It’s a blessing.

To be from a village that breathes life into land,

That shares even when it has little,

That plants joy one sapling at a time…


I carry that pride in every step I take.



📝 Thank you for reading. If you’ve ever felt the magic of your roots, I hope this story brings a smile to your heart too.


With love,

Sandhya Velamuri

Writing from the fields, for the hearts that still remember the breeze. 

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