Diwali is the certified time for kaju katri and motichoor laddoos to step into the limelight. Whether they come packed in mithai boxes being exchanged, appear in Diwali hampers, or are something your mom decides to make at home for the festive season, these are the sweets that mark the arrival of celebration.
But in a Maharashtrian household, the true food stars of Diwali are far more homegrown — besan and rava laddoos, karanji, chakli, poha chivda, shankar paale, kadboli, anarsa and shev. The Diwali faral, as we like to call it. Growing up, come October-November, the sight of jars being filled to the brim with these sweet and savoury snacks was what truly defined the beginning of the festive season.
There’s more to this mix of treats than meets the eye. Faral isn’t just a collection of snacks; it’s an experience, a ritual, and a way to bring people closer, not just within the family but outside it too. At my home, it used to be a full-fledged pre-Diwali group activity. It would start with ideation, discussions around what would be made at home and what would be store-bought that year. My mom, never too fond of making Diwali faral herself, would sit with my grandmother to decide what they’d experiment with. I remember them going over the list: poha chivda was non-negotiable, while the sweets would lead to spirited debates — would it be shankar paale this year, one kind of laddoo, or karanji?
Step two was my dad’s cue. He’d be given a list of ingredients and would dutifully source everything a weekend before Diwali. Step three marked the beginning of the real fun. One afternoon, naps would be sacrificed, aprons would be tied, and the kitchen would come alive, the aroma of sooji frying in ghee, the crackle of tadka for poha chivda, and the laughter over our imperfect attempts to shape the perfect karanji.
And then came Diwali morning, when cooked breakfast was swapped for faral. For once, no one waited for an appropriate snack time. Instead, the whole family would sit together, dressed in new clothes, bingeing on crispy, sweet, and salty snacks first thing in the morning. It was our version of festive indulgence, simple yet special, a ritual that felt like pure joy. Diwali faral is indeed one of the tightest chains that wraps around family time, forcing you to take a break from your individual lives, sit across from each other, and have conversations about things beyond deadlines and Excel sheets. Historically, these months are usually when crops in the fields are harvested, so everything that is made at home comes from the freshly harvested produce, grains, flours, and ghee, a true celebration of abundance.
For 27-year-old Rujuta Thete, too, Diwali faral was her top reason to be excited for the festival of lights. “When my sister and I were kids, we used to visit our grandmother’s house in our native place, and our entire extended family also joined us there, and that’s how Diwali was celebrated, everyone together. All items of the faral were prepared together and were enjoyed thoroughly. My mother and grandmother make the best anarsa. It takes a lot of hard work to master it. It is perfectly soft on the inside and hard on the outside. Scrumptious is the word for it,” she says.
During the festive days, anyone who comes home is welcomed with a plate of faral, a little bit of everything, the perfect balance between sweet and savoury. It’s our way of offering something we’ve made with love, something that’s long been a symbol of festive cheer. After all, snacks in every culture and every family have always been one of the simplest, most delicious ways to bond with people.
“It started as a way of bringing my family together once every year, on the occasion of Diwali, of course, but now it has transcended to something equally special. My non-Maharashtrian friends also enjoy the entirety of faral; they might not be able to pronounce it properly, but that doesn’t stop them from devouring it,” says Thete.
Diwali faral is really the window to socialising during the festive season. It not only brings you together as a family but also invites others to become a part of your cultural fabric. Over the years, its essence has evolved, but its purpose remains the same — to celebrate joy through food and community. It’s a quiet act of connection, one that carries generations of memory and care.
And isn’t that what the goal of food has always been? To bring people together for celebration, joy, and a rich exchange of culinary secrets, to remind us that sometimes, the sweetest part of any festival isn’t the dessert but the hands that make and share it.
