By Delisha Lobo

Have you ever sat down to a lavish 42‑course meal, packed with every delicacy you can imagine, all served on a single banana leaf? If you have, consider yourself truly fortunate. 

Sadhya is a traditional vegetarian feast served during Kerala’s Onam festival that celebrates prosperity, cultural pride, and a kind of togetherness that somehow manages to rise above religion, geography, and even logic (because how does one leaf hold that much food?). But Onam isn’t just about the feast, though honestly, the feast alone deserves its own standing ovation. It’s the whole experience. From neighbours crouched over fresh flowers crafting the perfect pookalam to the thunderous cheers echoing across the water during snake boat races, Onam feels like the perfect time of the year to be alive. 

Oh, and the best part? You don’t have to be in Kerala to experience it. This festival has a way of travelling, of finding people, gathering them, and stitching them together, even right here in Sydney. 

Hi, I’m Delisha, and I moved to Sydney about eight months ago, and wow, what a ride it’s been. From the chaos of apartment hunting to the awkward art of making new friends, the past few months have tested me in every possible way, but here I am, still standing. I knew moving meant leaving behind a lot: my family, my friends, the warmth of my hometown, and the comfort of being somewhere where even the potholes felt familiar. But surprise, surprise, Sydney has been pretty great at making space for me. 

So let me tell you about one of the first festivals I celebrated here: Onam. Actually, I didn’t expect to celebrate it at all, but I still tucked a saree into my suitcase “just in case,” and thank goodness I did. Because somewhere in that quiet shift from winter to spring, I discovered how beautifully Sydneysiders keep this celebration alive. I first heard about an Onam event at Uni when a classmate casually turned to me and asked, “So… what plans for Onam?” I blinked at her like she’d just asked me if I planned on milking a cow before class. Plans? In Sydney? For Onam? Before I could even form a sentence, she’d already invited me to the celebration on campus. And that’s how I found myself walking into a university auditorium transformed into a tiny slice of Kerala — the smell of payasam drifting through the air, the song ‘kuttanadan punjayile” echoing off the walls, and students dressed in their finest traditional wear like they’d all stepped straight out of Mollywood. And you see Onam here isn’t just a feast for the tongue, it’s a feast for the eyes. The girls gliding around in elegant kasavu sarees, the guys looking unexpectedly heroic in their mundus, and everyone radiating that unmistakable Onam glow. Now any other person would mistake that glow for a really good highlighter, but I know it’s really the quiet excitement of sitting down together to share one of the most anticipated meals with your family. And for a moment that’s what we became, all four hundred of us, a family. 

One of the girls even handed me some mullapoo (a garland of jasmine flowers) to tuck into my hair, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then came my personal favourite part, the sadhya. Avial, sambar, parippu, olan, thorans, payasam, injipuli… the list went on and on. 

But hey, that’s not all Sydney has up its sleeve. If you ever find yourself free on a bright Sunday, you might just end up in Penrith watching something you’d never expect to see outside Kerala, the iconic Vallamkali. Yes, Onam’s most thrilling boat races have somehow paddled their way across the Indian Ocean and set up shop right here in Western Sydney. 

Thanks to the Penrith Malayali Koottayma (PMK), the Penrith Vallam Kali & Vadam Vali (tug of war) brings the full force of Kerala’s festive spirit to Australian waters. And when I say full force, I mean full force. Eleven teams slicing through the Nepean river, including three women’s teams who row like they’re powered by pure determination. Add to that the Kathakalli dancers weaving through the crowd, Chenda Melam (Chenda drum ensemble) and a fireworks finale that lights up the beautiful winter sky. 

But with all this celebration, it’s natural to wonder where the story begins. And like all great tales, it begins with a king: Mahabali. 

Mahabali was known as a just and beloved ruler. Under his reign, people lived with dignity, equality, and harmony. However, he wasn’t an ordinary king, he was a demon king, yet his fairness and compassion made him adored by all. In fact, he became so beloved that his fame began to unsettle the devas — the celestial deities. Worried about losing their influence, they turned to Lord Vishnu for help. 

Lord Vishnu responded by taking the form of Vamana, a humble Brahmin boy. When Mahabali saw him, he welcomed him with respect and asked what he desired. Vamana asked for something simple: a piece of land that he could cover in three steps. True to his generous nature, Mahabali agreed. In that moment, Vamana grew to cosmic size, one step covering the earth, the next the heavens. Realising this was no ordinary boy but Lord Vishnu himself, Mahabali understood what was happening. With no land left for the final step, he offered his own head.

Moved by his devotion and humility, Vishnu blessed Mahabali and sent him to Pathala, the netherworld, but granted him one special privilege — the right to visit his people once every year. That homecoming is what we now celebrate as Onam. 

In many ways, the story of Mahabali teaches us something simple yet profound: you can’t judge someone by what they appear to be. A demon king turned out to be the most beloved ruler Kerala ever knew. A small Brahmin boy held the power of the cosmos. And a festival born from sacrifice became a celebration of joy, unity, and abundance. 

And maybe that’s the same lesson I’ve been learning here in Sydney. When I first moved, the city felt big, unfamiliar, and a little intimidating, a place I wasn’t sure I’d ever fit into. But just like Mahabali, who proved that goodness can come from the most unexpected places, Sydney slowly revealed its warmth in ways I never saw coming: in a lecture room filled with kasavu sarees, on the banks of the Nepean River with boats racing like they had someone to get home to, and in the quiet comfort of strangers who felt like family for a day. 

So perhaps that’s the real magic of Onam. It reminds us that appearances rarely tell the whole story. A king is more than his title. A city is more than its skyline. And a new place, no matter how far from home, can still surprise you with moments that feel like belonging. 

And as I watched the fireworks burst over Penrith, surrounded by people who felt both new and familiar, I knew one thing for sure: Mahabali would be proud.

About the Author:
If you enjoy a warm cup of tea on a slow winter morning, sunlight slipping through the windows of your childhood home, or the sweetness of lingering conversations, you might find a little bit of yourself in my writing. I try to capture the small, ordinary moments that make life feel soft around the edges, the ones that remind you to breathe, to pause, to feel. I don’t have a blog or social media to point you to, but if my words found you today, I hope they brought a little warmth with them.
— Delisha

Photo by ExploreWithTunde via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.
Photo by ExploreWithTunde via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.
Photo by ExploreWithTunde via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.