As the sun sets on the banks of rivers across Bihar, the sight of devotees offering prayers to the setting sun during Chhath Puja evokes a sense of belonging that transcends geography. For millions of Biharis living away from their homeland, however, the festival brings not just devotion but also a profound emotional dilemma — the struggle between tradition and distance, faith and circumstance.
Chhath Puja, one of the most ancient and revered Hindu festivals, is deeply rooted in the cultural fabric of Bihar and parts of eastern Uttar Pradesh and Jharkhand. It is a celebration of nature, purity, and gratitude to the Sun God and Chhathi Maiya for sustaining life on Earth. The rituals — which include fasting, bathing in rivers, and offering arghya (prayers) at sunrise and sunset — demand meticulous discipline and a sense of spiritual and physical austerity that is hard to replicate away from home.
For the Bihari diaspora, scattered across India and the world in cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru, Dubai, London, and New York, the festival poses a unique challenge. The absence of natural water bodies, access to traditional ingredients, and the constraints of work schedules often make it difficult to observe Chhath with the same sanctity as back home. Yet, many continue to go to extraordinary lengths to recreate the atmosphere — transforming balconies, rooftops, and even bathtubs into makeshift ghats for offering prayers.
In metros, community associations and migrant groups organize collective celebrations at lakes and artificial ponds. These gatherings have become emotional anchors for Bihari families, turning distant cities into temporary homes for cultural revival. Still, for many, it’s not the same. “The spirit of Chhath lies in the Ganga’s flow, the chants echoing through the villages, and the smell of thekua being fried at home. Away from that, something feels missing,” says a Patna-born engineer now working in Pune.
The emotional dilemma deepens for second-generation migrants who feel connected to their roots yet struggle to fully grasp the cultural rigor of the festival. For parents, keeping traditions alive becomes both a responsibility and an act of identity preservation. “We celebrate Chhath here to make sure our children know where we come from,” says a Bihari homemaker living in Singapore. “Even if we can’t be by the river, we want them to feel the essence of our heritage.”
Chhath Puja has also evolved into a symbol of cultural pride among the diaspora. It represents resilience — the ability to carry tradition across continents despite modern challenges. Each year, images of Biharis celebrating Chhath in faraway lands — by lakes in Australia, rivers in the U.S., or apartment terraces in Dubai — go viral, reflecting a global community bound by faith and nostalgia.
Yet, beneath the celebration lies a subtle melancholy. Many migrants long to return home during Chhath but cannot, caught between professional obligations and the emotional pull of tradition. For them, the festival becomes a bittersweet reminder of what they have left behind — the village ghats, the evening lamps flickering on water, and the collective chants rising with the dawn.
Chhath Puja, for the Bihari diaspora, is more than a ritual — it is an emotional bridge between past and present, between roots and routes. It embodies not just devotion to the Sun God but a yearning to remain connected to one’s cultural identity, even when life takes them far from the land where the first rays of the Chhath sun once touched their hearts.
