After the Feast: A Rainy Walk, Warm Hearts, and the Road to Recovery
Yesterday, on 8th June 2025, something beautiful unfolded at Tittesworth Reservoir.
Families arrived from across the country—Birmingham, Liverpool, Stoke-on-Trent—cars packed with people, food, laughter, and the promise of togetherness. We came with kids in the back seat, containers of biryani in the boot, and flasks of chai tucked between bags. Some of us hadn’t seen each other in a while. Others were meeting for the first time.
Early afternoon, we were all there. And the grey skies didn’t stand a chance.
The Eid Feast Before the Footsteps
We gathered before the walk to share an Eid al-Adha (Loi Akhtar) feast.
Spread across tables and picnic benches were dishes that told stories:
– Biryani, layered and aromatic
– Lamb curry, rich and slow-cooked
– Haleem, thick and hearty
– Pulao, light and fragrant
– Spiced vegetables, full of colour
– And the sweet finishing touches: milk cake, classic kheer, and a second, thicker kheer.
I do regret not taking photos of the food—we were probably too hungry to think about it at the time! But I did manage to find this one of the beryani, which brings back the flavour of the moment.
There was a quiet rhythm to how the feast began—a reminder of traditions many of us had grown up with back home, where food is served in turns, not in haste. The men started first, dividing the dishes carefully: half for us, and half respectfully set aside for the women and children, who would eat next. It wasn’t formal or announced, just instinctive—a shared understanding rooted in custom and care. Plates were filled with biryani, lamb curry, haleem, pulao, spiced vegetables, and milk cake. Conversations flowed as food was passed from hand to hand. Nearby, the children laughed and tumbled through the reservoir’s play area, while the women gathered in their own corner—shawls drawn, tea in hand—waiting with familiar patience and good-humoured chatter for their turn at the spread.
An 8km Walk Through Rain, Trees, and Meadows
Once the food had settled—barely—we zipped up our jackets, tied our boots, and began the walk.
We took on an 8-kilometre route around the reservoir, a trail that winds through gentle meadows and quiet patches of woodland. The rain came and went, soft and unbothered. The earth was springy underfoot, and the scent of wet grass and leaves reminded us just how alive the countryside is—even in June drizzle.
Roughly twenty of us walked—not just to move, but to connect. To breathe. To remind ourselves that healing—whether physical, emotional, or spiritual—isn’t always found in silence, but in the sound of footsteps side by side.
Halfway through, we paused. Farman poured out hot tea from his flask like a ritual, while Dr. Saib passed around home baked cookies (kajuray). We perched wherever we could—and let the conversation flow.
And of course, the teasing began.
Haircuts were up for critique, as were cricket team allegiances and political loyalties. Some offered sharp one-liners that left everyone speechless before bursting into laughter. It was the kind of banter that only works in a group where there’s deep affection beneath every
The Quiet Work of Healing
For me, this wasn’t just a walk. It was a marker—a small but meaningful milestone in my recovery from an acoustic neuroma.
I have written before about how healing isn’t just about treatment or rest. It’s also about reconnection. With people. With nature. With joy. This walk reminded me again: you don’t always need a deep conversation about illness to feel seen. Sometimes, someone handing you tea without asking is enough. Sometimes, being included in the teasing means you’re still you—whole, welcome, and alive in the eyes of your community.
Why These Days Matter
A feast. An 8km walk through trees and meadows. A bit of rain. A lot of laughter. It might sound simple, but it wasn’t. It was powerful.
It reminded us that healing is not always a solitary act. Sometimes, it’s being part of something—even just a muddy trail and a post-biryani stroll. Sometimes, it’s in the teasing. The cricket debates. The shared cookies. The way no one walks too fast.
To everyone who came: thank you. For the food, the fun, the memories, and the love disguised as banter. And to anyone out there walking their own path of recovery—may you find your feast, your people, and your moment where laughter and healing meet.
You’re not alone on the trail.
