Festivals, customs… in context and out of context…

Today is Diwali, the festival of lights. This morning over breakfast, I reminisced of the festive atmosphere in India. I told my daughter of scented oil massages, and beautiful patterned rangoli; of shiny new clothes and overall bonhomie; of the acrid smell of fire-crackers, and the delicious aromas of faraal (diwali treats).

I told her of the days of faraal preparation, of the bustle in the house, of how good the whole house and the neighborhood seemed to smell, and of course, of tiny hands sneaking into the large jars containing goodies. I told her of the stories my mom would tell me - of her fierce grand-mother who would not allow anyone to touch the treats until Diwali day, and how different Diwali was, when my mom was a girl. I told her I wanted to make ladoo, and wished I could simply keep her home. Her eyes gleamed. Oops had I said that out aloud? Hmm… thankfully it was picture day and off she went.

Recreating Indian festivals outside India is a bitter-sweet affair. Loaded with nostalgia and best intentions to recreate our favorite memories, we come face to face with school and work, activities and classes, homework and bad weather. Hrrmph… a beautiful silk sari that you (ahem… at least I) bunch up inelegantly with my hands to protect from rain and muck; or finding a break in the weather to light firecrackers (a few judiciously saved from 4^th July); or finding the time to do something festival related as a family, without being rushed… The festivals in my mind and my past were after all, national holidays, and everybody had the time and peace to enjoy them.

Realized I didn't have curry leaves whilst making chiwda. So went to the yard and got rosemary, French tarragon, thyme and sage - and it went straight into the chiwda...

Maybe we can clean our house before we do our little Laxmi pujan, I suggested to my daughter. “Sure,” she replied. “But can we keep my playroom out of all this?”she inquired. “I don’t think Laxmi (an Indian goddess) will want to go in there”. That makes the two of us, I thought wryly. And while the playroom seems out of question, I doubt our house will be cleaned either.

Now, I don’t come from a religious upbringing. So there is no sense of right or wrong or any rigidity that makes me follow a few customs. In fact, this cherry picking of rituals and customs may sound tad irreverent to traditionalists. But I simply want to pick the ones I have pleasant associations with and try and keep them alive, and share them with my girl.

Dassara went by recently. The festival marks the victory of good over evil, when the mythological God Rama destroyed the demon with ten heads, Ravana. As a child, I remember streaming golden marigolds and placing flowers and offering prayers to all ‘instruments’ that allow us to be powerful and help us defeat evil and ensure the victory of good. Even as a child, I liked the thought and enthusiastically placed flowers on books and pencils and my school bag and vehicles and devices of sorts. I still like the idea of taking the time to acknowledge and offer this respect.

This year, I was thrilled to have marigolds in our yard at Dassara and I told my daughter we would take the time to honor the tools that make our lives better, the devices that give us strength and wisdom. With that goal, we placed some books, pencils, erasers, computers – ahem – technology really took over that table – I-pad and laptops and kindle… oh well… my childhood was spent in the dark ages, I suppose. 

Marigolds for Dassara

We had a little friend in tow – who joined in cheerfully, even if she thought it was all a little mad. The two girls wanted to be done with it so they could go to their friend’s birthday party.
Was it done with any particular reverence? Hmmm… unlikely. But there was a lot of giggling, and prancing around as the girls ran into the garage and back and put flowers on the cars and bicycles and the scooter and the soccer ball may have got one too. But, of course. And some flowers got tossed in the air for the bicycle that was now on the roof.

Reverent? No. Giggles? Yes... many.

Will my daughter’s memories concur with mine? Unlikely. She will have her own memories, I suppose. Of the fuss her mom created (that she didn’t always understand) over Diwali. Of the times, her mom insisted on shoving away the Halloween skeleton to make room for the Diwali lamps. Of the sweets made – whether her participation was in the making or simply the eating. Of the time, her mom tried to get them all to make the killa, a fort for Shivaji at Diwali-time (this year – it’s still not happened. Sigh…)

Shivaji and his men wait patiently on the coffee table for their killa (fort) unlikely to happen this year 

I am sure that oftentimes, the ghosts, ghouls, and gravestones in our front yard, will watch us light Diwali lamps and mull over our rangoli attempts (Diwali and Halloween are mostly around the same time). Those will be my child’s memories.

And although my mom’s fierce grandmother would strongly disapprove, our festivals will be celebrated as time permits, to the extent possible, blended with American festivals... And these, I suppose will be her memories. And as long the memories are sufficiently fond, that’s all that really matters.

And on that note, I shall probably keep the killa for next year.