I come from a multi-lingual background
where my mother is a Tamil and my father is a Bengali. Their distinct customs and
rituals meant that every festival in our house was celebrated in a manner in
which both their traditions were amalgamated in a way in which neither felt deprived
over the other. But Diwali was an exception owing to its distinct way of celebration by both of them. My mother called it Deepavali while my father called it Kali Pujo. Either way, it was a festival we celebrated as a community with a host of people coming together to share sweets and burst crackers.
New clothes were a regular feature during the
festival of Diwali with my brother and me getting to buy two pairs of the choicest
of clothes this one time of the year. The budget for purchasing fireworks was
usually small and all that was bought would have to be divided between my
brother and me into accurate halves for otherwise we would end up fighting cats
and dogs. As a child, I remember how I’d feign courage when I’d actually be frightened
when it came to lighting those ‘atom’ and ‘hydrogen’ bombs because there were
girls in our colony watching us from behind.
In keeping with my Tamil tradition, we
would wake up early in the morning just before the break of dawn, take an oil
bath, and burst crackers just as the first rays of light would begin to appear
in the sky. Again as a part of Kali Puja, I would wear on my Bengali self to
celebrate Diwali with sweets and crackers late into the night. My multi-lingual
background actually made me enjoy a double dose of Diwali.
Sweets and savories were another hallmark
of the festival with my mom preparing a host of them which would then be packed
neatly and distributed by us among our neighbors after a special pooja. She
would place the gas stove on the floor to begin making the Boondis which she
would later shape to make round round ladoos. If that wasn’t enough, she would go
on to make Rava ladoos, home-made mixture/farsaan and the delicious murukku/chakli.
Every time we tried to take a bite, she would whack us telling us to wait till
the pooja got over. Somehow the laddoos that we stole and ate tasted better
than those given to us later after the pooja :-).
Diwali in those days was a festival. The
excitement of wearing new clothes and going to every house in the neighborhood
to distribute sweets was an excitement of its own for us children.
With the changing times, festivals truly
have lost their essence. The festival of lights which lit our hearts and souls is
slowly losing its charm with people using all their time to shop on account of festive
discounts rather than wanting to spend time with their extended family.
Being away from home owing work, I want to
say that I love you so much ma. I miss your laddoos. Wish I could steal a few
of them like I always did. I Hope I get to celebrate a Diwali just like the old
times next year.
Happy Diwali, Deepavali and Kali Pujo.
No comments:
Post a Comment