Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.
I’m from the Indian subcontinent. So lots of festivals and traditions. Again, a tiny back story – we are a family of 6. Mum and dad and four girls with the widest gap being ten years. My older siblings have a slightly different memory of my parents and the traditions they followed. By the time we came along, some of the traditions had watered down and the beliefs all but a distant memory.
Like the Gregorian calendar, the Indian calendar is also divided into twelve months. The names are different and of course associated beliefs as well. The months between Jan14-Aug 14 have very few festivals. While August kicks off the festival season in India with the Lakshmi puja, the festival dedicated to the goddess of wealth- Goddess Lakshmi. This is followed by Krishna Janmashtami, Ganesh Chaturthi, Dasshera, Deepavali, Karthikai and ends on Jan 14 with Pongal. The Indians celebrate the new year around mid march.
Mum and dad had a nuclear set up, and while work barely closed for all festivals, schools gave ample cushions on either side of these holidays and we used to be left to our devices (no electronic references here) most often. Even with almost no holiday and no time for prep, mum ensured there was always something special for each of these festivals.
Traditionally every festival has a unique menu with a special dish favoured by the god being worshipped or celebrated on that day. New clothes are offered to the deity for blessings and then worn fresh after a bath. This usually includes everything from inner wear to the outer clothes. We would then remove the ‘puja books’ and read the chants and make the offerings for naivedya and then sit to eat a sumptuous meal. This usually was followed by a nap, or as the Italians call it- siesta.
This was the way, mum used to do it. Of course with the passage of time and the restrictions imposed by work and classes and travel and health restrictions and of course extracurriculars, the entire lot of steps were whittled down, a token piece of cloth was offered for blessings with maybe just one special sweet made as an offering. There was no elaborate menu, no extravagant shopping sprees, and definitely no siesta!
Yet, the one thing that remained were the stories. Mum was an extraordinary storyteller- she could stretch the story to fit the time we had allocated for it. So we used to sit down post lunch to listen, and would start with what is usually done and why we celebrate the festival and how we ideally pray to that particular deity. The camaraderie and laughs this has caused in later years is what I cherish the most today. And this is what encourages me to try something new in the kitchen.
Cooking is a very oral tradition in India, cook books are a thing of western contribution. Traditionally children sit around with the mother while she cooks and learns by measuring with their fingers, smelling to understand flavours. You never taste a dish before it’s offered to the god, it’s considered inauspicious. We were four, the kitchen was always a hot stuffy space (chimneys are a modern concept that did not exist when we were growing up.). While my sisters used to sit around and figure out stuff, I used to loll outside with dad and have inane conversations. I used to taste, if offered, but usually just left to do as I please.
It was only after mum passed away, that I gravitated towards traditional dishes. The smells in the house when cooking is full on, is something else entirely. Traditional cooking has no onion and garlic and strong flavours, so the aromas are tantalising. Of course, I started these ‘experiments’ with baking, cakes and the happy hormone rushes are something else. Today I also try some of the slightly more tougher Indian sweets that mum used to make. Of course I miss her standing next to me and talking me through the steps. But I take the aromas that waft through the house that remind me of her being close. The only tradition I am tempted to follow- the way to the heart is usually through the stomach (with the restrictions of a nomadic lifestyle and accessibility to ingredients) and the tradition that I always keep, the stories about how JP (my mum as the kids called her) and RP (my MIL as the kids called her) celebrated these festivals.
Just a little more 