Diwali – The Mother of all festivals - Over the years!

Diwali is right upon us and millions of homes across the country get ready to welcome the ‘mother of all festivals’.

It took me some time to understand why this beautiful festival is called mother of all festivals and not “baap” as most other grandest things are called in our local lingo.

It takes me back to many decades as a school girl when the weather and the smells emanating from the kitchen slowly and surely ushered the happy news of the festival that would be upon us in a few days.

The suffocating October heat suddenly gave way, first to the morning chills, then the mildly cold evenings and finally the shivering cold nights. The fan regulator slowly fell into lower numbers and the blankets were pulled out of the cupboards, smelling gently of naphthalene and storage. The early morning cycling to school became more pleasant and sweaters kept us warm and our uniforms clean. The anticipation of holidays for the festival gave an excitement that none could contain and it was with great difficulty that we all waited for the day.

At home, it was an activity that changed the whole scene of what a staid home is. Huge bags of raw materials for the kitchen, decorative pieces and diyas, coloured crepe-paper rolls and streamers, artificial flowers and real flowers, mango leaves and jute string rolls, rangolis of various colours, fairy lights and the special lamp called ‘akash-kandil’, all gradually found their way into our home, some on the walls, some on the floor and most of it in the kitchen.

And who do you think managed all this?

The Mother of the house, of course.

All that my tiny self could fathom was that she was at the centre of this glowing universe, throwing orders to the various people that came for installing lights, painting the house from outside, cleaning the roofs, floors, rooms and sundry, decorating the building with floral streamers and long wires of tiny blinking lights, overseeing all the work that went into lighting up the home till it shone like the Diwali lights (pun untended).

A part of her occasionally flew into the kitchen to see that all the ingredients were available to the in-charge of our kitchen so that all the frying and roasting, mixing and kneading would begin that would fill large steel containers with deliciously tempting savouries and sweets, lovingly called ‘diwali-faral’. The kitchen thus became the hot-bed of intense activity emanating wonderful smells of chakli, chivda, ladoo, shev, shankarpali, karanji, the staple of Diwali. The house would be filled with these intoxicating smells as one waited impatiently for that first taste, and the second and the……………..hundredth!

The Mother also found enough time in her busy work schedule to bundle us kids in her car and take us to the best clothes shop for new dresses, one for each day of Diwali (that’s how I remember loving the long-drawn process of the festival, form Vasubaras to Bhaubeej). There would be trips to the tailor for  specially designed dresses and also the mandatory new pair of sandals, preferably with some bling ( a ‘once-a-year’ buy back then ).

With all preparations in place, all the shopping done, savouries and sweets ready to be devoured and the house shining like the proverbial North star, we would wait for the day to arrive ushering in happiness, excitement and all the new gifts we waited for.

Come Diwali, and waking up before the crack of the dawn on the first day was the only thing we kids disliked about Mother and her penchant for traditions. But there she stood towering upon us, as we desperately tried to hide in our blankets, shooing us away to the bathroom for the traditional arati and then the steaming hot bath. Even as we scrubbed our sleep-laden eyes and slipped into our new dresses, we were ushered into the mandir area for the morning prayers and the mandatory prasad of rice poha with curd. The whole exercise was conducted with precision by The Mother who herself was all dressed in a pretty saree and a glowing happy face.

The remaining days were equally grand.

Shri Laxmi Pujan was a grand puja of the Goddess Laxmi, placed strategically in the main living room upon a low broad stool, decorated with flowers and mango leaves. The specially bought piece of gold ornament along with silver coins depicting The Goddess and Lord Ganesha with a few rupee notes and coins would be placed in a silver bowl along with sweets and prasad made specially for this puja. A few prayers and the aratis said across millions of homes would then resonate in our house as we solemnly prayed for Goddess Laxmi to remain in our house in peace and happiness.

Fire crackers were a part of the celebration but I remember hating the sounds and the burnt paper smells and slowly over the years they fell out of the celebration as environmental considerations rattled our parents who seriously worked towards its protection, albeit at family level.

Family, extended family, friends, colleagues, our hospital staff all formed a part of the dinners that The Mother organised over the next couple of days, overseeing everything from menu to table arrangements, chairs, cutlery and fresh flowers. Catering was unheard of that time and our kitchen was filled with expert women handling everything from frying puris to making sweets. The staff too helped with so much affection all because, as they often said, she is our Mother too!

The period was the 70 s and 80 s. The Father of the house was definitely a part of the melee but from the wings on this stage of the Diwali drama. He would work that much harder, double the time and see that the economics worked out seamlessly, as he benevolently smiled at her shopping, extravagance, hospitality and the celebration.

The grandeur of Diwali, the joy, warmth and laughter that spread in the house, the relationships that strengthened over good food and memories, the positivity that the festival brought with itself, all imprinted on our young minds, giving us the bank of memories that would carry us and the legacy of our parents forward, making us firm believers of the joys of the festival and the sunshine it brought into our homes.

I have continued to be the ecstatic leader, The Mother, of the festival of all festivals, but today the role of the father has changed. He stands with me, lending a helping hand for every little thing that needs to be done to welcome this grand event. There is celebration with friends and family, there is the mandatory flowers and fairy lights, there is the table loaded with traditional Diwali faral but there is also the camaraderie and sharing, there is equal division of love’s labour and also the economics of the festival.

Over the years some things have changed though. Holidays are limited, children have moved to farther pastures, relatives and friends have plans of their own. Catering is the need of the day and rarely the house emanates the smells of frying chaklis and roasting ladoos. Store bought foods dress up the table and fashion is all about clothes brought from swanky malls with high-end labels. Eating out has taken an important role and no festival is complete without the compulsory spending on multi-cuisine food in expensive restaurants.

Diwali has come a long way, but the joy, the laughter and the essence remain the same, just what the Mother of the house brings in for a ‘Baap’ festival.

Hey! May this Diwali bring prosperity and light into your homes.

 

Dr. Reina Khadilkar