Diwali Memories
By now the firecrackers would have started going off. Irritatingly invasive at 5.00 in the morning, but irresistible at 6.00. Still in pajamas, snacking on chakli, with many summons to go have my head oiled, please bathe, please…pretty please…wear your new reshme langa, eat breakfast and leave the fruit alone, behave yourself…..sigh. I now think I could have put up with any amount of torture for a chance at the loudest, most obnoxious firecrackers.
I was one of the younger kids among nearly 50 plus cousins in my grandfather’s old house. Young, but certainly the boldest. The older cousins who knew what the latest firecrackers in the market were and the price tag they came at always pushed me forward to go ask my grandfather for Pataki-money. After refusing a sufficient number of times, I would relent and then go up to him. Ajja would be sitting on his ancient chair in his office, just off of the large verandah with the red and green floor, reading the newspaper. And I’d demand money. He’d say, “What? More money? To blow up in smoke? I just gave some to your XYZ brother last evening.” Of course, I’d stand my ground and of course I walked away with more than anyone ever could. One time he gave me 800 rupees…this was way back in 1987, when 800 rupees was a LOT of money for a bunch of kids. I now think Ajja thought I was special. I was the only one that refused to be afraid of him, and the only one who fooled around with him.
But my favorite part of Diwali was not the firecrackers, nor the food, nor the snacks and definitely not the endless poojas. It was when the old wrinkled Ayyannar (a priest) came by. The oldest daughters in law of the household would spread out a thick black woolen blanket on the floor of the verandah. The blanket was supposedly ancient, meant to represent the migration of my ancestors from the area near Badami in Karnataka further South. They were fleeing persecution by the invading Bahamani Kingdom that occupied the entire area. The migration supposedly brought a change in trade and the people started rearing livestock instead of farming and trading. This made since they were constantly moving. Hence the Kuruba or shepherding community. Going back to the blanket on the floor of the verandah, ancient heirlooms would then be placed carefully on the blanket. Very old silver, gold, brass, copper jewellery, utensils, implements, weapons…all kinds of interesting things that probably belong in a museum, would be placed. And the most precious of all – a hand made leather bound book. The Ayyannar’s main job was to ensure that records were updated. He’d open the family book, then his own book and make identical entries of all the births and deaths in the family and extended family in both the books. The family book, along with the heirlooms and blanket would go back into a large red and green vault which could only be accessed by Ajja.
Then one year we decided to go be with my Mother’s family. Diwali is not really celebrated in conservative Christian families in South India. My aunt would receive gifts of firecrackers at work which would be saved till Christmas. And when the whole city enjoyed a day off of Christmas day, the Christian families would come out with guns blazing and take revenge on the Diwali noise makers. No amount of pleading would get us firecrackers for Diwali!! And so Diwali was simply no fun with my other family!
Then there was that one Diwali that we spent in Mysore on the roof top of some friends, a bonfire, plenty of beer that I pour charmingly for guests, but could not drink because I was only 13 or 14. I got distracted by the bhoo-chakra and I forgot I had a lit pencil in my hand. I burnt my fingers for the first time that night.
I can never forget the first Diwali I spent alone in Chennai. I would ride through the neighborhoods at night just to see the oil lamps. I still feel tight in my chest when I think of that time. The loneliness the fireworks created in me was dispelled only by shutting it out with Chris Isaak on my walkman.
I remember that first Diwali I spent in Bangalore, watching my neighbor from my balcony as he lit fireworks. He eventually ran up my stairs and dragged me down and I gave in to the addictive smell of gunpowder and lit up a rocket after years. And then a few years later, this same neighbor and I were celebrating Diwali again. Only this time, we went to Hosur where we bought a big sack full of firecrackers. I made a fresh rangoli every night at our door and decorated it with oil lamps. I made all kinds of snacks and sweets. Our friends were our family at that time and most of them were away celebrating with their families in different towns. But they cut short their vacation to be with us…and we lit most of those fireworks a day after Diwali.
It’s impossible to recreate the innocence or joy of the days gone by. As I’ve grown older, I’ve also grown more aware that things are never going to be the same. Traditions are diluted to a mere formality. It’s now left to me to carry the memories and carry on my own brand of traditions. I am all grown up I guess…but I still miss the fireworks!
Diwali 2008
Sammamish
6.00 am
I was one of the younger kids among nearly 50 plus cousins in my grandfather’s old house. Young, but certainly the boldest. The older cousins who knew what the latest firecrackers in the market were and the price tag they came at always pushed me forward to go ask my grandfather for Pataki-money. After refusing a sufficient number of times, I would relent and then go up to him. Ajja would be sitting on his ancient chair in his office, just off of the large verandah with the red and green floor, reading the newspaper. And I’d demand money. He’d say, “What? More money? To blow up in smoke? I just gave some to your XYZ brother last evening.” Of course, I’d stand my ground and of course I walked away with more than anyone ever could. One time he gave me 800 rupees…this was way back in 1987, when 800 rupees was a LOT of money for a bunch of kids. I now think Ajja thought I was special. I was the only one that refused to be afraid of him, and the only one who fooled around with him.
But my favorite part of Diwali was not the firecrackers, nor the food, nor the snacks and definitely not the endless poojas. It was when the old wrinkled Ayyannar (a priest) came by. The oldest daughters in law of the household would spread out a thick black woolen blanket on the floor of the verandah. The blanket was supposedly ancient, meant to represent the migration of my ancestors from the area near Badami in Karnataka further South. They were fleeing persecution by the invading Bahamani Kingdom that occupied the entire area. The migration supposedly brought a change in trade and the people started rearing livestock instead of farming and trading. This made since they were constantly moving. Hence the Kuruba or shepherding community. Going back to the blanket on the floor of the verandah, ancient heirlooms would then be placed carefully on the blanket. Very old silver, gold, brass, copper jewellery, utensils, implements, weapons…all kinds of interesting things that probably belong in a museum, would be placed. And the most precious of all – a hand made leather bound book. The Ayyannar’s main job was to ensure that records were updated. He’d open the family book, then his own book and make identical entries of all the births and deaths in the family and extended family in both the books. The family book, along with the heirlooms and blanket would go back into a large red and green vault which could only be accessed by Ajja.
Then one year we decided to go be with my Mother’s family. Diwali is not really celebrated in conservative Christian families in South India. My aunt would receive gifts of firecrackers at work which would be saved till Christmas. And when the whole city enjoyed a day off of Christmas day, the Christian families would come out with guns blazing and take revenge on the Diwali noise makers. No amount of pleading would get us firecrackers for Diwali!! And so Diwali was simply no fun with my other family!
Then there was that one Diwali that we spent in Mysore on the roof top of some friends, a bonfire, plenty of beer that I pour charmingly for guests, but could not drink because I was only 13 or 14. I got distracted by the bhoo-chakra and I forgot I had a lit pencil in my hand. I burnt my fingers for the first time that night.
I can never forget the first Diwali I spent alone in Chennai. I would ride through the neighborhoods at night just to see the oil lamps. I still feel tight in my chest when I think of that time. The loneliness the fireworks created in me was dispelled only by shutting it out with Chris Isaak on my walkman.
I remember that first Diwali I spent in Bangalore, watching my neighbor from my balcony as he lit fireworks. He eventually ran up my stairs and dragged me down and I gave in to the addictive smell of gunpowder and lit up a rocket after years. And then a few years later, this same neighbor and I were celebrating Diwali again. Only this time, we went to Hosur where we bought a big sack full of firecrackers. I made a fresh rangoli every night at our door and decorated it with oil lamps. I made all kinds of snacks and sweets. Our friends were our family at that time and most of them were away celebrating with their families in different towns. But they cut short their vacation to be with us…and we lit most of those fireworks a day after Diwali.
It’s impossible to recreate the innocence or joy of the days gone by. As I’ve grown older, I’ve also grown more aware that things are never going to be the same. Traditions are diluted to a mere formality. It’s now left to me to carry the memories and carry on my own brand of traditions. I am all grown up I guess…but I still miss the fireworks!
Diwali 2008
Sammamish
6.00 am
posted by Arpana Sanjay at 7:53 AM
3 Comments:
Wishing you a Happy & Noisefree Deepawali ;-)
I just read fleetingly some bits about obnoxiously loud crackers, will come back at leisure and read fully later.. (now is office)
Fascinating read , especially the ritual of making entries in the family book ! I guess by now you guys must have a digital version of the book..
My earlier comment (about noisefree diwali) was bit premature coz it seems like your family prefers to go all guns blazing during festive times.. (lol @ revenge on diwali noise makers)
These days instead of waking up to the noise of crackers, one wakes up to the buzz of obnoxious SMS's. I find the crackers more bearable than those corny SMS greetings :)
I wont be surprised if the entire book is lost on us these days Parik. :-( And there's no one left in the family for loud patakhas...atleast no one as enthu as me.
lol@ corny messages...but those come around regardless of festival or not no??
I am till lmao at your karzzzz adventure! :-))
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