Category: celebration

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What a Diwali it was

Caution: Long post alert.. this one’s really long

Happy Diwali all you people. What a day. No matter how much I pre plan and prepare Diwali is always crazy and I find myself racing to keep up with the day. This, despite simplifying everything from cooking and cleaning to the puja. Wonder how my mum did it all… the massive cleaning, the lavish cooking, endless hunting for the perfect Ganesh Lakshmi, the scouting for that perfect kandil for the doorway, lining the entire driveway (and we had a loooong one) with candles, dressing up and finally the elaborate puja. I forgot to add that there would be guests dropping in all the while too.

The day began peacefully enough…
The kids fortunately were down playing almost all day leaving me to change sheets, cushion covers, table covers and set up flower arrangements undisturbed. The Husband was glued to his phone with his colleagues, ex and present, discussing Diwali auto sales. His exclamations would make you think he was Rahul Bajaj or Anand Mahindra with the profits flowing into his own personal account… the happiness he gets out of such conversations, My God! Strange na how when the kids leave you alone it’s like ‘Wow’ but when The Husband leaves you alone it’s like ‘Grrrrrrrr’.

 

A clean and pretty house is so
rare and such a pleasure

 

By the time I reached the kitchen it was noon and The Husband had taken the kids firework shopping. They came back with N in the middle of a hunger-driven tantrum demanding to be fed by ‘Only Mama’. However, one monster story and they were both eating out of my hand, literally.

.. and then the kids took over

A short rest and it was back to making rangolis and getting set for the puja. A friend dropped by with a Diwali gift. The kids took it away to their room and managed to open not just the one meant for us but even the one she’d got for someone else. I discovered the earth never does open and up and swallow you no matter how desperately you pray. And so I apologised till I was blue in the face, offered them fresh wrapping paper which they graciously declined and then bid a hasty farewell. Whew!
WARNING: Don’t come to our home with a gift not meant for us.. don’t EVER come with one wrapped in pink and one in blue… apparently that’s where the confusion started.
Note to H and N: When you’re older and start to find your parents embarrassing.. remember what you put us through and bear with us.

While I got the rangoli ready H managed to knock down and break the Ganesha idol we’d got for the puja and came within an inch of being whacked by the frustrated Husband who had been made to go and get it at the nth hour. That was not the end though. They fought over the rangolis, stepped into them, got colour over their new clothes..making Diwali look like Holi, and generally got in the way as much as they possibly could. They were on a roll.

N, the brave

Finally we finished the puja and went down for the fireworks. N turned out to be the hero of the moment. She jumped around lighting up chakris and anars without a shred of fear, first with The Husband’s help and then on her own while I watched with my heart in my mouth. She so reminded me of Zoya from  Anuja Chauhan’s Zoya Factor. If you haven’t read that book, you must. H meanwhile stood back hugging me scared to even take up a phuljhadi. Since I am a legendary darpok when it comes to fireworks N amazed me. The Husband called H a darpok and got an earful from me.

 

Can you believe this?

That, ladies and gentlemen, was how my Diwali went. How was yours?

PS: Days before Diwali H had been pestering me to make a ’30’ so that ‘Goddess Lakshmi would come home’. It was just yesterday that I realised he meant an ‘Om’ 😀
Leftie, forever

 

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Eid, Ganapati and some weightloss

The kids had two days of holidays for Eid and Ganesh Chaturthi, The Husband was working both days. I thought I’d take a break. For once I’d drop the Scheduler Mom attitude, let the kids be… not worry about whether they were having their daal, roti, subzi… not worry about how much television they were watching… or how long they were at the neighbour’s… that was the plan.
I thought I’d not bother with the festivals, either. Eid used to be special in Lucknow .. but we were not in Lucknow. Our only Muslim friend here, who’s son is also Hrit’s best buddy, had gone home to Kerala for the celebration so we were just not excited.
However, one can’t really live in India and not bother about festivals. First I got a call from my mother. Here’s how that went…
Ma: So what are you doing for Eid? Are you making Seviyan?
Me: Nope
Ma: Why not?
Me: I just didn’t feel like it.
Ma: Arre, why aren’t you celebrating? How can you not involve the children in Eid celebrations? You should dress them up, take them out, tell them why it’s celebrated.
That’s when I wished I could tune her out. But there’s something about my mum. I just can’t tune her out. Everyone else I can.. I’m actually quite good at it. I can read amidst the kids’ ruckus, turn a deaf ear to The Husband, tune out to colleagues’ wives chatter, make PC with all and sundry without bothering my brains but my mum.. she’s a different story. Oh I’ll oppose what she says when I don’t quite agree.. but I’ll always have a niggling doubt that she’s right. She often is… but that’s not the point. The point is that small ‘niggle’ will niggle and niggle and grow and grow till I find myself galvanised into doing exactly what she wanted me to. Humph! So much for turning into a grown up, mature, independent individual.
But I deviate.. on with the conversation…
Me (putting up the token protest and trying to go on the offensive): I’m not sure of the story myself. You never told us, did you? You never dressed us up either.
Ma: Well you were in Lucknow. You were part of that culture.. you got to soak it all up automatically but your kids need to be told about it all. Look up the story on the Net, get out the kurta pajama and chaniya cholis. And I did dress you up once.
Well she did.. but that wasn’t on Eid and she DID NOT tell us the story.
Not that it mattered because by evening I was running around buying seviyans and milk, then surfing the Net, then digging out the kids’ clothes. Then The Husband came and said we were to go to wish a friend Eid. The kids’ got to flaunt their clothes and I got to eat the most delicious Sheer Khurma (that had simmered all night on a sigri… yum!). My seviyans turned out quite delicious too or maybe the neighbours were being polite. But then The Husband said so too and he NEVER tries to be polite so my Eid was pretty much perfect.
Then came Ganapati. Thank God Mum knows nothing about it (There’s no Ganesh Chaturthi up North) and just as I was thinking of a lazy day the SIL called. She was bringing Ganapati home and we were invited. And so I ran from the gym, ran to pick some prasad so I could make my own petitions to the Lord, dressed up the kids and it was puja time. We drove through the roads teaming with drummers even as loudspeakers boomed bhajans in Marathi, waded through the crowds to pick up the idol, watched the SIL set it up, decorated it with flowers and thermacol, then put together the hundred other things needed for the puja, sang the aarti while the kids alternately clapped and fought for the bell. Finally we sat down to a hot lunch of chhole, bhature, kheer… really there’s nothing like being with friends and family.
***********

And here’s my high five moment. I kicked off the four kgs I’d picked up In Lucknow during the vacations. Now I can look forward to some real weightloss. Since I’d set August as the deadline I’m pretty bang on with my target. Even the modaks I had recently haven’t pushed up the scales so I’m pretty chuffed. Wish me more luck guys.
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Happy Birthday Krishna

Krishna happens to be Naisha’s ‘favourite God’ and so his birthday had to be celebrated. She went on a drawing spree. Here are some of her works.. ‘some’ being the key word. The house is littered with her drawings. I really need to find her an art class.


Krishna Radha

Points of Note (PoN): Radha’s hand increases in length to hold her pot.



More Krishna Radha

PoN: The pink thing on Radha’s head is not a pot but a flower she’s wearing in her hair and that’s a mango tree by the side.



Krishna holding up the Govardhan Parvat



Krishna Radha in a temple



Krishna with his friends in the Yamuna



Kalia the snake comes on



Krishna getting at the pot of butter



Krishna and Radha on a pink Dolphin.. don’t ask me where she got that idea from



Finally.. the two under a rainbow



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They’re five

I’ve been away too long. Meanwhile much has happened. But all of that can wait. First the most momentous event of them all …. the kids reached the ripe old age of five.
And we decided to have a party. For the first time ever we went in for the regular rigmarole complete with tattoo guy and magician.
First there was the guestlist
Most of the kids’ friends were still vacationing including Hrit’s favourite buddy. After a careful tally he realised there were very few boys and was terribly upset because the ‘boys’ team was smaller than the ‘girls’ team.

However that did not deter him from distributing invites with abandon, even to girls and also to girls he didn’t know the names of. Along with the invites he gave clear instructions that they were supposed to carry gifts for ‘me and my sister’. I swear I never taught him any of that. Mercifully the absentees balanced out the new invitees.

.. then the big question “What should they wear?”
We found Naisha her dream dress.. a pretty pink party thing she fell in love with at first sight. She preened till I lost patience and locked it away. (Thankfully she didn’t bring up the question of the Chaniya Choli). Hrit’s clothes took forever but finally got sorted.

Less than a week before the party Hrit decided he wanted to be a ‘hair cutter’ when he grew up. And what better place to hone his skills than his own head? Two days in a row he chopped off his hair — once near the parting and then right above his forehead. The hairdresser I took him to refused repair work advising me to simply cover up the patches with what was left of his hair… and that was that.

Then there was the question of the venue
The house was ruled out. (The cooking I might have managed but the post party cleanup… yikes no). After much deliberation and checking and rechecking that the monsoon hadn’t progressed beyond Kerala we decided to have the party in a semi open space at a neighbourhood restaurant.

D – day dawned..
.. sunnily enough. But we’d tempted the Gods and they didn’t disappoint. They made sure the monsoon hopped skipped and jumped to our city and opened up the skies precisely half an hour before the party.

We had to settle for a tiny room in the same restaurant. It was a bit of a crush…. but the kids didn’t notice.

The decoration guys had to give up half way through and hastily put up some balloons at the new venue… and that was all the kids seemed to want.
The husband was called upon to ferry the guests to and from the venue…. which meant the party started and ended bang on time.
I tried to dress up for the occasion too. While I stuck to my jeans I ditched my trustee canvas shoes for a pair of heels and also, a first, I got my hair done. The rain however banished both my vanities in a moment. The downpour flattened my hair in a jiffy and as I waded through the overflowing drains the sandals gave way.. so it was back to the trustee shoes. I ended up as the most relaxed though dishevelled hostess.
With the sister and and SIL by my side (Couldn’t have done it without them) we managed to pull it off. We had fun as did the kids. They sat through the magic show, got all excited at the pigeons the magician conjured up, played Queen of Sheeba with gusto and burst balloons with a vengeance.

Learnings for next year

1. Kids do NOT need fancy venues.
2. Kids do NOT care for decoration as long as it is fun to destroy.
3. Kids can dance to ANY music.
4. Kids can eat ANY food as long as it’s not spicy.
5. KIDS DO NOT LEAVE WITHOUT RETURN GIFTS.
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This one’s for India

 

Dear H and N,

We were early at the bus stop today and I was struggling to while away time with the two of you as you ran around bubbling with your early morning energy. Then along came Tanu with his Dadu. He takes his bus from the same stop as you and over time has turned into a friend. He joined in the ruckus till his Dadu suggested, “Let’s sing songs while we wait for the bus”.
Tanu went first and he sang ‘I salute the flag’ then launched into ‘Chhodo kal ki baatein’. “I am preparing for tomorrow’s Republic Day function,” he explained. As his Dadu took all your little hands in his large ones and explained to each of you the right way to salute I looked on filled with guilt and regret.
Yes, tomorrow is Republic Day. However, you think it’s just another holiday. I am so sorry darlings I forgot to tell you that tomorrow is no ordinary holiday. I could of course blame it on the relief of not having to wake up early to a super chaotic morning or the excitement of having Daddy home all day (he’s been working the last two weekends and we’ve barely glimpsed him all this while). But I won’t. I will make a promise, however, of telling you about the wonderful country you were fortunate to be born in…
— a country where you can light fireworks at Diwali, tuck into seviyans on Eid and and get gifts for Christmas – a triple whammy
— a country where you, Zaheen, Jennifer and Gunraj can share tiffins at school without a thought
— a country where mama can wear what she wants, go where she wants.
— a country where you can say exactly what you want because everyone, yes everyone, is allowed to have their say
— a country that that gives both of you equal freedom and equal rights
And when you grow up ours is a country that gives you the power to make it what you want. That’s a huge power and a huge responsibility. Use it well when you have it.
Tomorrow is special. It is our country’s real birthday and we shall celebrate it in style.
Meanwhile listen to this, our National Anthem. I get goose bumps and misty eyes when I hear it. I hope in time you too will learn to look beyond it’s melody and will stand up in pride and love to salute your country just like Tanu’s Dadu taught you.
Love
Mama

 

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