celebration Archives - Page 3 of 14

27/10/201615/04/2017

Meri wali Diwali

Diwali to me has always meant being home. No matter where I worked, no matter how much the work pressure, Diwali would see me braving crowded trains, sometimes sitting through the entire 26 hour journey, to my parents.

Home, now is with the Husband and kids. The celebrations aren’t the same too. Just as much fun, but in a different way.

I clean (yeah I do that sometimes) and so do the kids. We buy pretty knick-knacks. N begins to think up rangoli designs way in advance and H always makes a late entry and wants to make one too. The diyas are bought, washed, dried and painted. The large ceremonial pot is cleaned and filled with water ready for flowers and floating candles. Gifts for dear friends are picked with care and are kept wrapped and ready. I go hunting for Ganesh-Lakshmi idols. In this part of the country solo Lakshmi idols seem to be the norm but back home the two gods were inseparable. For years I thought Ganesh and Lakshmi were a couple, wondering where Vishnu ji fitted in the whole picture!

Lunch that day is frill-free because cooking is not my forte. I try to stick to what I can handle – large chunks of paneer in tomato gravy, potatoes fried a golden brown, hot puffed puris and soft dahi wadas with tamarind-jaggery chutney. Basic stuff but it works for us. I make up by laying out the table as prettily as I can with my best china. Oh I also have the mandatory jimikand that makes your tongue tingle crazily but is must-have on Diwali lest you be reborn as a chhuchhundar!

The husband fusses round putting up the lights and then goes mithai shopping with the kids. He completely forgets that he’s a diabetic and buys much more than we can consume. I pretend to be angry but I don’t really mind because I know we’ll be sick of them before the week is through.

In the evening we set out the idols and the silver coins, the flowers and the diyas. After we light the diyas we have a small puja ending with an aarti. I gave up most of the other rituals because I don’t have a knack for them. I simply cannot remember them all and I got tired of calling up my mom every year. I do try though, because it would be a pity if H and N lost touch with all that’s traditional.

After the puja we carry the diyas and place one in each of the rooms, with the hope that our home and our lives are forever lit up with their radiance. Then we’re off to visit friends, exchange mithais and gifts and watch the fireworks.

Later at night, we switch off all the lights and sit amidst the flickering diyas and twinkling lanterns. We watch as the skies light up periodically in a shower of fireworks with H and N flitting from window to window calling out to come ‘see this one’.

It is truly beautiful.

That is what I am grateful this festive season – that I can celebrate Diwali exactly the way I want. I love that I have complete liberty to weed out all I don’t like – the must-be-done-cooking, the craziness of spring cleaning, the long drawn out puja, the mandatory gifting – all of those things that stress me out and make me not want to celebrate at all.

That leaves me with only the good parts, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends, and makes me welcome Diwali with all my heart, just how it should be.

What’s your Diwali like? What are are the things you’ve done away with or added on?

Linking up with Vidya’s Gratitude Circle Blog Hop

27/09/201615/04/2017

A milestone and a celebration

One thing the youngest child of every family learns to do perfectly is to await her turn. And so it is in the OM household. My third and youngest baby has been waiting patiently for her birthday celebrations.

Obsessivemom turned TEN this month!!

Imagine that!! One whole decade of blogging.

The celebrations are late by a week or so, but with the craziness at home I am just happy I got the month right.

People generally celebrate blogversaries by talking about how the blog has progressed over the years, how the number of followers has grown, the views skyrocketed, the Alexa numbers improved. But I have none of those. I’m not being humble, though I am a humble person, generally. What I am not, is a numbers person – numbers don’t register with me much.

However, what the blog has given me is quite priceless and I’ll say this gladly – it is way beyond numbers.

Over the years I have found I can say things here that I cannot otherwise. And I can say it with a fair amount of clarity and conviction (I still maintain I am a humble person). As I write and read back and edit and write again I find my head clearing up. Why I find it easier to talk to relative strangers while clamming up sometimes even at one-on-ones with friends, I have no idea. Perhaps it is the anonymity that frees me from the fear of being judged. It’s another matter that, over the years, much of the anonymity has vanished and many of you have turned dear friends. For that I can only be grateful.

It has been my conscious decision to keep things as positive as possible here on the blog. People close to me will know that life is way more chaotic than what it seems here, that I am not quite as patient and level headed as I might appear here. The things I laugh at in my posts have often driven me to distraction or even made me break down when I am in the middle of them. And yet the fact that I can laugh at them, that I can make light of my often over-the-top reactions, even if it is later, is what makes life good.

And when you guys drop by here and say ‘it happened to me too’ or ‘my kid did that too’ or ‘O My God you survived that!’ it does wonders for me.

Then there are days when despite my resolve, the worries spill out here and then when I hear you say ‘it shall be alright’ or ‘you’re doing fine’ or ‘the kids will be okay’ it helps. It helps because I begin to believe it a little bit. And that is where I begin to win – because believing is half the battle won, right?

So thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here. I hope you guys are still there when I’m old and foggy and all I write about is the decadent ways of the new generation, the cataract bugging my eyes and my most amazing grandchildren.

Linking up Mackenzie at Reflections from Me. She’s decoding true happiness in this post and says true happiness comes from loving yourself. Do drop by and take a read.

And also with Mel at Microblog Mondays where she talks of goodbyes.

16/09/201615/04/2017

Ganapati in the city

So Ganapati has gone after ten days of celebration. The blaring loudspeakers are silent.

I was late to the Ganapati party since back home we had no clue what the fuss was all about, other than what we saw in Hindi films and I always thought it was an exaggerated version of the real thing. It was in Pune that I got an up close and personal view of the festival.

The pandals are everywhere but the more revered Ganapatis are found in the old city. A bit ironic isn’t it? That some Ganapatis should be more revered than the others? Some more gracious about granting wishes than others? But then religion is beyond reason.

I try to visit the city at least once during the ten days, not for the blessings, but for the old world charm of the celebrations. No matter how huge the pandals in the scores of apartment complexes across the city, this is different. The buzz is something else and I love everything about it.

I do not find the crowds claustrophobic or the walk daunting. I find the small plastic toys on sale fascinating and the toy sellers even more so. Perhaps it reminds me of the melas of my childhood which were a bit of a forbidden treat or maybe it is my yen for roadside shopping. I do love it all.

This year I was a little reluctant after a friend had her bag cut through and her wallet stolen. The crowds hold all kinds. However I did manage a visit even though half my attention was on my sling bag.

As it turned out the visit was worth every little bit of it. To begin with the flower market is a treat. I loved the masses piled up by roadside.

And I adore the lotus, perhaps because we don’t get to see them too often and definitely not in such profusion. It’s not much use getting it home because it wilts pretty soon but it does look gorgeous. Doesn’t it?

Check out the long winding columns of devotees. I didn’t venture to queue up but satisfied myself with the glimpse of the God from outside. Loudspeakers were booming out artis and instructions. At one of the temples a gentleman announced, ‘Don’t forget to take selfies with your favourite Ganapati’.

Talk about keeping up with the times!

Oh and I love this quaint custom of whispering your dearest wish into the ear of the mooshak in the hope that he would conveyed it to Ganapati.

…age is no bar. All you need is to have faith.

14/08/201615/04/2017

#Women at work – The fruit seller

I see her busy at her shop right across the road from our apartment building. She has a small outlet stocked with fresh flower and fruit. Somedays I see her attending customers, somedays she is polishing the fruit with a piece of cloth or arranging them in meticulous piles.

I pass by her shop some half a dozen times a day and she never fails to give me a smile. She knows I love flowers as do the kids. She also knows I prefer gerberas and roses for my vases as against the ones she keeps – marigolds, Indian roses and jasmines which are used more often for religious rituals. And yet when I am buying fruit and she has a specially pretty rose she hands it over to me with a ‘take this for the kids’.

And so H and N here’s a lesson for you – Take pleasure and pride in whatever you do, no matter how small your job, how tiny your business. You don’t need to have a lot of ‘things’ to be generous. All you need is a big heart.

When most shop keepers take a siesta break (a ritual in my city), she doesn’t go home. She sits quietly enjoying her break. Her hands keep busy as she picks out flowers from a basket on her lap and threads out colourful garlands, readying for the evening rush.

Somedays she talks to me. A lot of it is in Marathi but I nod along even though I don’t understand all of it. I ask her why she doesn’t shut shop for the siesta.

And she says,

“My husband passed away recently. When he was alive, he was always pestering me. ‘Why are you always at the shop? I need you here at home to serve me lunch. I need you to sit with me while I eat,’ he’d say.

I’d get annoyed and I’d tell him – the children are there to take care of you. How much can a woman do? I have the shop to look after.

But he would have none of it. We’d have arguments but I did go home each day.”

I nod along, the feminist in me not quite happy with the story.

She continues, a trifle wistfully,

‘Now he is gone and no one asks me to come home. I have children, son, daughter-in-law but they don’t know if I’ve eaten or not. I’m happiest here at my shop.’

I don’t know what to say. The feminist is a trifle confused and chooses to stay silent.

And here’s lesson number 2. This one is for me: Relationships are complicated. No one relationship is quite like another. It is easy to pass judgement, to give advice but different things work for different people.

I cannot end the post without wishing everyone a very happy Independence Day. And I’m glad I wrote about this lady today. Isn’t she a symbol of Independent India? Of doing her own thing and being at peace with herself?

Despite so much that is not quite right with our country, we do have things to be proud of, things that set us apart, make us special.

Today, I shall focus on all that IS right with my country and it is that which I shall be celebrating.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Linking up with Parul for the #Women at Work bloghop. If you have a story about a working woman do share.

26/01/201627/01/2025

Flaunt your patriotism

It’s Republic Day today. I woke up to the sound of Mere Desh ki Dharti being played somewhere on a loudspeaker. H picked it up and started singing it with the lyrics all wrong. That always irks me – another one of my pet peeves – this thing about music being just beats and no lyrics.

Anyway, in correcting H I ended up explaining the age old song to the kids. And then since I couldn’t remember the whole thing I googled it. The song is definitely dated but the pride of belonging to a wonderful country shines clearly through.

National Holidays used to be big days when we were kids – they still are back home for my parents, who make it a point to go to their alma-maters for flag hoisting. National pride was a big deal. Independence would still have had a new sheen to it, for our parents at least. And we caught the patriotism bug from them.

Somehow along the way, what with work and life, they became ‘just another holiday’ to me – a day to plan a picnic, or sleep in, or tackle that list of unending chores. Is it just me or does it have something to do with changing times? All of it just became uncool. I didn’t stop feeling patriotic, I always did and will always do, but it definitely became uncool to flaunt it.

Then along came the kids and in trying to teach them about India I am relearning too – their enthusiasm is contagious. When they were younger they wanted tricolour balloons and charkhis and tricolour food and tricolour clothes – the whole deal. And I did it all with them.

They’re growing up. N still childlike, revels in all the festivities. H is already reluctant to wear Indian clothes because ‘they are uncomfortable’ yet I persist. Patriotism is much more than clothes, I know, but this one day let’s go all Indian when we sing the National Anthem on Republic Day, I tell him. So then how can I not ditch my trustee jeans and pull out my orange/green/white salwar kurta too?I do so happily, and I go down for the flag hoisting. I sing the National Anthem aloud, I eat the laddoo with relish and I try to make the day as special as I possibly can. I flaunt my patriotism as much as my self-conscious self will allow. I find I’m getting better at it and I’m liking it too.

I’ll always be grateful to the kids for reawakening National Pride in me.Leaving you now with one of my favourite songs from the film Purab aur Paschim. Manoj Kumar is corny and Saira Banu is downright ludicrous in that blonde wig and with the swirling cigarette smoke, but the song is to die for. It makes me all warm and proud to be an Indian. Do hear out the lyrics.Click here for the song.