Disclaimer.
A very very long post, apologies.
This past week has been hectic.
The usual spring cleaning but now it’s just the two of us.
Not much home baking or palaharam prep this time as husband has been down with the flu, and both of us having been swept off our feet with work, classes, Navarathri.
Anyway, being D1’s first Deepavali as a newly wed or Thalai Deepavali, I wanted to “pass it on”.
And so we made mysore pak together.
To digress a little,
On our Thalai Deepavali in ‘92, we attempted Muruku, Ribbon Muruku using hastily written recipes from mum, Mysore Pak from my dear aunt, who’s not with us anymore, mixture from Rajamani Akka, fondly known as Pa ka. These recipes, written in illegible script, adorn pages of my recipe file, which I still refer to, to this day. Each year, each time, I read half pound ghee and translate that to grams, I remember my dear Kuantan Mami (yes, we all have aunts and uncles named after the towns they used to live in) telling me to add besan flour tablespoon by tablespoon carefully into the ghee, until mixed, something which I never do anyway.
But..every time I take that first bite of melt in the mouth deliciousness, I remember Mami with fondness, she lives on. And now with Kuantan Mama too having passed on suddenly very recently, making this Mysore Pak has been an emotional experience.
Thoughts of Mama telling me to add more sugar and ghee with Mami chiding him,
D1 reading the recipe, measuring the flour, sugar, ghee with the precision of a pharmacist,
and us taking turns to stir the mix over a low flame,
Got me swallowing a lump in my throat and fighting back tears.
Mix done, we poured it into a tray, watched it set, then cut mix into cubes. Tried a tiny misshapen piece, and
It was/is out of this world delicious.
Felt thrilled that we had done it together.
Previous Deepavalis had the girls baking, prepping the rangoli, decorating the house. It’s a little quiet this year.
D2 just arrived last night. She will take over the decor and some last minute baking.
And so I suppose this is what makes a festival special. As with everything in life, it’s the days leading up to the THE day. And sometimes because the path or our journey on that path is so eventful – the actual destination or the day becomes an anti climax.
I have always loved the idea of families getting together to make palaharams for Deepavali, or setting up the altar room for Navarathri, or putting up the Christmas tree for Christmas. I love the jokes, squabbles, everything about it. I hang on it, in the earnest, fervent hope, that these traditions, rituals, are passed down to the next generation, to my daughters, nieces, stutdents so that they do the same with their progeny.
I remember my grandmothers and aunts around coal stoves frying muruku, achu muruku and ribbon muruku in batches. Storing them in huge metal biscuit tins grudgingly given by grocery shop owners. Us children playing tag, hide-and-seek in the garden, kari-masak, baby sitting the younger ones, no maids then. The uncles lounging on chairs in the hall or verandah, supposedly watching us. Where has all this gotong-royong, doing-things-together gone? Most families have become nuclear.
I fondly remember mum filling huge eversilver trays with palaharams and offering to our Chinese neighbour on our left, Malay neighbours in front, Indian neighbours on the right. Those were the days when festivals were celebrated in full force, with such gusto.
Over the years, I have attempted this family-palaharams-making with sisters, cousins, mum, aunts.
And in NZ with my daughters and husband.
This year the birds have flown the nest, but they return to do a palaharam or two, share a giggle, laugh, hug, meal.
Celebrating in a land so far away from your homeland or your place of birth, can be difficult, but in this adopted land, we nuclear families adapt, adjust, accommodate.
Because ultimately,
A Festival is about
Love.
The love you feel, that surrounds you, when you give, receive, share, laugh, rejoice, reminisce.
Happy Deepavali/Diwali to you dear Ladies.
Here’s wishing you Light. Love. Peace. Great Health. Joy. Abundance.
A few days ago,
draped this resplendent doubletoned purplish magenta kanjivaram silk, with magenta, gold and coloured stripes on borders and pallu. Gifted by husband on a trip to India some years ago.
Bavani’s Happy Place 