Diwali has meant bringing home sweets, surprises
Every year, the families gather in the grandparents’ home and exchange sweets. Folks have spread far and wide. And the clan and now includes new faces. But the connections hold fast across continents
I will be adding an Arabic fusion to the Iyer Diwali. My sevenkg cabin bag to India was packed with Arabic sweets: Baklava, Kunafa, Basbousa.
During Diwali 2008 back home in Mumbai, my cousin brought his Gujarati girlfriend home to introduce her to the family. We’re Iyers. So, it was a big deal, this out-of-the-community alliance. Anybody marrying out of clan was spoken about in hushed tones. As my cousin introduced her to our grandparents, nobody said a word. Granddad just sat there looking around. He didn’t yield any power in front of my grandma (pati). The elders all wore a long face. The day had turned dramatic. Us younger ones were giggling, though. We had all met her two years earlier at Café Coffee Day where we couldn’t afford to spend even our pocket money or internship stipends. And we had already added her on Orkut — the social networking site of our times. She had even written testimonials for a lucky few. In 2014, when Orkut shut down, we lost those testimonials.
That Diwali would have turned into a firecracker. The mood at home had tensed. My pati had walked away. She had gone to the kitchen. And she came back with the biggest piece of Mysore Pak (a south Indian sweetmeat) she had made and offered a large bite to the cousin’s lady love. And like the Mysore Pak in our mouths, oozing with ghee, the tension in the room finally melted. It could have been an ad.
Not a Diwali since then goes by when this story is not reshared for the youngest cousins, the newer generation. After that incident, all of us were warned against doing both — looking for partners outside the community and pulling such a stunt on an auspicious day. But clearly, none of us took it seriously, as most of us went ahead and brought an ‘outsider’ to the family. And we haven’t stopped at only ‘outside’ communities but have also brought partners from different religions to the gang — six and counting.
My cousin and his Gujju girlfriend — now wife — paved the path for us. The younger ones still go to him for advice when parents fume about our choice of partners. Not a year goes by when our Gujarati sis-in-law doesn’t get thoughtful gifts for each one of us. Last Diwali, she brought candle diyas for our grandma to avoid the hassle of oil lamps.
And thanks to this mix breed, our Diwalis are no longer only about the South Indian sweets — there are savoury additions like chiwda, methi mathri, karanji and patishapta. Every year, each family brings a dozen packets of different sweets to be exchanged at my grandma’s home.
Every year before Diwali, our WhatsApp group (‘The Iyers’) lights up with discussion about who is visiting ‘The Grand Diwali Mela’ this year. Of course, there are many non-Iyers in the group now, as spouses too have been added — from our first Gujarati one to the latest Catholic addition.
We may not meet through the year but on Diwali, the extended family comes together for a family picture and countless selfies. The walls of our grandparents’ home are adorned with these photographs. Every year, we witness a generation ageing, a younger one growing. The newest addition this year, is my little niece from Canada, a year old, whom I have only met on Skype.
The tribe that my grandparents started is growing and we are scattered, but distances don’t matter as most of us booked tickets to be home for Diwali. My tickets were sent by my Amma and Appa. “Consider it our Diwali present,” they said later over Skype.
And I will be adding an Arabic fusion to the Iyer Diwali. My seven-kg cabin bag to India was packed with Arabic sweets — Baklava, Kunafa, Basbousa and flavoured dates, of course.