Traditions

by Bhavani Krishnamurthy

Writers' Block: A contribution from our AWA Writers' Group members 

For more than a decade, I woke my family hours before dawn on Deepavali day. I anointed their sleepy foreheads with oil and begged-cajoled-nagged them into their hot baths, a panicky eye on the quickly lightening night-sky. I counted it a personal failure if we did not sit down to a family picture before sunrise; and a string of personal failures did not douse my ardor. 

To celebrate Diwali the traditional Tamil way in this fast-paced age, I had pared every observance down to its sparest version. In the name of Diwali decorations, one string of lights lurked somewhere in the house. Exactly one sweet and one savory was made at home. One sparkler (neither more, nor less) was given to each member of the family to hold and twirl. New clothes became “something new”— even a kerchief might do. This, despite living in the multicultural melting pot that is Singapore, a place that makes everything, and certainly the celebration of different identities, extremely easy.

I felt a sense of achievement every year, broadcasting the photo of a sulky family arrayed in Diwali finery. I judged those who had left off their traditions as well as the ones who reveled in them, and if there was something missing in my own Diwali ... now, which impatient crosser of to-dos has time to go into that?

Then I signed up for a trip to Azerbaijan with my book club. 

I realized too late we were flying out on Diwali day. I managed everything in time to make the flight but something nagged at me, as I walked the cobbled roads of Baku’s Inner City. I texted my son to send me a selfie in his new winter jacket, never mind if it was still autumn in England, but no, the de rigueur family photo was not what I had forgotten. 

I remembered the next day at the Ateshgah, a curious temple complex used by worshippers of multiple faiths through the centuries in Azerbaijan. I was arguing with our mildly inept guide when the realization smote at me. I had forgotten to make the lehyam, the traditional Deepavali digestive of spices cooked in jaggery. It falls in a different category from sweet or savory and hence, could not have been omitted. Kicking myself, I walked away, thinking of ways to right the situation. I would text a recipe to my helper, confer with her over our different time zones. My mind raced as my eyes skimmed idly over a plaque. The script seemed familiar. Indeed, it was an invocation to Lord Ganesha in Sanskrit, and excited, I turned around to my group. But our guide was more intent on finishing the circuit and I found myself getting annoyed. Is it because he is hurrying us so, or is it because I am angry with myself, I asked my friend. No, darling, she replied. It is because he does not love his job. And the penny dropped.

I did not text my helper the next day. I took the Baku Metro and paused to admire the beautiful murals in the train stations. I drank fresh juice in the bazaar, sampled the dry fruits in the stalls, and stopped to smell the heaped mounds of different teas. I was gathering up my purchases from a baklava stall when the shopkeeper stopped me.

“Buy this,” he said, thrusting a packet of what looked like slabs of brown nougat. “Made of spice and syrup. Eat too much baklava, stomach not well, have it with water.”

He broke me a piece to try. No nougat this, I thought, as I parsed anise and thyme, sugar and many things else. The tastes exploded in my mouth along with the realization that this was nothing but lehyam in another form! 

I thought I knew all about the expatriate life, of creating worlds within worlds, but the expatriate mantra of “take it as it comes” had taken its own circuitous route through Baku to reach me.

For now, I have put off photoshopping my son’s picture into the family portrait. I might use the Ateshgah fires as a backdrop for the picture, though.

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Bhavani Krishnamurthy is a Fund Manager by day, a mother at all times and a writer in the wee hours of the morning. She lives in Singapore with her husband and children. Bhavani has had a few pieces of poetry published, won a mention or two in Short Story contests, and works on a novel in fits and starts. She also holds a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing & English Literature from the Harvard University Extension School.

The AWA Writers’ Group meets the second and fourth Thursday of each month. For more information, send an email to writers@awasingapore.org "If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it" Toni Morrison