Spreading love, sweet love

My Dad held a position where people queued up to give him gifts on Diwali. My girlhood Diwali memories are tinged with anguish, of the family grappling with a constant stream of guests flitting in and out of the house, even at the oddest hours. The kitchen had to be in a constant state of preparedness, ready to dole out a snack or two and we were expected to greet everyone with a Namaste Uncle and a grin that stretched right up to my earlobes. I had almost perfected the art of dual expressions – combining my toothy smile with an odd menacing look. Sadly, it didn’t deter the guests from coming.

But my Dad more than made up for my bad manners. He would greet everyone with a loud, effusive Arrreyyyyyyyyyyy, like they were his long lost brothers from the Kumbh mela. Baba, who was it? Umm...I have no idea! But that’s my Dad, heart meltingly warm but memory challenged. Well, the daughter takes after him but instead of almost fainting with delight, I oscillate between “deer caught in headlight” and “the dead fish” look. My father-in-law is even worse. He once went to a relative’s “Shradh ceremony” and enquired earnestly from fellow mourners about Dashu Da’s well being. Dashu Da incidentally was the dear departed chappie in question. Trying to amend for the emotional distress he was causing, he put on a sombre expression and mumbled ...actually I meant Bishu Da, his brother. The guests were almost hyperventilating now and Bishu Da’s garlanded photo of six months didn’t look too amused either.

Coming back to Diwali and its associated custom of spreading love through casseroles, dinner sets and mithai. Have you ever wondered about the inversely proportional effect of the law of plenty – which makes you extremely allergic to things you see and get in plenty? That makes you want to throw up if you see another box of Milton thermos or a melamine dinner set? Your home sweet home becomes a haven for all the absconding boxes of kaju barfis and dry fruits and your Maa is constantly hatching plans to make you have them. You go to the movies with an extra large packet of dry fruits to munch on, the pulav has more kishmish than rice grains. I hated what the festive season did to my Maa. From her strict school teacher persona she would mutate into this scary mithai devi, constantly thinking up recipes to use up all that barfi. This after she had fed everything that walked in her periphery of vision with Diwali goodies, even our maids, sick of the sweet treats, would howl in protest. A few of them later went on to start a “say no to mithai” andolan, last heard they were trying to rope in Arundhati Roy for their cause.



I’m now married to a man who doesn’t have a long queue of eager gift givers. I have managed to get rid of my sneery smile and never ever try to scare off my guests. In fact I love having them over. After years of extreme allergy to all things kaju and kishmish, I have rediscovered my love for Kaju Barfis. And now every time I go to Mum and Dad’s place during Diwali, I look at the scary pile in the corner (it’s past its glory days now) and cast a sympathetic glance at my sis-in-law. Thankfully Maa no longer tries to feed us mithais with that manic gleam in her eyes, she now tries to sneak in kaju paste in all her recipes. Maa this gravy taste yummy. Oh wait! Have you been using kaju paste again???? I am wondering if she stands a chance at the Bihar elections with her new name Kaju Devi. If Bihar can have Rabri, can Kaju be far behind?