I Used To Hide My Culture. Now I Share Diwali With Everyone I Know
When it comes to Diwali — and most things, let’s be honest — I’m from a bigger-is-better kind of place. Maybe it’s the New Jersey in me; maybe it’s the Indian. Maybe it’s the perfect storm of the two.
To celebrate my favorite holiday — the Festival of Lights and the start of the new year — there’s not an inch of my apartment that doesn’t scream festive. From hand painted diyas to marigold garlands, flower toran, lotus candlesticks and dozens of flameless tea light candles, I go all out getting our home ready for Diwali. But it wasn’t always this way.
Growing up in the '80s and '90s in northern Jersey, our celebrations were smaller and mostly centered around my parents’ friends and their kids, folks who celebrated Diwali themselves. We performed in cultural shows in high school auditoriums and while I often landed lead roles, I never invited my friends from school to watch me perform. I kept the Indian parts of my identity hidden: my fluency in my mother tongue, my love for Indian clothes, my ability to thumka and dance to Bollywood beats, certainly the statues of our powerful deities. It all felt too embarrassing to share.
So I didn’t.
Fast forward to today and I’m rearranging the furniture in my Hoboken apartment to accommodate the nearly 100 people who will be in and out of here on Diwali day, our long awaited and cherished guests at our annual Diwali open house. It’s as chaotic and glorious as it sounds: friends and neighbors, family, teachers, pals from soccer and the gym, local business owners and so many we love stop by to celebrate with us. We eat, we dance, we connect and reconnect. Some try Indian food for the first time. Others see a mirror in us, reflections of their own homes and families.
I watch my now nearly-9-year-old daughter, Satya, in her new Indian clothes, show off her fit — and her family — to her friends.
It’s this exact scene — the party, the pride and the pure, unadulterated Diwali joy — that inspired my new book, “My Diwali Light.” In the story, Devi is getting ready to celebrate Diwali. And her favorite part about the holiday is the giant party she has in her apartment. Her mom hangs strings of marigolds, her Nani paints diyas with her; each detail in the story is a real detail from my own life, new traditions I’ve created with Satya.
Celebrating holidays is deeply personal.
The way we celebrate today is different from the way my ancestors celebrated Diwali. My grandparents were refugees and my parents are immigrants: Resilience, resistance and reinvention is in our blood. So when it comes to traditions, Satya and I are creative and innovative, redefining the celebration so it feels significant to us, a first generation Indian American and her daughter, roots spread wide and firmly across the continents and seas.
I spend less time worrying about what’s “traditional” and stay focused on what’s meaningful. Our table is filled with Indian food, but also macarons next to the mithai, because without treats from Baking Mama, our favorite bakery, it doesn’t feel like a celebration. Diwali for us is less religious than it is for some and much more cultural. We center community, connection and creating space for gathering; it brightens us up and sets the blissfulness we hope follows us into the new year.
Diwali is the Festival of Lights and for me that’s more about the light within than the beautiful diyas and twinkling lights that adorn my space. I use this season as a time to reconnect and rejuvenate, rekindling my own flame so it burns more brightly than ever before. My Diwali Light is about the gift we have inside, that unique spark that lights up the whole world. And I hope that on Diwali, and always, we remind ourselves to let it shine.
Raakhee Mirchandani is the author of "My Diwali Light," "Hair Twins," "Super Satya Saves the Day" and the upcoming "She Persisted: Kalpana Chawla." She invites you to follow her on Instagram @RaakstarWrites or visit her website at RaakstarWrites.com.
This article was originally published on TODAY.com
