Diwali

When I moved to Seattle, I knew absolutely no one. I did not have any family here and although I would make great friends in grad school and beyond, I missed many of the cultural rituals I had with my parents. I missed going to the beach and throwing colored powders on friends during Holi. I really hated when I couldn't tie a rakhi on my brother's hand for Rakshabandan. But missing Diwali and Indian new year was the worst experience.

Diwali is the festival of lights and it commemorates the return of Lord Ram (and his wife Sita and brother Lakshman) after 14 years of exile. The five-seven day celebration in October or November (depending on the Indian calendar) takes place all over India as people take holiday to spend time with family, set off firecrackers and make copious amounts of food. Diwali is like Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years all in one. My parents would wake me and my brother at 5am (we were NOT happy about this!) on Diwali and take us to the temple. The gods would be adorned with colors of all shapes and every food imaginable would be presented to them. Kachoris, samosas, rotis, dhoklas, and a thousand pounds of burfis and mitais - thank you lord! We would pray for a prosperous and successful year ahead and then, we would feast. My entire Los Angeles family would be there - friends, relatives, family-friends, etc. I loved the collectivity of the whole adventure - hundreds of people giving thanks, singing hymns, and bowing heads in moments of gratitude. I felt very safe in that crowded environment. One would think that this occasion merits smiles on every face. And this was the case for most people, but I cried every year. I cried because I was sorry that I yelled at my mother or got a B in Chemistry. I cried because I missed my grandparents who could not be with us. I cried because I was so unbelievably grateful that I had this moment to remind me of the treasures in my life. As I looked around the temple, all I could think was: How lucky am I?!

As my first Diwali in Seattle approached, I realized how much I valued my past Diwali rituals. Knowing that I would miss the annual Patel temple run made me feel very empty. The temple was too far away in Seattle and none of my new friends celebrated the occasion. So, I decided to start a new tradition - I asked a few of my friends to join me at an Indian restaurant for dinner. Nine of us crowded around a small table at Cedar's Restaurant and toasted to a new Indian calendar year. As I looked around to see my friends devouring dishes like mango curry, paneer tikka masala and vindaloo, I felt the same communal satisfaction of celebrating Diwali with loved ones as I had in LA. And, I felt at home in Seattle for the first time. I love how young we all look in this picture!

This new Diwali ritual has turned into an annual Diwali dinner for me and my friends in Seattle. As some friends move away, others become part of the tradition. I look forward to it every year - more than my friends probably know. In our busy lives, I am very grateful that we all find time to gather and celebrate my heritage. I'm beginning to realize also that I genuinely respect rituals. I like looking forward to events, dinners, occasions that have generated such warm memories in the past. I like the comfort of repetition and safety of tradition (and repeating tasty bites of Himalayan Kofta isn't so bad either). I like knowing I have a history with peoples, places and holidays. Happy Diwali everyone and Sal Mubarak!