I’m not sure what happened to this post. Most of what I had written didn’t save properly, since I edited it and published it from my phone. So if you happened to have read it when it was a hot mess/incomplete, I promise that I am not losing it.

I don’t know how the kids are managing to sleep. Tonight is just like the 4th of July back home if neighborhood kids set off Civil War calibre cannons instead of sparklers. The sound is all consuming, invasive, beautiful, and harmful to small animals and scared children. Tonight is just the practice run for the Diwali festivities to come. I can anticipate that after 4 nights of this I may seriously consider leaving the country for next year’s Diwali.

 

Earlier this evening the gals and our next door neighbors’ kids watched the fireworks set off by residents of the apartment buildings behind us from our backyard. Sitting at the picnic table with 5 kids excitedly and furiously bouncing on the trampoline with my second glass of wine in hand, watching the bright lights of the the DIY fireworks which only infrequently made the journey from just shocking sound into bursts of bright shapes of light was a perfect Indian cum childhood moment (In India when one thing has 2 functionalities, the word ‘cum’ is used. For instance, “We have a sofa cum bed in the living room for you to sleep on when you visit.”). It was one of those moments that Norman Rockwell would have painted—had he been an expat in India.

Do-it-yourself fireworks are a huge part of Diwali, the festival of lights, and can be bought at enormous, quickly erected stands on every street corner in Bangalore. In addition to fireworks, my informal anecdotal research obtained via conversations with my neighbors and driver reveled that Diwali also involves a puja, homemade meals with family and friends, bright Christmas-esque lights decorating houses, gifts, rangoli and diya. Gifts can be given to family and friends, but, like in the finance industry back home, bonuses (along with gifts) are expected from anyone who works for you. This money is counted on to make ends come that much closer to possibly meeting (and in our driver’s case will pay for his father’s eye surgery). Navigating how much to give, what exactly to give, and how to give all seem to be open to interpretation. Apparently, you can give food (rice, lentils, ingredients for a favorite meal, etc.), clothing (saris, preferably silk or ornately embroidered to differentiate from everyday wear), sweets (similar to a Whitmans sampler Indian style), but you must give money. Not wanting to get my first Diwali wrong, I checked with Indian friends, expat friends, moms’ groups, and the people who work in my home. What I found out is that it’s typical to give one month’s pay as a bonus for someone who has worked with you a year or more, but since we have only been here for 5 months we could give a fraction of that. That seemed like splitting hairs, so we just gave one month’s wages, saris, chocolates, and to make the gift-giving a bit more familiar to us, nail polish and Mac lipstick (because who doesn’t love a new lipstick?!?).

Friday Evie came home with a giant bright pink bindi decorating her forehead. She told me she was given this at the Diwali puja they did at school. According to my internet research, AKA, http://www.HinduFestivalsforDumbForeigners (joking, but if it existed, and it probably does, it would be my go-to resource), the Diwali puja is an invocation to the goddess Lakshmi to come into your house and bestow wealth and prosperity. My driver and neighbor told me that you don’t just do the puja for Lakshmi, but also for Ganesha who always receives first prayers. The on-line reading I did explained that the first step in doing a proper Lakshmi puja is to clean your home with water from the Ganga (you and I know it as the Ganges) river. Seems to me sprinkling water from the Ganga would be the opposite of cleaning my home, but it’s considered a very holy river. The puja also involves decorating your idols, giving them food and oil offerings, and saying prayers.

Diwali also involves diyas, clay lamps and rangoli, designs made at the threshold to the house with colored sand, which are both used to welcome the goddess Lakshmi inside to bless the homeowner with prosperity and wealth. To ensure that we were able to properly celebrate Diwali, our extremely thoughtful neighbor cum unofficial ambassador to Bangalore, Urvi brought us some diyas, rangoli stencils, and colored powder. The girls had so much fun decorating our porch with rangoli designs that they were quickly covered from head to toe with colored powder and soon resembled Holi celebrants instead of Diwali celebrants.

A week before Diwali, the club house in our neighborhood held a giant Diwali party, involving traditional Garba dance, which originated from the Gujarat region of India, spicy veg food, loud music, and performances done by my Bollywood/Zumba and fitness classes (no, they wisely didn’t invite me to participate). Tickets for the event were purchased, lehenga cholis and saris were bought and altered, bindis were donned, and the girls’ eyes were catted up. Getting ready for our first Diwali party felt very much like dressing up for Halloween. At the party itself, we were watching others celebrate Diwali instead of truly celebrating. Not knowing any of the dance moves, not being able to see any of the performances because of the crowds, and the kids not being able to eat anything except the ice cream cake because of the spices, the Diwali party fell flat. Without any alcohol available, we lasted about an hour. I should point out that Masan, God bless her, got into the party—she joined into the Garba circle dancing, despite being repeatedly asked to go into the center of the circle where all of the other kids were dancing.

In direct contrast to this rather boring Diwali party was Sunday night’s Diwali dinner at our friend cum driver’s house. He lives with and supports his mom and dad, his wife, 2 teenage daughters, and his brother’s son in about 700 square feet with a pug and a rooster who lives on the terrace. His mom and dad and all three kids share one bedroom with a giant wall-to-wall bed while he and his wife share the other bedroom. His mom made us traditional Indian dishes, including lemon rice, his sister-in-law made us a yummy traditional dessert which reminded me of rice pudding, and K bought my kids their favorite snacks of chips and cookies. Masan and Mia loved setting off fireworks on the terrace with K’s kids, while Evie hovered in the corner with her hands covering her ears. Their hospitality and generosity seemed to symbolize the true spirit of Diwali than any fancy Diwali party.