All I have now of Diwali celebrations in my family are memories.
Every day I feel blessed to come from a country as diverse as Guyana and a family made up of different ethnicities and cultural practices. Growing up I was predominantly surrounded by my mother’s family, especially my late aunt, Betty, who was Hindu, and her family. Later in life she converted to Catholicism. It was from Auntie Betty that I learnt a lot about festival foods. I would watch her and my late cousin, Shanti, and the other relatives who would come to visit for the holidays, prepping and cooking all day. The house would be full of delicious smells and chattering as the women caught up on what was happening in each other’s lives and discussed what their children were up to. As for the men, well, come to think of it, I can’t remember where the men folk would be. Hmmm… oh, I think they’d be off somewhere playing board games and having a good laugh. Every now and then they would be disturbed from the serious business of having fun as their wives called on them to help with some task. As a kid, I wished for days like these every day. Not for the food, but the togetherness.
