As a Malayali kid growing up in Australia, I despaired at the fact that Diwali, the one celebration that seemed to be recognised by the wider Australian community, was not a major celebration in my home state. The festivities, which seemed to find its way into the houses of my neighbours, Indian stores and even some classrooms, didn’t make its way into my home. Diwali in Kerala
But luckily for me, I had close friends who were eager to share an invitation.
Their celebrations, while sparse in decorations, were abundant with sweets and sparklers. A core memory for me is standing on the balcony in the darkness of night with friends, our faces illuminated by the light from the sparklers we held in our hands. It’s a brightness I took home with me every year – a brightness which now no longer exists now that my old friends and I live far apart.
Whilst some members within my community celebrate Diwali, it certainly doesn’t carry the same significance in all families. Ask any Malayali why that is, and you’ll get a different answer each time.
Some argue that it’s because most Malayali Hindus are exhausted after Onam which falls only a few weeks before. Others state that we have not one, but two major festivals, both of which are an expensive affair. Certain media outlets have even suggested (to a large uproar) that it’s because there aren’t as many Hindus in Kerala. The latter disregards the fact that religious differences are rarely a reason to not engage in festivities, especially if it means the state gets an extra holiday. Occasions such as Christmas are celebrated with flair, with neighbourhood associations coming together to host performances and with streets all across the city filling with a procession of musicians, thus encouraging all, regardless of their religion, to participate.
View this post on Instagram
While there isn’t one clear reason why Diwali celebrations in Kerala are more subdued, one thing’s for sure: the festival certainly has the potential to light up my home state. Kathakali dancers would bring the story of Lord Krishnan defeating the Narakasura to life, the chenda (traditional drums) would be heard through the streets, children would be out all day, fireworks would be lit from houseboats. Perhaps even the backwaters would be lit up with diyas. In diaspora communities, no doubt Malayali associations would be scrambling after Onam to create another line up of performers as well as another sadya, where barfi and laddoos would be replaced with payasam. Diwali in Kerala
But whilst this fantasy is alluring, ultimately the point of all celebrations, regardless of their religious underpinnings, is that it brings a community together. In hindsight, my younger self was mistaken to feel isolated for not celebrating Diwali and for taking this as yet another sign that my state’s unique culture could not be recognised by the wider Australian community. After all, the spirit of the festival is such that it traverses regional boundaries. It brought me closer to my friends, gave me a sense of belonging and memories I cherish to this day.
This sense of community is one which must be continually fostered, and Diwali is a reminder to be grateful for all who extend an invitation, despite our differences.
READ MORE: https://www.indianlink.com.au/saanjh-malhotra-a-third-generation-indian-on-diwali/
