Nostalgic traditions

Two Sundays ago, a beloved aunty and uncle (who are great friends to my parents) visited me and my family at my home in Cambridge. They were in town for a family wedding and stopped at our place en route to the airport. It meant the world to me that they visited us. As they sat at our kitchen island, we recounted my childhood and all the parties they used to host. We talked about the “kids” who are actually grown adults, with families and careers of their own. Aunty squealed when I made her a dosa (“I can’t believe Suchi is making me a dosa and that she made sambar from scratch!”).

We were transported in time, to thirty years ago, to when we played different roles in each others lives. There was a time when this group of aunties and uncles knew me so well; they knew what I wanted for my birthday and what foods to make for my picky palate (to my amazement, one of these aunties learned how to make fettucine alfredo for me!) We rejoiced in all the good memories, of those who have left us and what has transpired since that time.

What was particularly gratifying on that Sunday was that I was able to share with Aunty and Uncle a tradition that they started and I have kept alive in adulthood and that I would be hosting that very evening: the annual Indian holiday gathering. Back in the 1980s and 1990s, a group of Telugu aunties and uncles in Connecticut started a tradition of hosting an annual holiday get-together. There would be a Christmas tree, a Secret Santa gift exchange and talent show for the kids and…. an uncle dressed up as Santa Claus. I kid you not. At one gathering, a kid exclaimed “I didn’t know Santa Claus had brown skin!” The aunties, uncles and those kids in the know all chuckled and the Indian Santa Claus didn’t skip a beat with his retort, “Santa comes in all shades and serves all different people.” What was so heartwarming about this tradition is that this group of aunties and uncles, far from their Indian traditions, made an unfamiliar holiday their own. They served pulihora and yogurt rice alongside homemade Christmas cookies. By being together during the holiday season, they made the holidays in a foreign country feel less lonely, stepping in as surrogates for the families left behind in India.

So when I had children a decade ago now, there were some traditions that I wanted to continue. The Indian annual holiday gathering was one of them. When I found an Indian group in the Boston area, I started hosting a holiday party, complete with a Christmas tree, a Secret Santa and talent show for the kids and a buffet of Indian and American foods. Sadly, nobody wanted to don the Santa Claus costume. We started the tradition when my son was four and my daughter about to turn two and it has gone strong since then. I have kept some of the traditions the same and have created new ones as well. The children put up with my talent show (each child must do something - sing a song, play an instrument, perform a skit, or display some talent- before getting their gift) and the adults indulge me in wearing their ugliest sweaters. Much like the aunty who made me fettucine alfredo, we have one uncle who tailors homemade ice cream to our children’s tastes! This holiday gathering means so much to me because I know that long after these children grow up and move on with their lives in pursuit of their dreams, that they will carry these memories into adulthood.

I smile as I think about visiting one of these children twenty years from now. Nothing would give me more joy then visiting them in their homes, seeing them happy and thriving, and knowing that I played a very small part in who they are as adults. Certainly I hope that was how Aunty and Uncle felt visiting me. And if they make me a dosa (or anything really), I will squeal with delight much like my beloved aunty did with me! As I closed the door after saying goodbye to my aunty and uncle, I cried. While they were mostly tears of joy and happiness and a full heart, a few tears were of nostalgia and of those joyful times now passed.