I glanced down at my ornate plate, at the exquisite fabric that concealed the dried fruit and nuts, sweets and rice, and at the flame of the small diya that cast a soft glow on my offerings. As the rhythmic singing of the legendary tale began again, I lifted my pooja thali and passed it to the unknown woman to the right of me, while she did the same with hers, as did every other woman in unrehearsed coordination who was seated in the large circle on the temple floor. The sight was magnificent, a flame on every plate, twinkling on the faces of women elaborately decked out in their finest jewels and Indian garments. It was as if several hundred new brides of every age had descended on the temple all at once. The thalis were passed around the circle from woman to woman, until at last all the thalis were reunited with their rightful owners. This was the celebration of Karva Chauth, and for the first time in the 15 years that I had been a wilful participant, I wondered what exactly I was doing.
Karva Chauth is an annual ritual of strict fasting predominantly observed by married Hindu women in or from North India, who sacrifice in order to unite the body and soul towards a single purpose – to pray for the long and healthy lives of their husbands. It follows the lunar calendar and is usually observed on a day in late October or early November. The fast begins at sunrise and ends only after offering prayers and worshipping the moon at night, with not even a single drop of water in between.
I remember as a little girl how excited I would be when Karva Chauth came around. My mother would tuck me into bed with assurances that she would not forget to wake me up at 5:00 in the morning so that we could share a meal together – just her and I. And when she did, my mom freshly showered and I bleary-eyed, it somehow seemed like precious stolen time. While the rest of the world was asleep and the dark of the night enveloped us, she and I would enjoy yummy fresh paranthas, yogurt, fruits and some tranquil bonding moments together. It felt truly special.
And so, as a young woman praying for a good husband, and as a young bride who did manage to find an amazing husband, I never gave it a second thought. That I would sacrifice a day of food and offer my penance for a long married life with him was the least I could do. It struck my husband as odd, however, that I should engage in a ritual sacrifice for his long life. As he explained to me on our first Karva Chauth together, why would he want to live a long life if not with me (see what I mean about amazing)? And so our modern take on an old custom was born. He fasted for me, and I fasted for him. It was symbolic and loving and pure. It was mutual and it was giving. So, year after year, without question, we fasted on Karva Chauth together, breaking the fast with my mother or his mother and their respective circles of fasting friends.
In the years since the two of us moved to Toronto, we have increasingly felt culturally adrift. Strange statement, I know, in this city replete with Indians, but true nonetheless. And it crystallized over the years through celebrations like Karva Chauth and Diwali. When we were growing up in Montreal, our parents’ social circles were made up mostly of other Indian immigrant families, who clung to one another and became our extended families. That first generation’s direct and immediate connection to the culture from India meant that our occasions were festively celebrated, our culture was actively transmitted through them. Me, my husband, and a whole generation of second-generation Indians only know what we know through them. We are one generation removed from our native culture, and surrounded by a different mainstream culture that pulls us in another direction. It is a real effort to preserve our “Indian-ness”, like fighting a strong underwater current, with each of us finding our own footing in a unique place as we navigate between the two cultures.
So, here in Toronto, with no ability to rely regularly on our parents, it was a discouraging realization to feel responsible for our nuclear family’s cultural connection, doubly so when we realized that many of our Indian friends either did not feel the affinity to our culture or could easily rely on their parents, many of whom live in the vicinity. Of course, we could do the same and go home to Montreal to be with our families on our special occasions, but since they often fall during the work week and are not recognized holidays in the Christian calendar such as Christmas and Easter, it is not always practical.
So, over the past many years in Toronto, while my strict observance of the Karva Chauth fast has been unwavering, my adherence to the rituals, including the pooja, has suffered both in practice and enthusiasm. I found myself in a situation where I had no one with whom I could regularly do the thali pooja or break my fast. Some of my friends who do observe the fast have their own families around them, while others opt out altogether for a multitude of legitimate reasons. Some find the practice chauvinistic or antiquated, others feel that is just doesn’t work for the modern working woman to fast during the work day.
And so it was that this year I went to the temple. Instead of just throwing a chunni on my head at home and going through the motions, I put on a bright sari and dressed the kids in their Indian clothes. I sat amongst countless other women recounting a Karva Chauth tale that defies belief and holds no meaning for me … and I asked myself why I bother. Exactly why am I compelled to go to all this trouble for a ritual that may not be well suited to these modern times and values?
And it dawned on me that it is a connection to my past, to my childhood, to my mother. And my connection to something even further back than that, to my ancestral and cultural history. And it is a way for me to transmit to my children an unspoken sense about their past, their inheritance through us, me and my husband.
As their faces lit up when we stepped into the temple, and as they embraced all that being Indian had to offer in that moment, I finally knew that I was doing the right thing.
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