Diwali isn’t a lavish celebration for everyone – But it can always be fun | FN Dish – Behind the scenes, Food Trends and Best Recipes: Food Network
During Diwali week, the streets of New Delhi are bustling. Rows of glowing lanterns playfully swayed above shoppers at food stalls, where vendors stuffed newspaper cones with deep-fried meat and swirls of deep-fried dough with renewed fervor. . After days of cleaning and dusting, people open their doors to organize parties, foreign guests and neighbors visit with gifts. In the midst of all these festivities, my childhood home was quiet – eerily empty of the Indian New Year’s celebratory spirit and the bonuses that came with it: clothes. New, elaborate meals and ornate sweets are called mithai in Hindi.
Our ancient culture of lavish gift-giving and lavish parties is, for so many households on the Indian subcontinent and here in the community, as opposed to their wallets. The economic pressures of the holiday are real, and in the midst of a global recession, I’m reminded of how people do with what they have, holding on to fun despite the uncertain future.
Growing up in a lower-middle-class nuclear family, I saw how my parents molded cultural norms to match what we could afford. Instead of buying new clothes, my mother sewed old saris into new dresses for me. Instead of having a dinner party, we prepared a special dish for our small family dinner. If we can’t afford store-bought mithai, we’ll enjoy every bite of homemade banh khot, a sweet rice cake.
Diwali is well known as the season of generosity, and it is customary to send boxes of mithai to neighbors and family members, the South Asian equivalent of giving a box of chocolates. Although we couldn’t afford the mithai boxes, we were very lucky to receive them. I love looking under the lid of the mithai box to see what’s inside: the greasy squares of grass-green pistachios, the slender diamonds of cardamom-scented kaju katli, and topped with flakes. edible silver rhombus and my favorite, glittering golden domes of besan ladoo.
My mom will let us choose our favorite mithai to save for later. Then she would arrange the rest of the candies on a stainless steel plate covered with a nice cloth and send me away
Share with your neighbors. When I was a child, I had a happy face but inside I was embarrassed when I handed over my licensed mithai. I want to be like my aunt and uncle, who buy bags of seeds and distribute them to different families each year. I dream of walking to my friend’s door with my arms full of gift boxes from the best mithai shops in New Delhi instead of little steel plates in my hands. Neighbors accepted our mithai with gratitude, and always reciprocated by refilling the plate before sending it back. But it’s really bittersweet. Not only is money tight, but it’s also the stress of not being able to live up to the big holidays. In our community, cheery greetings were exchanged on the streets, but at home, the economic reality of inadequate had turned into a frustrating moodiness.
I grew up determined to earn my own money, dreaming of a house that no one could take care of. I have been cooking for others since I was eight years old, so it felt like a natural progression to becoming a chef. When I completed my bachelor’s degree in hotel school, I applied for mithaiwalas training at my favorite mithai shops in New Delhi, but no one accepted me. Why? Because I’m a woman and they have a “men only” kitchen policy. So I pursued a career in the culinary arts before moving to the US for a degree in culinary studies. While here, I realized that I could use my knowledge as a pastry and savory chef to create my own mithai. I will blend traditional Indian cakes with Western pastries I have come in contact with, using ingredients that I have at hand.
The irony is that now that I can afford to throw a Diwali party for my friends and family, I haven’t celebrated Diwali at home in over fifteen years. I own my own restaurant, TAGMO, in New York City and has a thriving mithai business. Fall is still our busiest season – and my workplace is like an alternative home. This year, I have seen how the post-pandemic economic situation has changed the way people celebrate Diwali. Thoughtful gestures are more valuable than ostentatious displays. And we’re all a little more honest about our limitations – socially and financially. Not without stress, but at the same time filled with boundless joy. I host nightly family-style meals at my restaurant and create my own mithai boxes that no one dares take back.