Art by Aziza Ahmed (@wowhotawhat)
Every Diwali, I would end up, in a fight with my mother. “Everyone is posting pictures with their parents, AAP TAIYAR HI NAHI HOTI HO”
Naturally this Diwali was no different.
I started my day by complaining while munching on the samosas she made. When my throat got parched from all the shouting, I sipped on the sherbat she created from scratch. I then took my whining to the dining room that was crammed with guests and an assortment of dishes that looked like they belonged in a restaurant. Following our usual Diwali customs, I embarked on a Namaste spree and was appalled when I got no comments on my weight. It only meant one thing, the coast was clear of aunties. While the uncles were feasting, the aunties were missing in action. Now a part of me was relieved but the other part was fairly curious.
So my sadist self set on a quest to find them. I followed the faint sound of giggling and found myself infront of the kitchen. There I saw 10 women cramped in a small space, decked with makeup and fancy clothes that were now doused in sweat. Leading the pack ofcourse was my mother, looking exactly the way she did everyday.
That’s when truly I understood, what my mother meant by “hamare liye har festival same hai”. The inside of your kitchen always looks the same, with or without a festival.
|Sughat||Feminazi, naam tou suna hi hoga?|