Festivals.
You dirty mind, you.
It doesn't change the fact that it's just as offensive as the other F word.
It my world, every festival includes the following:
* The mad rush to make murukkus, laddus and gulab jamun. Three days in advance.
*Waking up at un-Godly hours those three days.
*Me, inevitably waking up a good 3-4 hours late, all three days.
*Incurring the wrath/ annoyance/ impatience and finally acceptance by my mother-in-law.
*My husband desperately making excuses for me, trying to save his ass and mine.
This happens without fail, on all the two dozen festivals Hindus have every year. In the same exact order.
On the day of the actual festival though, I am always the one wondering what the whole point is.
Does leaving my hair open really cause bad luck? Does not having a bindi on cause problems in my marriage? And why call all the ladies home and give them stuff? What's wrong with the color black? Or white for that matter.
I know the point, but I don't get the logic. It's like a mindless thing I'm used to doing, because we did it forever.
I believe in a lot of things, but then I also don't believe in a lot of things. I know there's a solution, but I don't have the guts to implement it. So I do the only one thing I can, try and balance the situation.
Of course, festivals are an excellent reason for people to come together. I made up on many a failed relationship on account of Diwali, Dusshera and what have you. That final harmony after all the madness is probably the only thing that keeps me going year after year.
When someone said 'ignorance is bliss', they really weren't kidding.
