As I get older, I realize I spend time soaking in the memories of childhood and the holidays. It is my beam of sunlight on a day when I read my twitter timeline about people celebrating. It is my comfort food as I read about how my favorite bloggers celebrated the day. It is my laughter when I am desperately homesick. It is these memories I cling to.

I dust out the corners of my mind to piece together some memories of pooja holidays in Trichy. I ensure that I dust out only the happy bits – the joyous occasions and leave the rest behind. I sit down and think back of what made these holidays special, hoping I could put together some experiences and create memories for my daughter – my Australia residing, American citizen of Indian origin. I want my daughter to have something to fall back when she sits down hoping to find a connection with her past just like I do today.

• I lived close to an industrial area and Ayutha Pooja was a big celebratory event. At the end of the pooja at the factory, they will stuff a pumpkin with money, seal it off, light it up with camphor and take it around the factory to ward off all evil eyes. The pumpkin will then be smashed outside the factory gates. There will always be a crowd of kids waiting to pick the money from the smashed pumpkins.  One year, I remember walking down the industrial lanes in the evening. Long past the pooja  hours with my parents and brother. I remember metal grill doors splattered with sandalwood paste with a red eye of kumkum in the middle. It always looked like a splattered egg yolk to me. I remember my baby brother jumping on the pumpkins smashed on the roads and my parents telling him to stop. I remember it vividly. He did not stop, finally my parents told my brother that it is not auspicious to jump on the pumpkins and something could happen to him. I remember I spent hours weeping assuming that my brother was about to die rather dramatically as they show in Tamizh movies till I was assured nothing like that will happen.
• I remember eating poori. Ayutha Pooja means poori – puffed rice. I have no clue why but all factories distributed poori during Pooja. I remember adding vellam (jaggery) and peanuts and eating them. In fact I still like adding peanuts and vellam to my 4AUD a bag “organic gluten-free puffed brown rice” picked up from Woolworths.
• One year I remember returning from dance class all sweaty and finding out that my mother was out visiting golus. I just jumped on my cycle (BSA Champ) and tracked my mother down in that small neighborhood I called home then. I remember eating sundal and being asked to sing (I refused). Maybe I danced? I do not remember that. But I remember my mother was annoyed because I was in sweaty, shabby worn out dance clothes while everyone else were dressed in paatu sarees and paavadai.
• I remember dance classes on Vijayadasami. I remember the guru dakshani and learning something new. I remember following it through during my dance days in Houston.
• and this is probably the worst that leaked out of the mind – I remember the pride, the feeling of accomplishment as we drove into the factory in my grandfather’s trusty Omni. I remember the feeling of family as I peeked at everyone gathered in the office as one of the old-timer’s in the company did the pooja. Ha! The innocence of childhood.

Those are mine. What are yours?