2017 – Shilpa's

Karwachauth – It’s feminism at its best.

Karwa chauth – simply explained is the Indian festival of absolute fasting by a wife for the long and healthy life of her husband. There are stories and there are interpretations, but at the end of the day it is about a wife’s faith.

A day of celebration or regression to patriarchal India, it’s all about your perspective.

I am definitely not the God fearing kind of person. I believe in God, and I don’t think he punishes us for anything. So, yes I know that if I don’t fast, God is not going to punish me in any form, and yet I fast. Here’s why?

I fast because I love my husband. My faith teaches me to not fight everything in life. Somethings as illogical as they are, need to be done to keep the roots alive and the foundation strong. I depend on a man, and he’s my husband, so if my faith teaches me that I have the power to increase his life span and keep him healthy, then why won’t I?

It is very sad that modernism and feminism questions the faith and belief of so many of us. We as women label each other as traditional and old fashioned. Why? What is old fashioned about keeping your roots alive? There are many husbands and in-laws who don’t care about the festival and that’s okay too. It’s their choice. However, it is not okay to debase the faith of millions of women who fast on Karwachauth.

I fast because it’s a celebration of feminity. On this day, I dig out the brightest of my sarees and the boldest of my jewelry and adorn in all the glamour. It’s a day when I celebrate my feminity. What’s wrong with that?

Again modern India calls it being servile and submitting to a regressive culture where the wife is nothing but a thing of beauty. I respectfully disagree with all my fellow feminists who feel this way. India is one of the few countries that celebrates women power and if that power comes with curves and glamor, more power to the women of India for they know how to ride a bicycle wearing a saree.

I fast, because not everything in life is about equality and men bashing. Men put a smile on our faces too, they just don’t fast. I am sure you have heard the age old adage, way to a man’s heart is through his stomach 😉

I fast because I am the typical woman who believes that I am the nurturer in my home and my husband is the provider. We are comfortable in our roles and have found our grounding. I don’t know if this makes me less of a feminist or more of a woman, all I know is that it’s a spectrum of two extremes and somewhere in between the spectrum of feminism to woman is a wife.

I have understood one thing, If I had been a career woman, the women in this world would have questioned my dedication to my family. When I was a SAHM, the same women question my decision to be just a mom and today when I am mom trying to find my career, the same women question my decision to not choose a career with the best ROI…. do I care? I think I do, because it hurts. It hurts at many different levels when women refuse to acknowledge and celebrate each other.

However today’s post is about a wife’s faith. The wife who only cares about her family, the wife who doesn’t care about being labeled, the wife who is only interested in the continued companionship and love in her life.

Karwachauth, it’s a celebration of a wife’s faith. It’s the epitome of feminism.

The Girl, The Woman, The Goddess

Once upon a time the world worshipped the woman. The gods called upon the goddess to save them for she was valor, strength and knowledge living in harmony with her surroundings. The harmony gave her the freedom to be who she chose to be. The goddess worshipping cultures considered their women, the giver of life. The men had their own roles, they were the providers. In essence, humans had found their balance and there was a man in every woman and a woman in every man. There was no room for competition. Then we discovered the fire, the wheel, the industry and here we are in 2017, still struggling with the fundamentals.

The Indian festival of Navratri celebrates the Goddesses Durga, Lakshmi and Saraswathi in all their forms for their valor, wealth and knowledge respectively. It is nine day of fasting, dancing and celebration. Consider it the mythological Woman’s day celebration. Personally for me, my favorite is the 8th day. The eighth day is called Ashtami. It is the day when we celebrate the girl child.

Little girls, pure and innocent mortal forms of The Goddesses are welcomed into loving homes. They are pampered with gifts galore and in turn the little angels shower their giggly blessings and love on the family. Soon these angels grown up and cross the threshold into woman hood. We stop inviting them. Why?

Today, let’s talk about it.The Period.

Is it the girls fault that she grew up? Is it her fault that she was blessed with the gift of bearing the next generation? Is it her fault that she has no control of the when and where of The Period? If your answer to all these questions was no, then I ask you again, why do you stop worshipping her?

The Period, makes us a woman and yet we choose to shun the very essence of us. It is the body preparing the young woman for the future burden of giving birth. Nature knows how painful it is and nature also knows that the training doesn’t happen in a month. It takes years to prepare oneself mentally, emotionally and physically to bare a human child. The Period is simply a natural process that makes it happen. Then why the shaming?

The Period is nothing more than pain and discomfort that the female body goes through majority of her life. Every month she churns out eggs and then bleeds them out, so when the moment is right she can bring a new life into this world. That’s pretty amazing! It’s a supernatural wondrous quality.

The Period does not kill the sacred Tulsi plant. The Period does not curse a temple and The Period definitely does not ruin Navratri. Think about it, we are worshiping the Goddesses, they are women too. Their mortal forms probably had gone through the same pain. They get it. Trust me the Goddesses are not going to punish you if you choose to worship them with The Period. The Goddesses will not curse you, should you choose to celebrate the young woman in your life. We call them “Mata”, which means Mother. Do you really believe that a mom will punish her daughters for stopping by to say hello?

This Navratri, I reinvented my celebrations by choosing to ignore The Period and continue the celebrations. This Navratri I reinvented my celebrations and promised my self to continue Ashtami well into the adolescent years of my daughter. I choose to celebrate the kids today and for the years ahead.

It is time we the women reinvent faith and beliefs.

It’s time we understand that The Period is a part of every woman and we all exist because of The Period.

My dear daughter, Once a year we meet. I love seeing you in your best attire rejoicing with your friends. I love the food you make for me when I come to your home. I really don’t care if you come see me alone or if you come with the Period. I just care about meeting you. Let us continue to meet regardless of the Period. I am a woman too, I get it. Rejoice with me. Celebrate the essence of being woman, as that is the celebration of Navratri.

Live like a Samosa.

It has been centuries and yet when I think of my ancestors, their travels and experiences fill me with positively glowing envy. My roots go back to the dawn of civilization on the Iranian plateau. No one in my family knows for sure, but they tell me that my ancestors we called Sanbosag, and the first ever mention of our literature came through the Persian historian Abolfazi Behyaqi in the 11th century. Travelling through the mountains of Central Asia, my ancestors came to the fertile plains and great rivers of India. They didn’t take this journey alone, some came with the Aryans, some travelled later with the Mughals and Mamluks to make the wonderful subcontinent of India, as you know it today. Royal beginnings is the only phrase that comes to mind;from the Moroccan traveller Ibn Batuta to the sufi poet Amir Khusro the praise of my ancestors has been sung with revered admiration.

We, are the Sambusak Family or as you know me today, The Samosa Family.

I am the trilateral, tetrahedral fried pastry. A bite of me is tongue seduction in its purest form celebrating the delicate mix of hot and spicy with the sweet tamarind tanginess I am your Samosa. I came from lands far away, travelled the deserts, climbed the Hindu Kush, fought with the armies and found my abode in India.

India has seen cultural influences from The Great Alexander to the British. Every invasion brought with it a new life style, new languages and a whole new cooking style. While my ancestors were made from minced meat, today my best friend is the humble potato. Did you know that India had no knowledge of this starchy tuber which brought about the cooking revolution in Indian cuisine until the Portuguese landed on the coast of Goa in 16th century. They called it The Batata or as we know it today The Potato.

I, the Samosa, have seen a thing or two and am here today to tell you today to stop stressing and Live like a Samosa. There are only 4 rules.

Be yourself. Don’t let anyone change you. Look at me, I crossed geographical boundaries; they tried hard, but I stayed true to my triangular awkwardness. The western world with all its craziness of healthy eating has tried transforming me, you can put a potato in anything, but you are not a Samosa until you are fried and triangular. Yes, stay true to yourself. They can bake you, they can stuff you with grassy vegetables, but don’t lose hope, the true you will take the crown every time. Try it next time, make me original and make me fake. Let the palette decide which is better.
Travel the world. It’s the experiences that make you who you are, nothing else. My life has been about travels, my exotic past did not stop me but only enriched me to understand the humility in India, and adopt to the street vendors and the palaces alike. Today, I am synonymous to India, I am sold in every street and every corner. I am a poor mans delicacy to a rich nawabs’ indulgence. The chef’s can mask me with minced meat and nuts and yet I stay true to my character. The glories of the palace do not enchant me, the condemnation of the streets do not scare me, for I have travelled on feet and on elephants. Travel, so you can live life.
Coexist with humility. India is food haven. The cultural invasions brought food influences from the Mughlai to the European and then the partition brought the Punjabi’s and their food habits. The Southern India has stayed true to its native roots and yet the southern delicacies of Sambhar and Chutney are a gift of Western India. I maybe the king of chaats and appetizers in India, but I am always in awe of the delicate crispiness of the Pani Puri, the tangy godliness of the Dahi Bhalla and let’s not forget the robust bold flavors of the Kachori. We all coexist with tolerance and humility. You too can coexist.There is no need to compete with your friends and the world. There is enough room for all of us to be stars of our own shows.
Be Adaptive. Yes, adapt to the times. Don’t be stuck in the past. If I, the descendant of the majestic Sanbusak family had not adapted to the humble streets of India, my family history would have ended. Instead I chose to keep my character, my structure intact and accepted the stuffing they gave me, end result, I am new and I am more popular than ever before. When need arises, I metamorph into a crude peasant dish, and when the occasion demands I arrive in style on porcelain. I am the syncretic global dish – I am fusion of all cultures, and I thrive.

Today, I am tailored to individual taste buds and maybe I am imagining it but I might just be the worlds first fast food. Not sure though, I do need to understand my history more, but the truth still remains, I am modified to suit the individual tastes.

Japani Samosa sold in Delhi. — Japani Samosa sold in Delhi with 60 layers of flour and potato fillings.

In Punjab, I am stuffed with Paneer, and in Delhi they serve me with chocolate and another calls it the Japani Samosa, beats me why, there is nothing Japanese about it, but it’s popular and the recipe is a secret. Some chefs try to steam me, but quite honestly, I dislike that very much. When you steam me, I become a dumpling, not a Samosa, so please in the name of tangy tamarind sweetness, please don’t steam me. While the North stays true to my roots and indulges me with potatoes, Southern India stays true to its own roots and nourishes me with cabbage, curry leaves and more. Hyderabad calls me Lukhmi and makes me remember my royal past again. The Eastern state of Bengal calls me the Shingara, Goa on the other hand, mimicing the Portugal Chamcuas, satiate me with pork, chicken or beef. The Arabs continue to carry my heritage forward and members of the Sambusak family continue to stay there. The Turkish on the other hand have morphed us to the Somsa Family, and In Africa they still call us the Sambusa Family.

I am the Samosa. Live like me.

Be humble, be proud, be genuine, be you, travel around and don’t be afraid of adapting to your new home because white, brown or yellow at the core we are all the same, we may feel different, but we are just adapting to our individual lives and experiences.

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