Soldering flux and marigolds

Dai’s fingertips have a whiff of marigolds in them. Mum’s smell like fine mustard oil with a hint of garlic and ginger in them. Dad’s fingers are busy with the soldering iron fixing wires to light up the string lights. And my hands, well, they smell of cow dung mixed with a bit of red soil. Yup, my favorite festival of the year is now coming to an end and our hands will stop smelling the way they do until next year.

When Dai and I were younger, we went to mamaghar to celebrate Bhai Tika with Mum, leaving Dad at home. At mamaghar, it was a grand affair - a lot of people with a lot of food. Dai and I followed mum there every year.

However, I don’t have any memories of celebrating Mha: Puja. The best I can say about that is: ‘I read in Social Studies about it.’ Mum tells me we skipped the tradition religiously for over a decade or so; mostly because we didn’t have enough space at home for that. And then, one year, mum and dad suddenly decided that even if we had to squeeze in together and draw tiny mandaps, we’d do it anyways. I am not entirely sure when, but we haven’t missed a single Mha: Puja since then.

Over the years, we have all efficiently transferred the festive duties to one another. Earlier, mum and dad used to handle everything from shopping to preparing packages for Bhai Tika to lighting up lamps to painting the house with red soil and cow dung - you name it. Dai and I mostly just watched and ate, of course. But slowly, Dad started taking me out for shopping, asked my help to count and pack the masala packets. Dai mostly helped mum clean the house and also supervised my attempts in drawing a straight trail for Goddess Laxmi from our main gate to the puja ghar. Dai and I worked together to make and put up marigold garlands at the doors and also set up the string lights, Mum, single handedly, still looks over everything that needs to be done in the kitchen, though.

There have been other changes too. Dai and I have started celebrating Bhai Tika here at home. We ask dad to come see us perform the ritual. Not because it's a sight to see but because we aren’t sure about what steps comes after another. Do you give gifts first or the makhmali ko mala first? Does Dai eat first or do I? Dad accompanies us in our tika attempts every year willingly. He hasn’t celebrated this day in decades now. Maybe, Dai and I shouldn’t have gone to mamaghar for bhai tika when we were young. We both aren’t “crowd people”. Maybe, we would have had more fun with dad at home. This morning too, dad was with us as Dai and I tried to remember and do the puja right. We were pretty good, honestly. Dad watched us the whole time. We were at the end of the ritual, when I heard him clear his throat in a way that it showed in his face that he was pushing back his tears. Dai and I didn’t ask him what happened. And Dad already had a smile back on his face.

This year, we all sat comfortably to worship ourselves during Mha: Puja in the new room at our home. But apart from getting to celebrate it in the new room, little had changed about Mha: Puja. Dai and I still drew funny mandaps and covered them with enough flowers so that our parents didn’t notice the difference. We both still turned to a giggling mess as mum poured over a mana full of flowers, grains of rice, a few walnuts, among other things.

I can’t wait for the whiff of soldering flux, mustard oil, garlic, ginger, marigold, cow dung and red soil to come find me next year.