The Indian culture has a long history of traditions. But when I was young my household was not steeped in them. We celebrated Eids, attended weddings, anniversaries and funerals perfunctorily. These events just happened. There was no preamble. When they concluded we came home and got on with our lives.

It was after I launched into my married life that traditions became a determiner of all action. I thought that a happy future lay by my side given my husband’s good looks and good nature. But an “odd elder” at every event turned my life upside down. She would look peeved that I was not conforming to some tradition. No flowers in the new bride’s hair, no downcast eyes, no gold jewellery, no respectful silence… tut tut just not down. In fact, even my marriage did not go through the traditional fest of a Muslim wedding. But life sailed on and I survived the rocking boat effect.

Years slipped by and I observed traditions on both sides fervently. Festivals were the first to rear their heads. Food and sweets were exchanged. I was appreciated for my cooking and I made traditions a happy habit. I hummed a song while I kneaded and mixed, baked and boiled. I watched with pride when my laden table creaked with dishes brimming with food.

But in my nuclear family it was I who sweated over the stove. I had created a new tradition – a tradition of slogging it out all alone. Not quite because my little tot would get into the way chanting, questioning, reasoning and many times answering her own questions. As time passed she actual became a useful help while I embarked on the rituals of a tradition. Wasn’t I was too ingrained to let go of traditions?

Oh me gosh – now I am that “elder” who frowns on non-conformists;
who knows exactly how many people to invite, how many kilos of meat are needed, who will receive gifts etc. When my turn comes will I beguile newcomers into the family fold lovingly or will I drive them insane with my quirkiness?