Govinda gela re!

Krishna was born and now he has gone off to whatever adventuring he has left to do in today's world. It was Janmashtami over the weekend, the time when the Blue God was born. We celebrate in this country by eating a lot - which we do for almost every festival there is - and making a lot of noise. Strangely, it was quieter here this year than it has been in previous celebrations, making me wonder if I had the day wrong or whether there was something amiss or whether it was just that people are now starting to see sense and tone down public displays of affectation. As they hoist themselves and their teams up the human pyramids to break open the handi tied high above to get the prasad and the money, some triumph, others die trying, but there is a lot of sound and some fury, signifying another event that has given way to crass commercialism.

My native cynicism apart, I do enjoy the ocasional festival. And celebrate in my own way, tweaking the traditional to create something new that will become tradition for Father, Small Cat and myself. So yesterday, instead of the usual festive lunch of shaadam and murukku and seedai and neiyappam, vadai and fresh-churned butter from the home kitchen, we adapted a little. We did have seedai and neiyappam but bought both from the neighbourhood South Indian store, and we did have shaadam, but with some changes. It was fun cooking, as it almost always is for me, and it tastes good, or so the family reviews said.

We ate pongal, a wonderfully squishy blend of dal and rice and spices and veggies all cooked together, with a dash of ghee, accompanied by bonda made of leftover alu-methi wrapped up in a crisp coat of adai maavu - leftovers, but given a new avatar. We crunched through the seedai and chewed on the neiyappam, with homemade javarsi (sabudana) payasam to add interest, with lots of raisins and cashewnuts to make it better. And then there was some raita, some banana chips and some pickles, all to round off the meal. We lay around like anacondas after that, digesting.

The problem with Indian festivals is that they follow each other in over-quick succession. Just when your waistline is normalising after one, the next arrives and you have more adjusting to do of strings and buttons and zippers. For me, I have Ganesh Chaturti mid-next week to think about, with its glorious sweets and savouries and a whole lot of communicating with my favourite god.