The Hill Man’s Blogspot

M & M’s In Rice

      “Hello, how are you? Where is the baby!”  This is what all my relatives said to me as I opened the door, letting them into the house for my new baby brothers naming ceremony. I was wearing a bright orange-yellow pavadai with my hair in its usual pigtails, bangles jingling on my arm, anklets clinking and pinching my feet, and a bindi on my forehead.

      The pile of shoes at the door grew bigger and bigger as more and more relatives come pouring in, to see this little thing lying in the crib lined with a red sari to make it look more festive for the event. All of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, basically any Indian my family knew came through the door to see the baby. My parent told me was going to be a boy, but I wouldn’t believe them because I wanted a little sister. I was running around from person to person excited to see everyone, craving attention from everyone who was paying attention to the baby. Everyone passively talked to me, just talking to keep me occupied, but they were really interested in my brother, who at that point who still didn’t have a name according to Indian customs.

     The ceremony itself was interesting. I had to place a rock by my brother’s head, and all the aunties did aarthi to him with a silver plate containing red liquid going around in circles. In the middle of all of this, I actually got to hold my brother, a rare feat considering my age, making me feel important in the situation. Prayers were sung, a bell was rung, and everybody rubbed their hands through the smoke, drank the holy water and ate the blessed food. Meanwhile, my five year old self was getting restless. The time span of this ceremony extending far beyond my attention span. It was too cold to go outside and play, and everyone, especially my cousins were sick of playing house or kitchen with me. There was also too many things going on that I was not able to sit in front of the television and watch one of my many Disney movies. 

     Finally my uncle called me over to help him perform a special task for the ceremony. I got very excited with the possibility of doing something special because what five year old would not feel excited doing something special. At every naming ceremony, the baby’s name is spelled out in something. I was able to help my uncle spell out my brother’s name with M & M’s in rice, a great feat because I was only a couple of months into kindergarten. This moment solidified that my brother was here to stay and would remain my brother, no matter what.

Filed by Mr. Hillman at March 26th, 2008 under Wait until your father gets home! Tales of family...