Celebrating Our Differences

Over the weekend Alan and I celebrated Vesak Day with our loved ones. All save Erica lovely daughter of Mabel's brother, were born in Singapore. It was a relaxing day – starting with a leisurely Indian vegetarian breakfast, lots of happy nonsensical conversation, pots of percolated coffee and hilarity as we laughed at each other and with each other - it went on until three in the afternoon. The tranquil musical sounds of the wind-chimes hanging in the front verandah and the splashing sounds of bubbling water from the water-feature in our garden blew gently indoors with the breeze, through clicking waves of the beaded curtain by our front door. I felt a deep sense of absolute peace and happiness as I kept the emerald coloured glass votives on either side of the little Buddha statue on my kitchen counter lit and the swirling scented patterns of smoke from nag champa incense in the air throughout the day. Vesak, the day of the full moon in May - when Lord Buddha was born, is believed to have attained enlightenment, and when he breathed his last on earth before his entry into Nirvana.

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In Singapore from 1 December every year, Orchard Road and the entire shopping district would be lit up with literally millions of fairy lights; thick green garlands and wreathes would hang in twinkling white-light splendour along the main road and all the side-streets bringing into our lives kilometers of discerningly decorated brilliance. Curtains of lights encrusted the exteriors of shops, buildings and hotels, and everywhere you looked, Christmas displays tantalised our imaginations and tugged our memories back to stories we had read in books during our childhood. Each year the decorations persuaded us yet again - to want to believe that Santa really existed; Christmas was just one of the festivals that Singaporeans went over the top with in celebrating.

Going into the various cultural sectors that had been divided up during the time of Colonial rule - to mill around, have dinner and shop, or just stop for a jagong (sweet corn) ice-cream and experience the traditions of each festival being upheld every year was something that we felt a yearning for and were sentimental about especially in the early years of our arrival. Twenty one years ago, Perth was not the buzzing multi-cultural city it is today. It was a quiet little town when we began to embrace meat-pies, BYO's, and relaxing Australian weekends under blue skies at the beach or in a park. Although almost impossible to imagine today, Fremantle our beloved Port City, was a bit of a dive back then and going out for Asian food usually meant sweet and sour pork and bok-choi. Sushi, Tandoori, Pad Thai and Laksa – just to name a few of the Asian dishes currently enjoyed with abandon by Australians … were totally unheard of.

So during Chinese New Year, memories of the fire-crackers of our childhood, the red lanterns that hung just about everywhere, the lion dance performances to loud noisy tung-tung chang cymbal clashing and drumming, the even-numbered mandarins and ang-pows given for good luck - would come floating back for Alan and I. How we missed the colourful and so scrumptious Yu Sheng Salad where every ingredient signified life renewed; as we joyfully called out 'loh-hay loh hay' and inserted our chopsticks into the salad to lift and mix the ingredients at the start of the celebratory meal together.

Also, there would be recollections of the Muslim festival of Eid or Hari Raya celebrated with our Malay friends that followed their month long fasting of Ramadan – laughter over spicy halal chicken in coconut milk curries, beef rendang and fragrant rice or ketupat (rice cakes wrapped in coconut palm leaves) that we would devour with our hands … coughing because we were talking too much while eating the coconut serunding. Drinking cups upon cups of syrupy black tea with pineapple tarts and other sweets as we sat on the floor chatting into the evening.

Then during Diwali (Deepavali) Alan and I would reminisce the high pitched voice of singers like Lata Mangeshkar singing what was then called Hindustani hits that filled the air while Indian families in colourful sarees and kurtas bustled their way through the crowded streets of Little India buying statues or pictures of Gods and Goddesses in gaudily painted settings with flashing rays of lights. There was bargaining in loud Tamil over sarees and frilly dresses while garlands upon garlands of intoxicatedly perfumed flowers were being made right on the street. I missed the intense smell of cardamom and other freshly ground spices mixed with that of coconut oil and marigolds – how they assaulted our senses in the lead up to the Festival of Lights. In those early days of living in Perth, all we could do was dream of the mouth-watering masala thosais (stuffed pancakes) and idlis, the buttery flavour of ghee (instant heart attact ingredient) in the burfis and ladoos of our adolecent years.

I think most migrants feel this way; we want to bring into our new country all that is good of our food and culture to proudly pass onto our children and share with our new friends. The Italians, Greeks, Turks – the ‘Wogs’ who were mercilessly teased for their accents and culture before we Asians began to arrive in droves - they made their presence felt here in the glorious delights of their cuisine and beverages. And how we absolutely love their beautiful flavour-infused food; I have to wonder what people ordered at restaurants in the days before pasta, souvlaki, baklava and cappuccinos arrived.

These days, Asian food and culture is very much here to stay as well. What began as just little family gatherings to preserve and share our multi-cultural childhood memories in little versions of festivals seems to have caught on in the imaginations of Australians. Thai and Indian cuisines seem to be the hot favourites, and sushi bars have popped up in just about every shopping centre. Drinking teas from China, Japan and India is very fashionable at the cafes; my own son has turned into what I call a snobby tea connoisseur. He has introduced me to the aromatic delights of Japanese Quince Tea, White Tea and Ulong. We are both however terribly confused about one beverage that has appeared on the menu in recent years - Chai Latte.

Chai – the strong, sweetened, intensely spicy and perfumed, milky drug of divine magnitude! Made in tea pots bubbling over hot coals along the streets of India – the only line of connected reasoning that unites all Indians across the world no matter what religion or region or caste they belong to – has in the western world become a shadow of very weak flavourless tea topped with frothy milk. Chai Latte costing a ridiculous $3.80 in Perth seems to have attracted a following! I have to laugh.

I love that stone statues of Buddha are available at most garden centres, that Zen and meditation is in, that durian and longan is available at supermarkets together with rempah (curry paste) for Thai Green Curry, Biryani and Chicken Butter Masala to name just a few, that Australians throw Bollywood or Miss Saigon theme parties and that Alan’s boss has kechap manis, fish sauce and belachan in his pantry cupboard.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi! Oi! Oi!