MADRAS MUSINGS

Vintage thoughts
By Sabita Radhakrishna
– To gift its building new life-->
A Point of View
Chennai is greying faster than Madras ever did... the numbers of old people are on the rise, people are living longer with the help of medical science. It is not a mere long life that we should wish old people but a quality life for as long as they live, blessed with a sound mind, reasonably good health and a cheerful disposition.
Next comes the question, where and how do we live? The beautiful heritage famiuly homes where children were born and raised nurturing joint families which busied themselves with various activities, and where every room used to resound with laughter, are now empty ghost palaces devoid of life with a couple of old people who are walking apparitions themselves, watching their children themselves growing old and developing health setbacks too.
Most of the children are NRIs who have sought greener pastures abroad to better their prospects, encouraged by the parents themselves. They make it a point to make the occasional visits to the parents who in turn pretend they are well and happy. Most of them can afford to be generous and we have visited many old people who are apparently well equipped with lap tops, I-pads, ipods, DVD players, and various other gadgets which lie around evidently proclaiming the status symbols, because the offspring lack the patience to teach them how to use them. Vasanth stifles a yawn. “I can’t stand the cell phone or any other gadget my son brings me with so much love. I just accept them. I don’t even know how to use these things, and get tired of requesting the neighbour’s children to come and demonstrate.” It is so easy to hand out dole of material objects, but what is more precious is to spend time with old parents, understanding their needs and providing some kind of comfort and security.
On the flip side of the coin, some parents like me are excited at living in this era of accelerating technology, accepting with grace some of the new-age gizmos which I cannot afford but which give me immense pleasure while experimenting and discovering how to use, particularly when the nimble fingers of grandchildren unlock the secrets. There are, of course, thoughtful, considerate sons and daughters who agonise over their parents’ problems. Priya and her husband took time off to spend a month in Chennai, made the old home user-friendly by installing a stair-lift, hand-rails and grab-rails in the toilets.
Another family I know, whose son lives in Germany, was happy that he came down with his family and helped his parents downsize their home. Too weary to even attempt exploring old trunks which have been left in the loft, the parents wondered what they would do if they had to shift to a smaller place. The son took charge and, helped by his wife and grown up children who “sacrificed” their mornings and pursuits of small pleasures, separated the innumerable thingies into different piles, packing them into cartons, labelled “Junk, destroy” “Donate” “Imponderables” and, lastly, “Preserve” which of course fitted into the smallest carton.
Yet another family from abroad visited their parents and discussed their future and also the finances they would need, tidied up their investments, placing all their money in banks or fixed deposits in a manner that they would be able to handle with ease as, in this case, the mother hadn’t a clue as to how her husband managed their finances or where their money lay.
In the past, old people were content to live in sprawling homes till the end of their lives, and the “We’ll see later” attitude dominated their thinking. Taking a step which would jolt them from the complacency and despite realising that familial living was unthinkable, and while their friends decided to develop their property and move into apartments, they, however, stayed on stoically coping with perennial plumbing and electrical problems, not to mention leaks and cracks in the old building and trying hard to get reliable domestic help who would not exploit the helplessness of the aged people.
These are the reasons why these days enterprising builders are able to sell the idea of senior citizens’ homes to the growing numbers of old people in the city. They offer the environment of gated communities, villas, with complete management for daily living, food supplies, all for a price. The fact that these properties are far removed from the thrum and throb of the city does not deter some, as they would like to trade this factor for peace, security and not having to worry about running a home or lamenting on the lack of home help. They are further reassured that good hospitals are nearby and that assisted living would also be provided should the need arise. Many of the NRI children, relieved that the parents need not worry about living alone, encourage this concept and buy the homes for their parents. The carrot at the end of the stick is that even this property would be a good investment, as the value would appreciate in the years to come.
There are, however, the other group of NRIs who do not like the idea of the big move. They would like their parents to stay where they are, prepared to pay more for services or assisted living. Ideally, this would be the best option, with their own comfort zone, friends, established hospitals, doctors whom they trust and, more than anything, familiarity with everything around which is a big factor of security in old age whereas shifting at that juncture would pose its own set of problems.
When an old tree which has sunk its roots deep, spreading its branches wide, offering shade to all those who stand beneath it, is uprooted and replanted somewhere else, the question of survival is a moot point. Regardless of whether or not it manages to get a new lease of life with all the care bestowed on it, the fact remains that a part of it is already dead and buried where it grew with abandon.
For the next generation, the possible choices will not be difficult, for they will slip into the scheme of things. With the families totally nuclear, unmarried children will leave the homes earlier, parents will learn to be independent of support from their offspring, insightful property developers will have their heyday selling retirement homes which will be grabbed by senior citizens. Parents will seek the permission of their children to visit them. And probably vice versa. The guilt which eats into some of the children will be removed from them without a scar. Values surrounding family instincts will change drastically. And I hope I won’t be around to see that happen!
Yet, it is not right to sound the voice of doom. What happens is right for a particular period of time, and it is unfair to want to turn the clock back. What we can and we should do is to accept change, have no expectations and thank the Lord for all his small but endless mercies. Not forgetting the duty of our contribution to society, helping the needy when our minds are still active and keen, perpetuating our culture, loving our heritage and values and doing whatever we can to preserve it ... what more do we want?

Namma Pattu

GEETA PADMANABHAN

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Celebrating culture Sabita Radhakrishna Photo: V. Ganesan

“Threads of Tradition”, a presentation by textile activist Sabita Radhakrishna, was the second in the Namma Chennai series, an initiative by The Hindu MetroPlus and Sheraton Park Hotel & Towers

Kancheepuram idlis, delectable athirasam, sundal on leaf cups and brass-filtered coffee; copper venneer thavalai and kolu dolls as corner décor and Sabita Radhakrishna as the chief presenter; the topic could only be pattu pudavai, that symbol of grace and grandeur in Chennai's gatherings. In its second edition of the Namma Chennai meet, a very interested group assembled in their Kancheepuram best to know about the Kanchi heritage and its fabric of international fame.

“Pattu is not made of just threads, these are dreams of the weavers,” said Sabita, in a flawless presentation that traced the history of traditional pattu weaving that journeyed into Kanchi some 400 years ago. With stunning pictures as supporting material, she traced pattu's history, its patronage from the local deities and kings. She gave the audience a glimpse of the magnificent sari collection of Rukmini Devi Arundale whose crafts centre at Kalakshetra makes those beautiful Kalakshetra saris.

“River Palar flowed in Kancheepuram and its pure waters covered the threads with fine sheen. This patina along with the quality of weaving, weight and durability made Kanchi pattu a must-have in Tamil weddings, gave the textile a niche it so richly deserves,” Sabita went on. Woven into the pattu's history are these facts: Kancheepuram allowed space for the spread-out weaving, had close-knit families and water in the form of Vagvathi. It blossomed when the local deities wore the hand-woven silks and cottons, when the royals gave it patronage. In Kanchi, religion and weaving melded, hand-weaving was done with a sense of bhakti. All activities of the household, preparing the dye, loading the bobbin or twisting the thread, went on around the loom that was the centrepiece of the house. All the members were engaged in the creation of the masterpieces. In an oral tradition, the “secrets” of the art were passed on in a father-son lineage. It was in that sense a truly cottage industry.

Low returns

But all is not well with the industry now despite the crowds at the stores, said Sabita. Saris are not worn regularly and those who wear them choose synthetic yards over Kanchi cottons and silk. Even at weddings, the preference has shifted to other “dresses”.

Weavers have started encouraging their children to look for occupations with guaranteed income and job security. Those who still weave have moved on to hybrid threads where wages are higher. Weaving these saris is hard work and the returns are low.

“This beautiful art with its wealth of designs will languish,” said Sabita in a fervent appeal to the audience. “Don't let it die. Buy a few, patronise them.” She had suggestions for making Kanchi cottons and pattu a contemporary high-fashion fibre. “Traditional weaving could be a studio craft, weavers can be trained and paid a salary and the yardage can be used to make what this generation prefers to wear, for modern silhouettes.” It can be used for furnishings and accessories, anything, as long as the craft is kept alive.”

Anaka Narayanan, the young designer/boutique owner of Brasstacks, is keen to make that experiment. “Sari is figure-flattering, I love the silhouette, like the aesthetics of the handlooms,” she said. “But to me, design is about what the market wants.” Having tried hand-woven material in her designs, she promised to introduce Kanchi silks and cottons to the young as everyday wear.

Also present at the venue was Vijay Ganesh, a seventh generation weaver who has been persuaded by Sabita not to give up his craft. He didn't have to say much. The saris from his family looms in Thanjavur were part of the surrounding décor. Stunning in colours and traditional borders, they got the women leaping to have a look at the end of the presentation. “Exhibitions in metros have not been successful. Their only salvation is to hitch their wagon to young designers,” said Sabita, making a final request. “Don't melt your old saris for their silver,” she said. “You can use them to replicate the designs. The craft is irreplaceable.”

Pattu

* Pure zari is red thread wrapped in pure silver and dipped in 24-carat gold.

* “Korvai” is when the border and pallu are woven separately and then into the body. The fine weaving between body and border makes the joinery invisible. Here Pallu and border contrast with the main colour.

* It takes a week to a month to weave a pattu sari.

* The setting up of a loom costs Rs. 80,000 and an extra Rs. 10,000 each time the design changes, so order 3 at a time.

* Heavy saris weigh 700-1000 grams.

Keywords: Threads of Tradition, Namma Chennai, Chennai culture, Kanchi heritage, pattu saris, pattu pudavai, Sabita Radhakrishna

The Hindu : Arts / History & Culture : Namma Pattu

The Hindu : Arts / History & Culture : Namma Pattu

On the verge of extinction

KAUSALYA SANTHANAM
CLASSIC Korvai has become rare, weavers finding the traditional process unviable. Kausalya Santhanam
Woven wonders: Vejai Ganesh displaying a typical korvai sari. With him is his father Rajarethinam.

PHOTOS: R. RAVINDRAN

The Korvai of Kanchipuram is one of the prized textile techniques of the South. It involves a specialised process where the borders and pallu , in contrast colour with the body, are woven separately. They are then skilfully woven into the body of the sari. Owing to various factors, including the fact that two people are generally required to operate the shuttle, this handloom sari is rapidly fading away. Many weavers have now turned to the powerloom to produce silk and cotton saris. Even those which are hand-woven do not follow the ancient process.
Korvai can be distinguished from the much easier type of weaving, i.e., the portion where the border meets the body is slightly rough and if examined closely, the meticulously woven attachment can be discerned; so too the portion where the pallu meets the body of the sari in a process called “ petni.”
Twenty five year old S.R. Vejai Ganesh belongs to a family of hereditary weavers belonging to the Saurashtrian community that settled in Thanjavur more than 400 years ago. Vejai is passionate about making Korvai flourish. He was in the city with his collection of recently revived classic Korvai sarees at an exhibition held by Crafts Council of India.
“It was textile expert Sabita Radhakrishna of CCI who made us start weaving Korvai sarees,” says Vejai. Standing by his side is his brother, Viswananth who is also a master weaver involved in the process. Chettinad checks in bright oranges , reds and yellows, zari checks on blues, greens and oranges either with self or contrast borders, blues with vazhaipoo design, and creations in emeralds with deep red borders were among the saris displayed by Vejai and his brother.
Vejai's forefathers would take their beautifully woven saris to Singapore, Malaya, Indonesia and Burma and return with sugar crystals and textiles made in those countries. Trade flourished. But then the huge extended family went through divisions and its prosperity received a setback. Propitiously, Sabita who was interested in reviving the technique of Korvai came in contact with Vejai. She provided him with designs from her personal collection and encouraged him to start producing traditional type of saris using this method. “We make the saris with pure gold and silver zari.” The thread is dipped in silver and thinly coated with gold. “In this pristine type of weaving, 1 kg of zari when melted will yield 2 grams of gold,” he explains.
“We were weaving saris with only one side border till Sabita maam introduced us to Korvai. Two persons are needed to weave the Korvai; by the drawbox technique however, one person can do it.”
Family art
Vejai's father S. V. Rajarethinam and his uncle S.V. Krishnaraman are experts in handloom silk sari production. “We belong to the Saurashtrian community which came from Gujarat to Tamil Nadu,” says Rajarethinam. “Thanjavur district has various centres of silk weaving such as Thanjavur, Arni and Thirubhuvanam. We call these saris “Kanchipuram saris” because that city earned a reputation for producing saris of thick silk with solidly worked borders. The Korvai skill was taught by weavers who came from Andhra Pradesh.”
“We employ 35 weavers,” says Vejai. “We do not use child labour,” he states. “The heavy weight saris are in demand - 650 gm-1 kg. Our prices begin at Rs. 3,800.The main problem is that powerlooms copy our designs.” The Government should step in to allow master craftsmen to set up handloom clusters, he feels. “The banking sector too does not encourage weavers; the interest rate is very high. It will be good if central sheds are set up for weaving; it will help even physically challenged weavers. Now, since the income is so low, weavers are leaving the sector to take up construction labour.” Vejai can be contacted at 9344133330.
“Design intervention is absolutely necessary”, says Sabita. “And though it is important to provide a weaver such as Vejai with designs, he should ultimately become self-sufficient for that is the key to success,” she adds.

MADRAS MUSINGS

OCT 16 2011
Reviving a heritage craft
by Sabita Radhakrishna
We, as the self-appointed guardians of heritage, zealously try to protect the vestiges of heritage in whatever forms – buildings, monuments, craft or textiles – which speak volumes of history, each a learning lesson for generations to come. Alas, most Indians do not share this passion. Take Chennai. Where do we have museums which showcase our rich tapestry of history? For instance, when we visited the museum in Pondicherry, I was pained to see the famed Arikamedu coins lying in a dusty glass case. So too were some old valuable paintings. This was a few years ago, and I hope things have improved. Why has the Museum in Chennai not given enough funding to showcase some of the finest craft and heritage textiles that we have? Yes, we have the finest of bronzes, but how are they showcased?
Most of the museums I have visited in the world showcase their heritage in a manner that just grabs the eyeballs. In Dubai, its history is so expressly recorded in its little museum that it is a joy to revisit it. Mercifully, however, some of us craft activists, while deploring the state of heritage consciousness – or the lack of it – in our country, are passionate about revival and resuscitating languished craft and textiles. Some of us work with leading craft NGOs like the Crafts Council of India, which today is a powerful apex body run by a group of dedicated, committed women.

Sungudi sarees.
Take the Madurai Sungudi, for instance. It all began in the days of the Nayaks, when weavers and artisans from Saurashtra and Gujarat were brought to Madurai to work on the craft of Sungudi which was likened to “stars in a midnight sky”. The Pattunoolkarar, as the migratory weavers were called, worked in silk basically and supplied fine silk and soft muslins to royalty. When the Nayakdoms were established by Emperor Krishnadeva Raya in the South, the Pattunool community, which was originally from Saurashtra in Gujarat, came to Madurai and Thanjavur in the beginning of the 16th Century. The Sungudi tradition disappeared elsewhere but continued in Madurai.
What is Sungudi? It is the art of tying tiny pinches of fabric with thread and dyeing the fabric. When opened out, the tied portion retains the original base colour while the rest absorbs the dye. Women of the past two generations loved wearing the soft sarees with an inch of zari on both sides, splattered with tiny white dots. The only place we knew where to get these sarees was Rangacharis in Mylapore, in traditional colours of manjal, arakku or neelam, with the borders clamped dyed in contrasting colours.
The traditional Sungudi craft is very akin to the Bandini of the North, but is more basic. The basic design is first plotted on the fabric in a grid pattern. The women grew long finger nails and used them to pinpoint places where the tying was required. Over the years, Madurai Sungudi languished. A revival project launched by the Crafts Council of India, through the World Crafts Council, called for research, training and, ultimately, providing a ready market for the goods produced.
This was always my dream project, which took root thirty years ago but never took off due to attempts having been made at the individual level only. I would make it a point to meet the traders and shopkeepers on every visit to Madurai to find out why we could not locate artisans to do the Sungudi tying. The women confessed that tying the fabric was boring, and that they would rather watch TV serials than doing the job, or they would say that they were paid a pittance for the work done. The traders did not want to create products for a niche market and the market collapsed. The traders turned to wax resist printing, where even the irregularity and unevenness of the dots were built into the blocks. Only a very discerning eye could differentiate between an original and a fake. The wax printed Sungudi saree’s price ranged from Rs.250 to Rs.500, whereas a real Sungudi could sell for as much as Rs. 4000! Today you can pick up a wax printed Sungudi anywhere in Madurai, and the traders admit there is a large turnover for the product.
The revival project spearheaded by the World Crafts Council members – President Usha Krishna, Sudha Ravi, Dalley Verghese and Rajam Subramaniam – saw a two-week workshop in Madurai recently where women were trained in the art of Sungudi dyeing. The rates for the Sungudi tying were suggested so that the artisan was not exploited. Believing that a workshop needs a follow up, there was another two-day workshop at Stella Maris College for the Arts students of the College as well as Kalakshetra Foundation students and some of the staff. The girls were trained by the Madurai women who were initiated into this art.
With every revival project, it is only a ongoing follow-up, addressing the problems, if any, together with provision of a steady market platform which will lead to a total resurfacing of the languished craft. The WCC and the Crafts Council of India held an exhibition-cum-sale of all yardage and sarees produced during the workshops at the Apparao Galleries, Wallace Gardens, in early October. The exhibition was supported by the office of the Development Commissioner (Handicrafts), Ministry of Textiles, Government of India. Several traders attended the exhibition and displayed their interest.
We should take the cue from the Bandini products of Gujarat and Rajasthan which have been flourishing over the years and which have now diversified into contemporary products. Madurai Sungudi should also likewise make a presence in the world market and it is the discerning public and the craft enthusiasts who can help us reach our goals and restore the craft to its old glory.

Save What You Savour

BY Avantika Bhuyan

The uniquely spicy flavours of Mudaliar food are in danger of being lost to future generations. Thankfully, some cuisine conservationists are at hand.

Even though food means a lot to Mudaliars, they have not done much to popularise or preserve their cuisine. These chefs are trying to change that (Photo: ASHISH SHARMA)Fragrant and flavoursome, Mudaliar dishes are garnished with legends and folktales. As the tale goes, this rustic peasant cuisine from the northern part of Tamil Nadu first shot to limelight in the 5th century, when a Chola prince put a few dishes onto the royal menu. It took little time for Mudaliars, a community of farmers with a reputation for turning arid land fertile, to swaddle palate after palate with their culinary delights.

Over time, the community broke up into smaller subcastes, and this, together with migration, led to a dilution of the original flavours. Mudaliars who moved to Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, for example, saw their kitchens succumb to the spice mixes and cooking techniques of their adoptive lands. Today, there aren’t many left who are familiar with the ancient aromas that had once bewitched a Chola prince.

Thankfully, cuisine conservationists are at work, and if the efforts of a couple of chefs and lone cookbook author succeed, Mudaliar dishes could be taken off the endangered list. “Tuluva Velallers and Vellars, as Mudaliars are known in South India, are divided into 26 subcastes,” says Master Chef Velumurugan P, a Mudaliar from Chennai who is in Delhi to get diners tasting and talking about the cuisine at a food festival at WelcomHotel’s Dakshin restaurant. “Today, half these subcastes, like Saiva Mudaliars, are vegetarian, and others such as Pillais are non-vegetarian,” he adds. Nobody knows whether the original Mudaliars were meat eaters or not.

Also, the cuisine has evolved in varied ways to suit local taste buds in places to which members of the community migrated. For instance, Mudaliars today in Kerala make liberal use of coconut and coconut oil, which gives the original cuisine a new mouthfeel and flavour accent. “The ones staying in Karnataka have made the traditional dish bisibele bhath their own. Hyderabadi Mudaliars make pulaos with a lot more chillies than we do. Their pickles are excellent and are mostly Andhra recipes. Nagpur and Amravati Mudaliars have tastes more like Maharashtrians,” explains Sabita Radhakrishna, a writer, food columnist and broadcaster who has been researching Mudaliar cuisine for the past decade now. Her cookbook, Aharam, which is an invaluable record of about 175 authentic Tamilian dishes, won the prestigious Gourmand World Award for the Best Indian Cookbook in 2002.

Research has shown that Mudaliar food is distinctive. It is not as spicy or oily as Chettiar cuisine, nor is it staunchly vegetarian like Thanjavur preparations. “This is a non-Brahminical cuisine which uses the best of both vegetarian and non-vegetarian ingredients. However, unlike other southern fare, there is no use of pork or beef,” says Executive Chef Raj Kamal Chopra, who has organised Dakshin’s showcase of endangered cuisines.

Though Mudaliar cuisine has now become a medley of different gastronomical genres, there are still some ingredients that have survived in their original form down the ages. Take the vadakam, for instance. It is a spice mix which no true-blue Mudaliar household can do without. A kind of tempering ball, it is made with garlic, onions, mustard seeds and curry leaves in a long-drawn process. Once all the ingredients have been blended to perfection, the mix is dried in the sun everyday until all the moisture is absorbed. “If the weather is extremely hot and sunny, the vadakam would take about two weeks to be completely dry. This mix is then moulded in the form of small lime-shaped balls and stored in glass jars for years,” says Sabita.

Heaped teaspoons of this fragrant spice blend are used to temper fish curries, dal, tamarind curry and some types of mutton dishes as well.

Brinjal is another ingredient that Mudaliar chefs are fond of. In fact, till some time ago, Mudaliars were known as ‘brinjal people’. To others, the aubergine might be bland, but it assumes a whole other persona as part of this unique cuisine. Known as kathrikai, brinjal is used to flavour spicy tamarind curries, or just sun dried for later use. “Kathrikai chops made with onion, tomato, peppercorns and coconut masala are a speciality in our family,” says Chef Velumurugan. A daily meal at a traditional Mudaliar household tends to include brinjal in one form or another, be it kathrikai with Bengal gram, mashed brinjal with mashed moong dal, or kathrikai with sun dried tomato. “Mudaliars also happen to be very fond of drumsticks. The flowers and leaves of drumsticks are used avidly in dishes as well. Another unique ingredient used in the cuisine is kalpasi or blackstone flower. It is a rare dried flower used often as a spice,” says Chef Velumurugan.

Mudaliar cuisine shares some traditions with other southern culinary genres too. Cooking goat meat with an assortment of vegetables and herbs, for example. One of the most popular vegetables used with mutton is mochakka, shelled beans of a kind abundantly available in south India. In traditional Mudaliar families, like Sabita’s, mochakka is used to make a special dish called peratel, which is a thin soup-like gravy made with mutton, potatoes and these beans. Each household has a secret recipe which is closely guarded by family members. “One such dish is chuppal kari in which meat and garnishes are skewered and then gently cooked with aromatic spices,” says Sabita.

It is not just the flavours that are distinctive, but the cooking apparatus as well. Take vengalam paanai, a metal vessel commonly used for serving food in the olden days. Like copper and stone utensils, they were believed to have medicinal properties.

Fish curry was always made in an earthen pot and it was believed that the taste improved manifold when left in it for a day or two. Rasam was made exclusively in an eeyam, a lead vessel, and a kal chatti was used for mashing dal or spinach. “Kal chattis were used in days when food processors were non-existent. These unique vessels were embedded with small stones so that dal or green leafy vegetables became pasty when ground with a pestle. These were used on wood fire as well, but had to be seasoned first by pouring hot rice conjee and leaving them overnight. This way, it didn’t crack on the fire, and the stone was supposed to imbue the food with certain minerals,” explains Sabita, who still uses these old treasures, much to the chagrin of her house help who finds them too heavy to handle.

Yet, for all the effort, gastronomical wonders like these could soon vanish, with millions of people left without even a chance to savour any of it. Chef Velumurugan and Sabita apportion blame for this to India’s Mudaliars themselves. Even though food means a lot to them, they have not done much to popularise or preserve their cuisine for posterity. The duo hope that just as Chettinad and Kongunadu cuisines have spread their flavours across India and the world, Mudaliar fare too will get a chance to break out of its current cocoon.

Orthodox Brahmins often shun the cuisine because of its use of onion and garlic, but that shouldn’t be a deterrent in this day and age. “It is those Mudaliars who have migrated to the US, UK and Australia who are willing to get back to their traditional way of cooking, despite some of the recipes being so complicated. I wish a similar response would be seen in India as well,” sighs Sabita.

happy Deepavalli

Pre Deepavalli and I am wondering about gifts, about rituals about people...Sometimes the whole thing seems senseless, the amount of work involved, the trips to shops and the buying of sweets...And the children? In this case my grandchildren..These days they are blessed (?) with everything money can give them so you can only give them your time, your love and small things which only grandparents can give.

I show my love through the food I cook. Special food on special occasions and yes for special people.
In the old days I used to literally moan at the thought of Deepavalli, such a load of things to do, and all by oneself. And the returns were not every encouraging. My husband asked me a simple question..is it really worth it? And once I decided to cut out the drudgery part of it, it is more enjoyable, really!
In the old days, rituals were created so that you could bond as a family, working together, sharing laughs as you bathed the gods, placed kumkum on their foreheads, sang as you worked, strung flowers which you grew in your garden, and so on.
Today we carry the rituals like a big burden. The children have flown the nest. Nuclear families are more the rule than the exception. And we women carry on bravely trying not to whimper.

I suggest we change with the times, and enjoy enjoy! No one is going to question you.Do whatever you can, whatever you enjoy doing. If decorating the puja room, welcoming Lakshmi gives you pleasure go ahead and do it, but dont be allday at it. If making athirasams is a big chore, skip it. cross the line and order from outside, there are enough sweetmeat stores to sell these for you. Even if you are all by yourself, no children around, light those oil lamps. When they flicker and shine you realise that life can have a glow if you wish it.
Go out and meet people and give what you feel like giving for this is the season of love and sharing. Write to people you cannot see, see if you can through SKYPE as I do, and thank God that we live in this day of technology which gives us glimpses of a family who choose to live in alien lands.
dont crib, dont grumble, just smile and your life will be lit up and you will exude warmth and good vibes to everyone around.
We used to have open house and about 50 people having brunch in our home. I used to make dosais and puris hot from 7 in the morning to about 11.30. At the end of it I used to be so pooped. I dont do it anymore, because I am getting older and my body needs rest. But we get invited out. By youngsters who have not forgotten what they ate at our table. so I count my blessings again.
Wish everyone a Happy Deepavalli!