In our multicultural household of Indian, Puerto Rican and Italian American heritages, the holiday season was joyous as we drank hot chocolate and masala chai most evenings, alongside homemade struffoli, which are Italian honey balls, and barfi, a milk-based Indian sweet. Food connected our family to our cultures.
Although my mom was raised Roman Catholic, she never took us to church. My dad never took us to a Hindu temple, either. My brother, Ravi, and I both half-Indian American had only a small understanding of religion, which was relegated to acknowledging Christmas and Diwali, but with little education about the holidays.
My dad would invite Ravi and me to his office. Dressed in a kurta, he lit candles and incense on his desk. Photos of his parents stood upright beside the flickering glow.
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