Chaz Hullen
Lohri is a traditional event involving the wish for fertile lands, good harvest, birth of sons and fertility of young wedded couples. Lohri is celebrated all over the world among Hindu’s and Sikhs.
Living in the UK or any other country that celebrates Christmas, childless women feel the deep sting of alienation and isolation at a holy time of year. However, for those of us who are British born ‘Sub-Asians’, we get an extra ‘below the belt blow’ not even two weeks into every new Georgian calendar year. Why? Because in the month of January, Lohri, a symbolic celebration marks the end of winter in India for Hindu’s and, in Punjab (north India) for Sikh’s.
North India is described as the ‘bread basket’ of India’s agriculture, generating 40% of crops to feed the nation. It has fertile lands; with that in mind, pro-natalism thrives. Pro-natalism is the profound ideology and social attitude that women were born to give birth and, being a ‘non-mother’ is unacceptable, even if that’s not by choice.
The bit that really hurts is that this celebration involves not just the wish or ‘hope’ for fertile lands to grow crops, but also ‘fertility’ of family members who are typically newlyweds.
Families celebrate Lohri in different ways but in the main, ‘family units’ get together typically in the evening, set up a bonfire and throw traditional items of food into it as they walk around the flames. In ours, we also pass around a large white radish, representing the male’s genitalia.
Selecting the right radish involves identifying one that is lush with leaves, which of course represents...uh hum...sperm!
I’m not sure what they do with it; I don’t want to know, but I would imagine it’s a crop that is grown in the north region of the country.
This celebration focuses on the birth of babies that are recent and for the wish of a child/ren in the future. For most, they celebrate the birth of a son or they wish for more sons. This the wish of all new wedded couples; to continue the legacy and inherit daughters rather than give them away.
If you ain’t ‘wed, bed and bred’ to either be with child or had produced one, you can’t really be seen at this event in more than one way! Married into a ‘good family’ a new baby girl might be worth celebrating. Typically, it’s a case of ‘keep trying’ until you popout a boy.
You can see why and how this hurts so much on many levels to childless people and particularly to women. Some religious families wouldn’t bother with these cultural affairs but like how gifts at Christmas can become an unhealthy focus, the wish for children at Lohri also falls out of context and is amplified.
In 2015, my parents were blessed with their first grandchild, through my younger sister. Two years later, the elder of my two younger brothers’ gave them their second grandson (my brothers’ son carries the bloodline of which my father is VERY proud of). I had chosen not to participate by leaving the home when my first nephew was born. I did the same two years after. This resulted in more than one powerful backlash by my sister and mother in the main, but also my dad at the time. Three against one! It’s different now thankfully. Although I experience insensitivity and marginalisation rather than outrage.
The reason for the backlash...it looked like I didn’t want to celebrate, I didn’t validate both of my nephews arrival which means I wasn’t validating my sister as a mother, my brother as a father and equally my parents as grandparents. Furthermore, my grandparents as great grandparents! Each year this event is celebrated, the further it compounds, discounts and invalidates me. At this time, I am the only person in my entire family network who is childless not by choice.
It seemed that in some way I was making a bold statement that I didn’t want to be involved in ‘family’ functions. It mistakenly reflected my ‘maleficent’ nature and ‘real’ thoughts about how I felt towards new arrivals and those that hope for them. This couldn’t be further from the truth.
Pro-natalism might be experienced in similar ways across the globe or rather by all childless people, but experiencing twice every year is double the pain, double the disenfranchisement and feels like a double dose of grief.
These events remind me of what is missing in my life twice over – at Christmas, despite not being part of the community who do celebrate it we do respect and regard UK cultures and festivities and, through cultural events that the rest of the country are simply not aware of and is difficult to describe and unpack. Cultural celebrations are geared cement pro-natal ideology and create necessary pressure on women to produce through legitimate means. Not being a newlywed each year reminds you of that loss too!
Love struck couples would very much be involved in this family function as you can imagine and, for them it marks the wish for a couple’s fertility and, specifically ‘her’ ability to grow a baby to grow the wedded into family.
Lohri is a very joyous symbolic event, if you are positioned on the right side of pro-natalism. We all deserve a chance of having children and don’t begrudge any person or couple to having their wishes met. I tried hard to be a part of the celebration two years later but skipped the main fire event, which to my surprise evoked my father to challenge me (among my 30 strong family members) about my whereabouts/absence.
My dad knows my ovaries were removed not by choice and, had become infertile for a good couple of years. This is how some people are, ignorant to cause and effect. Frustrated by his inability to keep my infertility in mind, I boldly said in my native language. “And where are my children?” He got the message real fast and, so did everyone else…unfortunately. In the moment, I exposed my personal circumstances and partly regretted it later. It just looked like I was bitter and resentful of course, which we all know these emotions don’t quite describe that unique feeling of desire for and longing of. By the time you get over Christmas, we have to deal with powerful overt pro-natal ideals like how salt hits wound. It’s so damn painful.
I informed my sister that I tried to be a part of the event, as she made the request for me to stay, but after the experience with my dad, I said I would never do it again. I would much rather be on a beach or kayaking in the aqua waters of where I scattered the ashes of my children’s baby grows. Yet, here I am, among family who mean no harm but do exactly that.
Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful to have a family, nephews, niece, and those who ‘love me’ despite them covertly asking me to deny my loss, pain and grief. Sometimes, the depth, expanse and double dosage of pro-natalism gets so hard to manage and, with so few people who are Sub-Asian and childless in my immediate network, I can say it sucks not being able to talk about it! It’s hard to find people who live their lives backwards as I do since I experienced early menopause too!
Perhaps this post describes one of the many pitfalls of being childless and Sub-Asian living in the UK, but also brings to light the many ways that individuals experience childlessness through more than one sphere of perception, often concurrently.
Sometimes I feel as though I live childlessness twice, one by Western culture and the other through my Eastern roots. There is no respite after Christmas for us, we have to roll with the punches a while longer.
Photo by Wouter Naert on Unsplash