Eating on the floor has reminded me of the importance of family time beyond the holidays
The beige woven mat we eat upon reminds me of the threads that connect my present to my culture
This First Person column is written by Isma Ishtiaq, who lives in Delta, B.C. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
One of my favourite childhood memories is family dinners seated cross-legged on a small beige mat. The sun was often setting, casting a warm amber glow through the curtains. We'd have a delicious Pakistani meal — the centrepiece was often a steaming pot of biryani decorated with strands of saffron, its spiced aroma filling the air. On other occasions, it would be a creamy butter chicken and homemade naan. We sat in a circle, passing plates, telling stories and sharing highlights from our day. This was a long-standing tradition that my father passed on from his childhood growing up in the bustling city of Lahore to mine in the quiet suburbs of north Delta in B.C.
Dad often emphasized that it wasn't just about sharing a meal, but that sitting on the ground to eat together was a humbling experience that fostered gratitude for the food we were blessed with. As I sat on that simple woven mat, I realized it was also the beautiful embodiment of the threads that held us together as a family and of celebrating our culture in a way that transcended generations.
But as years passed, my siblings and I grew up and got too busy to make it to those family dinners. Between work, school and sports, the time to sit together was no longer there and soon more than a decade lapsed since we had sat on that beige mat.
It wasn't until this Thanksgiving dinner, when I was 23, that I thought again of our childhood family tradition of eating dinner together on the ground. I invited my friends to spend Thanksgiving with my family at my house, and told them about this tradition. My friends, all of different cultural backgrounds than my own, were intrigued by the idea and asked if they could try it out.
I rummaged through the storage closet and found, to my surprise, the same beige mat, now rugged and worn-out. My friends didn't seem to mind the humble state of it. So I gave it a shake and laid it out on the living room floor. We recreated the familiar circle on the ground, placing our plates full of Thanksgiving turkey in front of us.
What happened that night was a beautiful moment. My father looked over at me from where he was eating at the dining table, smiled and joined us. As he explained the tradition to my friends, the rest of the parents — still at the dinner table — watched curiously as we revelled in the simplicity of togetherness. Most of my friends said they enjoyed the experience. One of them said it reminded her of sitting around a campfire!
This was the moment that bridged the gap between the traditions of my heritage and the customs of our home in Canada.
The next evening, my siblings, mom and I arranged the Tupperware containers of leftovers from the night before onto the dining table. We waited for my dad to arrive home from work, and took our seats. My dad walked down the stairs, the beige cloth peeking out from under his arm. Smiling, he looked at me and spread it on the ground.
Inspired by our Thanksgiving dinner, he decided to resurrect the tradition.
Once again, we began to share food and stories on that mat. We rediscovered its ability to bring us closer, despite the demands of our busy lives. It was a reminder that the simple act of sharing stories, passing plates and gathering together could weave the threads of my family even tighter.
These days, as the sun sets and casts a warm, amber glow through the curtains, we find ourselves sitting on the same beige mat with a mosaic of food before us. We make a collective effort to prioritize dinner time. It has become a sacred time to set aside our individual concerns and truly be together. Some days, the woven mat is replaced by a dining table for more formal family gatherings, but the essence of togetherness remains the same — not just on Thanksgiving but during the holiday season and all year long. Just as it did in my father's childhood, and just as it would do for generations to come.
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