In Kelantan, Deepavali comes with food, festivities and a thick local dialect

Spend a few minutes listening to G Thanaletchumi chat with family and neighbours and you might forget, briefly, that Deepavali preparations are underway.

Her Kelantan dialect is thick and effortless, while ulam and budu are as familiar at the family table as curry and thosai. Yet when the Festival of Lights approaches, the traditions she grew up with remain firmly in place.

Known affectionately as “Mek Kelate Mek Manis”, the 48-year-old sees no contradiction in that blend. Kelantan culture has become part of everyday life, while Tamil, Indian food and festive customs continue to anchor the family’s sense of heritage.

“If you hear us speaking without seeing our faces, you might think we are Malay because of our thick Kelantan dialect,” she told Bernama with a laugh.

“Using the Kelantan dialect does not mean we forget our mother tongue. We can still speak Tamil, but the Kelantan dialect has become part of our identity as the Indian community in this state.”

That same mix carries into the kitchen. Ulam with budu is a firm favourite, while her husband and son also enjoy curry dishes. During Deepavali, however, the menu expands into something altogether more festive.

Preparations begin as early as two months ahead, with clothes bought, decorations planned and ingredients sourced.

About two weeks before the celebration, the house gets a thorough cleaning, followed by a round of traditional snacks including murukku, nei urundai, or ghee balls, and athirasam.

Murukku is non-negotiable, while breakfast on Deepavali morning often means thosai served with mutton or chicken curry. It is a meal her Malay friends have come to look forward to almost as much as the family does.

“Some even ask a week in advance about the menu because they want to come over,” Thanaletchumi said. “To me, that is the true joy of Deepavali: sharing food, love and happiness with people of different races.”

That open-house spirit has created some of her fondest memories. In particularly busy years, the stream of guests became so constant that Malay neighbours stepped in to help prepare food.

“It was so lively back then. We had so many guests that we could barely cope, and our Malay neighbours came to help when they saw the crowd.

“That is the memory I cherish most because we got to experience the warmth of Deepavali together with the local community.”

Her husband, M S Murugaih, 51, believes those traditions can only survive if children are included in them from a young age. For him, teaching the next generation how the family celebrates matters just as much as preserving recipes or rituals.

Their son, M Sai Siddhart, 19, has grown up with that balance of cultures. As the only Indian student among nearly 800 pupils at his secondary school, he became comfortable mixing with Malay friends from an early age.

He said the part of Deepavali he enjoys most is still the simplest: having relatives and friends gather under one roof.

That, perhaps, is what makes Thanaletchumi’s Deepavali feel distinctly Kelantanese and deeply Indian at the same time.

Budu may sit comfortably beside curry, and Kelantan dialect may flow as easily as Tamil, but the festival still revolves around the same things it always has: family, food, hospitality, and the pleasure of sharing them.

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