Developing a Taste for Diversity

Last week, as Kerala (a southern state in India) celebrated Onam, I was reminded of how true that is.

Onam is Kerala’s biggest festival, marking the annual return of King Mahabali, a legendary ruler remembered for prosperity, equality, and kindness. For Keralites, Onam is not just about his homecoming, it is about reliving an ideal time when everyone was treated equally, and no one was left behind.

I grew up in a Telugu-speaking family but was raised in Chennai, a Tamil-speaking state. Even within South India alone (Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Telangana), languages, cuisines, and traditions shift dramatically.

India’s diversity is staggering: 28 states, 22 official languages with their own scripts, and hundreds of dialects. My favorite way to explain it is simple: “In India, every 100 miles, the culture, language, cuisine, terrain, and even climate changes.”

When I started working in India, I was traveling 4/5 days a week. Until then, I had only read about this diversity. But travel gave me an opportunity to experience it. Crossing into a new state sometimes felt like crossing a national border, suddenly the food, greetings, and even the way people smiled were different.

That experience quietly trained me to adapt. Years later, when I moved to Singapore and then to the U.S., I realized how much this early exposure helped me embrace new environments.

Food as a Teacher

For over 20 years, I ate the same kind of food almost every day. I didn’t just have a comfort zone, I lived in it.

Then I got married. My wife has always been curious about cuisines. She dragged me into restaurants I never would have stepped into, encouraged me, sometimes forced me, to try new dishes.

Her line still echoes in my head: “You need to develop a taste for it.”

At the time, it was about food. Looking back, I realize it’s also about people and cultures. Sometimes you need to give yourself patience and openness to “develop a taste for it.” And once you do, you often end up loving it.

The Festive Heartbeat of India

Here’s the beauty of India: right from Onam in August–September, the festive season begins and doesn’t stop.

Every month, in some culture, somewhere in the country, a festival lights up homes, streets, and hearts, from Durga Puja and Diwali in the north, to Navratri and Pongal in the south, to countless local celebrations in between. Festivals become both a cultural heartbeat and an economic driver.

Back to Onam

It is not just a festival, it is the festival in Kerala.

Streets come alive with Pookalam, intricate flower carpets laid at the entrance of homes. Marigold, chrysanthemum, and jasmine are arranged petal by petal into bright mandalas, their fragrance mixing with the scent of coconut oil lamps.

For businesses, Onam is also peak season in Kerala. Retail stores put out their best offers of the year, and families shop in preparation for the festival. But cross into Tamil Nadu or Andhra Pradesh, and it’s the opposite, this is considered an inauspicious month, and sales slow down.

When I worked in the FMCD industry, this contrast struck me. The same month could mean booming demand in one state and a dry spell in another. It taught me that marketing in India is never “one size fits all.” Campaigns had to be designed with sensitivity to culture, festivals, and habits.

My Favorite Part: The Sadhya

Imagine sitting in front of a fresh green banana leaf, as dish after dish is placed before you, twenty or more in total.

The creamy Avial, a medley of vegetables in coconut and yogurt. The surprising burst of pineapple pachadi, sweet, tangy, and spiced. The crunch of pappadam, the tang of pulissery, the comfort of sambar.

And then the desserts. Not one, not two, but three different payasams, The jaggery-rich Ada Pradhaman, The silky Palada anf my personal weakness, the simple, comforting Semiya payasam

I’ll admit it: I have a sweet tooth. By the end of the feast, I’m not just eating dessert, I’m surrendering to it.

Even in Singapore, my wife and I would wait in line, sometimes 30 minutes, sometimes an hour, at a Kerala restaurant every Onam, just to enjoy this tradition. This reminds me that traditions are not bound by geography. They travel, adapt, and find new life in every corner of the world.

Self Reflection

And just like I developed a taste for new cuisines, I’ve also developed a taste for diversity. Thanks to my wife, it started at the dining table. Today, it extends to how I see the world.

Perhaps that is the real gift of festivals is that, they remind us that joy multiplies when we open ourselves to what is different, and that life becomes richer when we learn to celebrate each other’s traditions as our own.

👉 Over to you: What festival or tradition from your culture has shaped the way you see the world?