This Is Not Your Mom’s Diwali Party – AOL.com

Onanunseasonably warm autumn evening, Ambassadors Clubhouse in New York City is aglow. In the spirit of Diwali, there are candles everywhere, softly illuminating a restaurant adorned in a North Indian aesthetic: supple, vibrant textiles of dark cherry, heavy copper and silver accoutrements, timber-rich and paisley everything. A bottle of Remy Martin’s Louis XIII — a limited edition Diwali drop — sits on the long dinner table I’m seated at with a bunch of brown Gen Z hotties decked out in full South Asian regalia. The grandeur feels appropriate, given the holiday we’re on the heels of.  A partygoer at the Remy Martin Diwali celebration at Ambassadors Clubhouse in New York City.Bryan Anton Like this article? Keep independent journalism alive. Support HuffPost . But one thing’s for sure. This is not my mother’s Diwali. Or most people’s mothers’ Diwalis. But the sentiment is exactly the same: abundance. When I was growing up, our family celebrations were always small and sweet, literally. There were heaps of marigolds, silver platters piled high with mithai, incense burning, and diyas glimmering throughout a house that was meticulously cleaned the night before. The vibes were equally immaculate, bright and hopeful. My parents, who are not very religious, instilled
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