A traditional Pākehā funeral

SocietyNovember 1, 2024

The Spinoff guide to life: How to attend a Pākehā funeral

Contributor

A traditional Pākehā funeral

If you’ve never had to attend a funeral before, it’s normal to feel nervous, but the key is showing up and being respectful. Here’s a guide to getting through it.

While funerals are as various and individual as the person they’re celebrating, we have specified “Pākehā” funerals here in an attempt to draw a distinction between tangi and Pacific funerals, among others, which have very different expectations and cultural traditions. That’s not to say all Pākehā funerals are the same, but in general, you can typically expect a 1-2 hour funeral service and a wake. Of course any funeral can have a mix of different traditions, and there are likely many other important cultural traditions not covered by this guide, so if you’re attending the funeral of someone with a different cultural background it’s absolutely worth doing a little research first, or asking a friend for guidance. The guide to attending a tangi or Pacific funeral will be coming in future editions of The Spinoff Guide to Life.

Funerals are about the dead, but they’re for the living. In terms of funeral etiquette, what you can get away with depends largely on how close you were to the deceased person. Nobody is going to look askance at a grieving widow who shows up hungover in a tea-stained dressing robe. That’s entirely their prerogative. This guide isn’t for immediate family or close friends of the deceased, who shouldn’t be worrying about etiquette. This is for those outside the “grieving inner circle” who haven’t been to many funerals and want to know what to expect.

Should you attend?

Unless the family has chosen to have a private ceremony, the general rule is that anyone is welcome to attend a funeral and pay their respects.

If you didn’t know the deceased well, and feel conflicted about whether or not you should go because you’re mindful of intruding on someone else’s grief, don’t be! If the family wanted a private funeral, they would have organised one. Not only is it entirely appropriate to attend a funeral and pay your respects, but it’s often very moving for the family of the deceased to see how many people their loved one mattered to.

If you didn’t know the deceased person, you’re also welcome to go along with the intention of supporting someone else. If you’re close to someone grieving a big loss, showing up for the funeral can be a really meaningful way to show your love and support.

If the funeral is in another city, or it’s logistically difficult to attend, whether or not you decide to make it is up to you. But most people only die once, so it’s worth making the effort.

One reason not to attend a funeral might be if you have a complicated relationship with the family and you know or strongly suspect they wouldn’t want you there. Obviously there’s no hard and fast rule, but if you had a torrid affair with the deceased 10 years ago, it might be more respectful to give his grieving widow space.

Read the funeral notice

Funerals are as different as the people they’re paying tribute to. The etiquette for a biker funeral is going to be wildly different from that of a conservative elderly relative. Often the funeral notice will mention in advance if there are any special instructions, relating to dress code, donation suggestions or other practical requests, such as, “In lieu of flowers, please bring a plate.”

Not appropriate for a funeral, unless your loved one was an icon and a diva

What to wear

Gone are the days where you’re expected to show up to a funeral in a tidy black twinset, with pearls and a lace veil. Many funerals have explicit instructions about dress code – and in my experience it’s fairly common to be asked to wear something to honour the memory of the dead. Funeral notices often ask people to dress in bright colours/disregard the traditional monochrome aesthetic.

Again, I think this depends a lot on how well you knew the deceased person. If they were your favourite uncle who had a vast collection of flannel shirts, you’re well within your rights to wear a flannel shirt as a way of remembering him. If you don’t know the person well and there’s no instructions about dress code, it’s better to wear something tidy, modest and unobtrusive. Usually I would opt for a darker palette, just to be on the safe side. But don’t stress out if your black sweaters are all in the wash and you only have navy. Unless you show up to someone else’s grandmother’s funeral in gold-sequined hot pants, nobody will pay much notice to what you wear.

Hot tip: If you wear mascara, make it waterproof. If you’re a pallbearer, or are going to a funeral that will take place around the gravesite, don’t wear stilettos unless you want to drop the coffin, or slowly sink into the lawn.

There’s such a thing as too many flowers.

What to bring

Don’t show up to the wake with two frozen lasagnes unless you’ve already discussed this in advance with the hosts. If you’d like to offer to bring something to the wake, you’re welcome to reach out in advance, but don’t add to the administrative burden of those organising the funeral by turning up with several unsolicited quiches.

The same goes for flowers. As with the quiches, it’s important to think about the poor relatives who have to take home a carfull of stinking condolence lilies. If you really want to send flowers, you should send them to the funeral home ahead of the service, not bring them with you on the day. (Again, this advice is specific to Pākehā funerals. Other cultures have specific traditions around flowers, so do your research first.) Check the funeral notice to see if there are any explicit instructions. Many people will suggest a charitable donation instead of flowers. But don’t feel as if you need to bring anything unless it’s been specifically requested of you.

Tissues: always a good idea. Even if you’re not expecting to cry.

Where to sit

If you’re not close to the deceased, don’t sit up front, unless you’ve been specifically invited to sit there in a support capacity. Immediate family will typically sit at the front of the service. Anywhere else is fine.

Speech

If you haven’t been asked to speak, please don’t spontaneously grab the mic during the service. Often there will be an opportunity at the wake for people to come up and share a memory or a thought, so if you have something you’d like to say, this is the correct time. Try and keep it short, genuine and don’t say anything about the deceased their family or friends would be distressed to hear.

Crying

Funerals are emotional times. If you don’t know the person well, but you’re embarrassed to find yourself tearing up anyway, don’t worry. As long as you don’t throw yourself on the coffin and howl, nobody will notice.

If the person meant a lot to you, but you have unaccountably dry eyes, don’t feel bad. Everyone grieves differently, and nobody will think any less of you if you don’t walk out of the service looking like you’ve just put in a long shift at the onion slicing factory.

General advice

Turn off your phone!! Or at least, put it on silent. You’ll feel like an ass if your Law & Order ringtone goes off in the middle of someone’s heartfelt eulogy.
Don’t hit on people
Don’t pass out business cards
Don’t bring up religion or the afterlife if the person wasn’t religious

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What to say

It can be hard to know what to say to someone who is grieving. If you do find yourself in a situation where you’d like to express your condolences to their loved ones, keep it simple and genuine. If you have specific memories or something meaningful you’d like to share with the family, I think you can do this, as long as you’re tactful, and don’t trap them in a corner with a painfully long-winded or upsetting anecdote. If you have specific memories or photographs you want to share, I would suggest writing/attaching these to a condolence card or email, and sending them in the weeks and months following the funeral, when people have had more time to process their loss. On the day, it’s fine to simply shake someone’s hand and say “sorry for your loss.”

When to leave

While it’s not appropriate to leave in the middle of a grieving spouse’s eulogy, it is OK to go outside and get a breath of air, if you need a moment. Generally it’s polite to stay for the entire funeral service, even if someone is giving what feels like a two-hour speech.

The wake or memorial is a different story. People are typically free to come and go as they like. You don’t need to awkwardly hang around at the wake, out of a misguided sense of politeness. It’s fine to skip the wake, or simply show up to distribute a few condolences and then be on your way. Likewise, try not to overstay your welcome.

Afterwards

Funerals are hard, but the harder part is usually in the weeks and months following the bereavement, where the condolence casseroles stop showing up, and people return to their ordinary lives. While it’s good to show up to the funeral, try to remember to keep showing up, whether that’s reaching out with photographs and memories, or simply offering your friends a little friendship and company.

In general, funerals are nothing to be frightened of. They can be emotionally intense, but as long as you try your best to be respectful and kind, you can’t go too badly wrong. Try to keep the family and loved ones at the centre of your actions, and allow those grieving your patience and grace.

Keep going!

The crowd watches Diwali fireworks on the Wellington waterfront. (Photo: Preyanka Gothanayagi)

WellingtonOctober 31, 2024

Review: Wellington’s Diwali Festival is the biggest and best party in town

Preyanka Gothanayagi

Contributor

The crowd watches Diwali fireworks on the Wellington waterfront. (Photo: Preyanka Gothanayagi)

People stood on chairs, arms in the air, screaming, cheering, and whistling. They sang, danced, and partied like it was their last night on earth. Preyanka Gothanayagi reports from Diwali Festival of Lights at TSB Arena.

The party started in the Uber on the way over. “Are you going to the Diwali festival today?” I asked our driver Sanjay, as my mum settled herself into the back seat.

“My wife is nudging me to go, so I’ll go with her this evening,” he said. “It’ll be my first one. I’ve been in Wellington for 10 years now, but I’ve never been.”

“My daughter’s performing today,” my mother cuts in, stage mum that she is.

“I can see your excitement!” Sanjay says. “Can I ask – who goes to this festival?”

It’s a good question. Growing up in Auckland, the Diwali festival sometimes felt like it was aimed more at people outside the Indian community than those within it. It was a way for us to share our culture with the city we lived in, separate from the way we celebrated Diwali ourselves. Families bring their children, politicians come to shake hands, and everyone mills around watching performances, eating food, and waiting until dark for the fireworks.

But for the past few years, the Wellington Diwali Festival has felt more like it’s by the community, for the community. Case in point: unlike in previous years, there was no prominent wall of text explaining the significance of the festival. Only a large statue of Lord Ganesha by the entrance, and a few photo walls bearing the words “Happy Diwali!”

Mum and I arrived early enough in the day that it wasn’t too crowded. We made our way around the small marketplace in the back, highly tempted by the diyas (oil lamps) and South Indian-style saris on display. I was distracted by some beautifully crafted wooden altars and lost my mother to a jewellery stall – but we met up again by the volunteers asking us to register to donate plasma.

We pushed through the growing crowd into the food hall. Stall after stall sold version after version of street food favourites: pani puri (small crunchy shells with various fillings), vadai (fried, spicy, savoury onion doughnut), idli (soft, fermented, steamed bread), and pav bhaji (toasted white buns spread with butter, and a potato-based curry). A young boy in a grey hoodie walked through the crowd with a tray of jalebi, my favourite ever treat (shoutout to Tesher x Jason Derulo). There was even ice golla, a shaved ice and syrup treat that my friend Sharvari had three of the weekend before at Auckland Diwali.

Food at the 2023 Wellington Diwali festival. (Photo: WCC/Celeste Fontein)

The crowd was mixed between connoisseurs and those new to the cuisine.

“I ordered a chole bhature,” I overheard one boy telling his friend.
“What’s that?” his friend asked.
“I have no idea,” he replied. Meanwhile, my mother made a beeline for the dosai and sambar (South Indian crispy, savoury crepes and a spicy sort of curry).

We joined some friends, sharing food from our plates with our hands and watching the crowd mill around us. A few Bharatanatyam dancers stood near us, wearing shawls over their costumes and jandals between their red-painted toes. My mother struck up a conversation with the man next to her, who showed her videos of his wife and daughter who’d performed on stage earlier that day. Just like other festivals, there was no delineation between performers and the crowd. If we were here to dance, we were also here to watch our friends and family share their skills and crafts with us in a shared celebration of our culture.

The event planning was nothing short of genius, organising a myriad of community groups and acts into several contained sections throughout the day – from kids’ performances to classical arts to dance styles from different regions in India and everything in between. When we finally sat down to watch the stage, we were treated to traditional arts like Kathak dances and Carnatic music, as well as a group from Kerala wearing saris, sunnies, and sneakers. The crowd never stopped cheering.

Performers at Wellington Diwali Festival. (Photo: Preyanka Gothanayagi)

As the day went on, more and more people filtered in. By the time I went backstage to join my dance group, the Shivam Dance Academy, there weren’t many seats left. The final section of the night is what a lot of the community waits for each year (well, that and the fireworks). It’s back-to-back crowdpleaser acts, filled with popular songs and film-style performances.

I’m not going to lie – I’m not really a performer, and huge crowds make me nervous. But the Wellington Diwali Festival is one of the best gigs around because the audience is just so darn rowdy. By the end of the night, everyone is out of their seats, singing, dancing, cheering, whistling. The high is uncontainable. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to selling out Spark Arena.

As we waited for our turn, we cheered on the last few acts before us. A group of small children inexplicably dressed as Disney characters took the stage. They lip-synched to romantic classics like ‘So This is Love’ and ‘A Whole New World’, and a tiny Flynn Ryder stole my heart. Then a South Indian group, Popperz Crew, brought the fire, dancing to the biggest Tamil hits. The crowd went completely wild for them. It felt like the night couldn’t get bigger.

Our turn. We were the penultimate group for the night, and we were ready to go. Our performance was a mashup of Hindi and Telugu songs, old and new. The crowd roared at the Indian equivalent of a beat drop, and we went as hard as we possibly could. I stole a look at my friends’ faces, and as we danced, their smiles were as broad as mine.

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If you’d told me a few years ago that this was what I do in my spare time, I would never have believed you. But the Wellington Indian community is all about culture, connection, and opportunity. And here I was, dancing (!) in front of thousands of people (!) and loving every second of it.

We hit the last pose, breathing heavily, pausing for applause. Then we tidied ourselves off the stage in preparation for the final group of the evening, Bhangra Kingdom. For the uninitiated, bhangra is a North-Indian style of music and dance made famous in the Western world by Punjabi MC. It’s full of energy, purpose, and grace, and the North Indian community turns. Out. For. It. Every Diwali festival I’ve been to in recent years has finished with a bhangra number – and for very good reason.

The crowd dissolved into one continuous roar. People stood on chairs, arms in the air, screaming, cheering, and whistling. They sang, danced, and partied like it was their last night on earth. When the music stopped, we kept going, rocking the arena with our noise and energy. I was lost in the moment, and so was my mum. I couldn’t find her anywhere.

“Please make your way outside for the fireworks,” said a voice over the loudspeaker, and we all began shuffling out. My cousin stood on a bench outside and waved frantically so I could spot her in the sea of faces and light-up balloons that had magically appeared. She’d had my mother with her, and they gave me a hug before slipping me a well-earned jalebi. We stood under the night sky with hundreds of others and watched the fireworks light up the waterfront. Perhaps even Lord Rama couldn’t have asked for a better welcome home.

As for the question of who the Wellington Diwali Festival is for, I think it’s for all of us – those of us who are hundreds of miles away from family and those whose families are right here in Pōneke. The community groups and performers, the singers and the dancers – even Andrew Little, who was spotted more than once waiting for food. It’s an event made magic by the community it’s for, and I can only see it getting bigger and better in the next few years.

Deepavali valthukkal, Pōneke!