It’s Karva Chauth today, which means millions of women in India got up this morning, ate before sunrise, and will keep a fast through the day (no food or water) until they’ve glimpsed the moon at night and prayed for their husbands’ long life.

I’m up and I’ve had a mini-breakfast with my mom, who is keeping the fast and even though I try each year to be around for her, I’m not always successful. As a child, I loved accompanying my mother to all the ceremonies. In the evening, she’d dress up in her finest clothes, make a plate full of food, and go out with all the neighborhood women. They’d sit in a circle exchanging the plates and listen to stories of the significance of the holiday from a priest, and in the evening, my father and I would keep an eye on the news and go the park to see if the moon could be spotted yet, while mom asked, childlike, “Can you see it yet? Now? Now? Now?”

I couldn’t wait to be old enough to be able to keep the fast with her. Now that I’m old enough and getting married, and traditionally, should be keeping the fast, I don’t want to. I realize now that the significance of the holiday, for me, was never about some imaginary future husband, but my mother. It was the one day when I’d look at her with awe and realize what an amazing woman and wife and mother she was and is. So while I won’t be keeping the fast today, or ever, I’ll come by my parents every year and celebrate the holiday with the person it’s always been about: the woman I’ve always wanted to be like.

Breakfast’s over and I’m about to go sit outside with my book and watch the sunrise. It looks like it’ll be a beautiful day.