We have a table, a small, round mahogany piece that my husband and I picked up at the 23rd Street flea market in New York City during the first year of our marriage. Most of the time, it sits at the entrance of our house, sporting a silver cigar box that belonged to my grandfather and a framed eight-by-ten photo of my husband and me, smiling at our wedding reception. But that little table has also come to signify the spiritual nexus of our bi-cultural family, a surface upon which we can celebrate our respective faiths even as we create a unique one for our family.

I am a Hindu Brahmin and my husband is an Iranian Zoroastrian. We are not a particularly religious couple, neither of us practices rituals. When we got married, we didn't think that religion or religious identity was important.

And then one day in a New York hospital, a midwife presented us with a six-pound baby boy, who in turn was presented with a host of golden "Om" pendants and "Farohars" (a Zoroastrian symbol) in all shapes and sizes.

While my parents thanked the panoply of Hindu Gods for our son, my Zoroastrian in-laws rejoiced at having another potential member to add to their clan.

Suddenly, my husband and I were at a loss. Everyone was asking us how we were going to raise our son and we had no clue. Sure, we had our love, and we would give plenty of it to our son. But beyond that, what was he - a Hindu, a Zoroastrian, both, neither? Didn't we need to impart to him a sense of identity, a sense of belonging? Was it not our duty as parents to let him know where we were from, to give him a religious backdrop to his life?

The problem, though, was that neither my husband nor I had any clear definition of what it means to be a Hindu or a Zoroastrian. Beyond knowing that one of us was born a Hindu and the other a Zoroastrian, we had little knowledge of what that meant, and we had never felt any need to know more.

Now, I considered joining a Hindu group, or visiting the Hindu Temple. I urged my husband to join the Zoroastrian Association of the Greater New York Area. I read books and articles on the Zoroastrian faith and acquainted myself with Hindu practices.

Still, none of it made great sense to me. My son was still a baby, and I had time to think about how to give him a cultural and religious identity. Yet I struggled to find the right way in which to do this, a way in which I would also feel comfortable.

And then one day, things changed. I happened to pass by a Persian grocery store in Manhattan, which was beautifully decorated for Noruz, the Persian New Year. The owner was friendly - he was thrilled my husband was Persian, and he spoke to me at length about Noruz, a festival that dates back to the time of the Prophet Zoroaster and marks the beginning of spring. Every Noruz, Persians - Muslims, Zoroastrians, Bahais - set a table with seven symbolic objects that begin with the Farsi letter 'S'. Each object is symbolic of life, of new beginnings. The shopkeeper showed me his own Noruz table - the "Sofreh Haft Seen," as it is called, colorful and beautifully decorated.

Suddenly, I was inspired. I rushed home and began to set up my own "Sofreh Haft Seen." I removed the photo and the cigar box from my little wooden table and set upon it a pretty white lace cover. I then placed the germinating sprouts I had bought at the Persian store. I added an apple, a whole head of garlic and a small cup of vinegar. I also added a small glass bowl of sugar, some honey, and a glass of orange juice. I also added colorful dishes of cookies and candy and a goblet of red wine, which Zoroastrian Iranians place on their tables. I topped it off with a painting of the Prophet Zoroaster.

My table looked so pretty that I was further inspired. I rushed to dress my son and myself in fine clothes, and urged my husband to do the same. Grabbing the digital camera, I took a picture of the three of us in front of our table and sent it to our friends and family members.

On Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights, I decorated my little table with a swath of colorful mirror work cloth, and I placed upon it candles of all shapes, sizes, and colors. I interspersed them with statues of Hindu Gods and Goddesses, a tray of Indian sweets, and a picture of my parents. At Christmas, I was moved by the holiday's universal spirit of happiness and togetherness, so my table sported a jaunty red velvet cover with a sprig of holly on it. For both occasions, my family and I dressed up in our finery and again, we snapped a picture.

The following year, I continued our budding tradition. My son had grown a little, and I could give him some context for the little table's finery. I told my son the story of Christmas, I started to tell him about Hindu Gods like Ram, Krishna, and Ganesh, and I explained who the Prophet Zoraster was. I wish for story telling to be a part of our family tradition to give some context to the festivals we are celebrating. He learned how the elephant God, Ganesh, got his elephant head, and he understood that the picture of the man with the long beard (Prophet Zoroaster), who presides over the Noruz table, was given to him by his paternal grandparents.

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