Right outside our main door lies a corridor, a spectrum of brightness on one end and dullness on the other, with stairs at both extremes. At the vibrant end, nestled between two houses adorned with colorful lights, I found myself captivated by a beautifully crafted rangoli. It bridged the gap, a symbol of shared celebration in that small but meaningful space—our space. Humans have a peculiar habit of claiming land, and history is a testament to that.
Rubbing my eyes, weariness settling in, I marveled at the festive ambiance created by the flickering lights and the vibrant rangoli. Feeling a tad left out, I decided it was time to contribute. My grand plan? To avoid causing trouble for anyone. Legit work, indeed, and it takes effort.
So, I showcased my masterpiece—standing on the balcony, observing everything. Watching the fireworks, I scientifically verified that the speed of light is indeed faster than that of sound in air. I also took the opportunity to criticize others for harming the environment, a practice we seem to excel at regularly. Oh well, thanks for the confirmation, world.
The meaning of Diwali underwent a significant transformation over the past decade. At 10, it was about fireworks, lights, and tasty delicacies. By 15, it transitioned into fireworks, lights, and the inevitable ‘ghar ke kalesh’ (home quarrels). Now, Diwali, like any festival or gathering, serves as a failed attempt to escape real-life problems—an excuse, with ‘ghar ke kalesh’ remaining a constant companion.
What I relish the most are the awkward conversations during this time. “Happy Diwali Aunty ji!” “Happy Diwali beta.” “…”, “…..”, awkward silence (What do you say after that!? I still have a lot to learn). Gifts arrive—Tetra packs, chocolates, dry fruits. It’s been so long since I’ve met Kaju and Badam at once. It feels good to see them together, forming an anti-racist family.
The week of festivals, especially this one, is delightful. We decorate our houses, inviting people over to exhibit our efforts. Secretly, we let them judge our household income based on our decorations and gifts. While we might say we decorate our houses for our own pleasure, deep down, we know it’s not entirely true. This is just my perspective; I might be wrong, as I often am. The status game is subtle yet glaring, a part of the festive tradition.
As I ponder the shallowness that has infiltrated our festive exchanges, I wonder if, in the pursuit of adhering to social norms, we’ve lost the essence of genuine connection. I love wondering. Such a beautiful word. If wondering was a job I would wonder why wondering is a job.
I am the least interested in following traditions. I am already making O2 from CO2, I am sorry I can’t do everything. I just love how the games are played, and I like to watch, from a third person perspective. Every year we find some or the other excuse to smile through our problems and that is what I have learned this Diwali. That smile is important. Otherwise you’ll ruin the photos that’s all.
Happy Diwali!