For the past 23 years of my life, Diwali was one day that did not have a fixed meaning.
Diwali was about 'flower pots' and sparklers and gift boxes of fireworks. There were photographs by achan and warnings by amma. There would be sweaters and stockings under my pattu pavadai. There would be visits from friends and the new dress thrill. There would be the 'colour dress' excitement at school the next day. There were comparisons of the paunches that were the evidence of a couple of days of gluttony. There were tales of bravado and escapades and all that bluff.
That was childhood atop a hill in Ooty.
Teenage Diwalis were all about crackers, fireworks, lakshmi vedi, sara vedi, sweets which had ten times ghee than it normally would have, neighbours walking in all through the day and the dining table being filled with sweets, prasadams and an occasional chrysanthemum flower. All night long there would be the far away din of fireworks, and the scream of a child whose joy just peaked because it was the first time she ever held a sparkler in her hand. There were maamis in madisaaru running to temple, fixing jasmine in their hair and old thaathas tugging along their grand-daughters to the temple.. There were sudden friendliness in the air.. the last minute panic at the shops for crackers and sweets and the chants from every possible temple in every forgotten alley. There were phone calls from friends for Diwali lunch invitations and the frantic looking at newspaper schedules for tv listings. That was Nanganallur and that was Chennai.. That was the glory of being the sole malayali in a Tam-Brahm neighbourhood.
Then there was one Diwali, last year.. The Diwali in which there was a hurried plan for dinner for three.. A long scooty ride on the ECR at dusk.. Roaming in Pondy town and then the Punjabi dinner on a balcony... Butter chicken and panneer butter masala. and of course naan.. and the kheer and the complimentary gulab jamun. ah!!! And of course a trip to an ancient temple where the conservative localites stared at us 'recreation' seekers....
And then there's this year... miles away from home and Chennai and Pondicherry... the din of crackers still the same.. But with the lights.. so many beautiful lights and lamps all around.. like stars that dropped out of the sky and just didn't want to go back.. There was an advance Diwali dinner, a sleep over and crazy talk. There were laughter and joy. There was a bluff of an altogether different type. This is Delhi and this is growing up.
And there were more lights...
Across the years, on a single day..
Diwali was about 'flower pots' and sparklers and gift boxes of fireworks. There were photographs by achan and warnings by amma. There would be sweaters and stockings under my pattu pavadai. There would be visits from friends and the new dress thrill. There would be the 'colour dress' excitement at school the next day. There were comparisons of the paunches that were the evidence of a couple of days of gluttony. There were tales of bravado and escapades and all that bluff.
That was childhood atop a hill in Ooty.
Teenage Diwalis were all about crackers, fireworks, lakshmi vedi, sara vedi, sweets which had ten times ghee than it normally would have, neighbours walking in all through the day and the dining table being filled with sweets, prasadams and an occasional chrysanthemum flower. All night long there would be the far away din of fireworks, and the scream of a child whose joy just peaked because it was the first time she ever held a sparkler in her hand. There were maamis in madisaaru running to temple, fixing jasmine in their hair and old thaathas tugging along their grand-daughters to the temple.. There were sudden friendliness in the air.. the last minute panic at the shops for crackers and sweets and the chants from every possible temple in every forgotten alley. There were phone calls from friends for Diwali lunch invitations and the frantic looking at newspaper schedules for tv listings. That was Nanganallur and that was Chennai.. That was the glory of being the sole malayali in a Tam-Brahm neighbourhood.
Then there was one Diwali, last year.. The Diwali in which there was a hurried plan for dinner for three.. A long scooty ride on the ECR at dusk.. Roaming in Pondy town and then the Punjabi dinner on a balcony... Butter chicken and panneer butter masala. and of course naan.. and the kheer and the complimentary gulab jamun. ah!!! And of course a trip to an ancient temple where the conservative localites stared at us 'recreation' seekers....
And then there's this year... miles away from home and Chennai and Pondicherry... the din of crackers still the same.. But with the lights.. so many beautiful lights and lamps all around.. like stars that dropped out of the sky and just didn't want to go back.. There was an advance Diwali dinner, a sleep over and crazy talk. There were laughter and joy. There was a bluff of an altogether different type. This is Delhi and this is growing up.
And there were more lights...
Across the years, on a single day..
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteDiwali, for me, had always meant going home, to Kanpur, come what may. But ever since my mother passed away four years ago, I've never been home during Diwali and have stayed put in Chennai. How Diwali denotes changes in life! For you it's been about growing up, for me it's been about growing older.
ReplyDeletetrue it is.. the transitions in our material attachments and how one realises that the lesser the better :)
Delete