The Festival Of (de)Lights!

Festival of lights and delights!!

Deeeeelightfuuullll! As my phone pings incessantly, I feel a glow within. Perhaps it is long lost family and friends who for once have decided to take the initiative to initiate a flurry of good wishes. I reach for it joyfully but alas and alack! I am being made a part of various strange Whatsapp groups about the admins of which I haven’t the faintest! The glow fades, the joy is gone, my dreams go up in smoke when I find that I am now a befuddled member of an online clothing store, an online jewellery store and an online crockery and cutlery store group, you get the general drift.
The email inbox is already clogged with “GRAND SALE” notifications ranging from Amazon to Armani and Myntra to Miu Miu having somehow managed to sneak from spam to substance. The less said about Facebook, the better. I find it difficult to even read an article in peace without being bombarded by advertisements for things I happened to browse two years ago. And thus, I prepare to celebrate a delightful, digital-age Diwali!
I remember a time not so long ago when the arrival of Diwali was heralded by a sudden plethora of activities ranging from cleaning, cooking and decorating to unabashed merry-making with family and friends from far and near. While we Indians are not in the least bashful when it comes to the fanfare associated with festivals (in fact I would go out on a limb to say that we plan our yearly calendar around them), Diwali is THE universally beloved festival, carrying all on a tide of beauty, novelty, hope and warmth, cutting across caste, creed and continents with ease. I love it to bits for all the positive vibes. The countdown to it is however another story altogether and is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat.

There was a time in my not- so- distant youth when Diwali cleaning meant tying on a bandana, arming yourself with a bucket-mop-broom- floor cleaner (phenyl being the only option, none of this floral- exotica nonsense) combo and marching off to wherever your presence was demanded under the hawk like gaze of my formidable grandmother, unclogging wash basins and the like along the way. Without ever having read about the new-fangled, much touted Feng Shui and applying her own Shastra (instead of Vastu), this canny lady by using commonsense knew that decluttering and unclogging your surroundings meant a catharsis of sorts, a letting go of the old which helped you unclog your mind and heart to welcome new ideas. The sight of me frenetically trying to unclog my inbox would have been richly rewarded with a disdainful shake of the head, an exasperated click of the tongue and a few choice remarks about the fool hardy ways of the younger generation and that “Ghor Kali-Yug” had definitely overtaken the planet with people sitting around muttering to themselves when thousands of chores were still left undone!
Now, as I run around the home like a headless chicken trying to declutter it, while the spouse and the offspring are breathlessly planning new devilments to sneak in more, I desperately miss the dear lady who would have sorted them out with a few trenchant remarks. Finally giving up in exhaustion, I flop next to them on the sofa and decide that the best course of action would be “if you can’t beat them, join them” and begin to unclog my inbox again, handing them a tame victory rather like Virat and his boys bleeding blue against Pakistan and New Zealand every Sunday.
When I get into a long argument with the family about the decorations, I am reminded of the dear lady again. She had a very precise idea about the exact placement of her star shaped paper ‘Akash-Kandeel’, small clay diyas along the walls with her traditional brass lamp occupying place of pride near the front door and a tiny but tasteful rangoli and woe betide anyone who dared interfere. Not for her the ‘mine-is bigger- and -better than yours’ rangoli competitions which we see played out in private and on social media these days! I, on the other hand, with my artistic skills leaving much to be desired seem to spend too much time either arguing or choosing rather than doing any of the actual decorating, which is why I am found in a sorry state on Dhanteras day frantically putting up strings of garlands and the like, like a minor whirlwind, having been spoilt for choice.
But NOTHING can beat the mayhem caused by ‘faral’ (special Diwali munchies) making! Granny hovers in spirit-form at my elbow right from the time of Sharad Poornima (harvest moon) telling me to get a move on with a list of items that I am going to make and buy the necessary ingredients before everyone gets the same bright idea and makes a bee-line for the shops resulting in traffic jams, hour long waits and substandard stuff. But me? I am still trying to play it by ear and vacillating between whether to make karanji or chavda (flour puffs stuffed with a mixture of coconut and sugar), blithely forgetting that both require similar ingredients. When I finally come round from my ‘There’s still time’ stupor, there are precisely four days left for me to get my act, the ingredients and my backside (in that order) in gear and finish making the stuff if I am to have a respectable list of munchies on the menu. And much to my dismay, since most of the list gets an airing only once a year (a diet to stick to for the rest of the year, you see) the recipes to half the stuff have disappeared into thin air from the recesses of my mind! A lot of frenetic calling my mother ensues. Her exasperation at my yearly failure to WRITE DOWN her instructions for once is totally justified, but knowing me well, she fetches a sigh from the soles of her shoes and with the patience of Job, gets down to instructing her irresponsible daughter once again.

Well, the munchies turn moody mid making and decide to fall apart if they are supposed to stick together (as in the case of laddoos) or stick firmly to the bottom of the wok in the manner of a tearful toddler clinging to its mom when they are supposed to stay apart (as in the case of sev). After a few hours of coaxing and cajoling, I am beyond exhausted and decide to get in some ready-made ones, which in hind-sight is what I should have done in the first place! So much for the best laid plans however. With a most unholy and unfestive glee, the friendly neighborhood shop guy tells me that they have run out of everything and wasn’t I aware that I had to place the order a fortnight in advance? Short of tearing my hair in desperation, there is hardly anything left to do, when help arrives in the form of my maid who takes one look at my face and sets to. The munchies are putty in her capable hands and soon the tins though not exactly brimming with the good stuff, have a respectable amount in them to prevent raised eyebrows at leaving the larder bare. I have managed to save face. Prepared at last, I sally forth, bonhomie exuding, clad in good cheer, delighted literally and figuratively at all’s well that ends well.
I am honest enough to admit that while I happen to be something of a perfectionist at the best of times, there is something about this festival which carries this latent trait to new heights. For these few days of the year are a time for loved ones, a time for cleansing the body and the mind of everything dark and depressing and a time for ‘Tamasoma Jyotirgamaya’ to go from the darkness towards the light. Everyday quibbles and quarrels notwithstanding, it a time for healing, patching up and trying to be a better version of our jaded selves. It is a time of peace and contentment and not the commercialized competition that it can rapidly degrade into. Most of us look upon these days as ones which symbolize harmony, warmth and most of all, the appreciation and love of those we call our own. I am sure my Granny agrees.
Once the mind is cleansed of cobwebs (no matter if a couple remain in the house), everything seems right with the world. And on this upbeat note, I send you dear readers my good wishes for this festival of lights and delights!!