One of the most important festivals for Hindus, Diwali, has just arrived. Nevertheless, I believe in living life like celebrating a festival every day. Yet there is special importance attached to this festival and memories to cherish.
When I was a child, Diwali for me meant crackers and new clothes. I used to start bursting crackers at least fifteen days before Diwali, as no one, at that time, was there to preach #GreenDiwali or #NoiselessDiwali to me.
I still remember that during early days of my school life I have crammed essays on Diwali as they were mostly likely to be asked in term exams to be conducted in a short while after the vacation.
As an adolescent, Diwali for me was all about meeting friends. We used to burst crackers together, as all of us were students of the high-school that taught us ungrammatical English. We used to visit one another’s place and that’s how a chord between families of friends was struck. Those flattering comments on food used to blush friends’ mothers.
During my college days, Diwali used to be one of the legitimate reasons for not studying, as our semester exams used to be conducted right after Diwali. Coming home from hostel, and having mummy’s food used to be the flavour of Diwali.
And now, amid myriad advisories, warnings or threats, – whatever you call it- of cracker-less or noiseless Diwali, it has become the ambassador of hope for me. Diwali is rightly called the festival of light as the light of Diya, lit in this festival, besides glowing surroundings is an epithet of hope as well. The cacophony of crackers to me is the present state of my life.