Fewer crackers and purchases and a dull mood marked this year’s Diwali – the festival of lights.
I kept moving about like an aimless horse, eating sweets wherever offered and shutting my ears at the sight of “atom bombs.” The gunpowder smell was nauseating bringing to mind F-16s and Mirage 2000s. I cursed the Chinese for their “senseless” invention that has given the world such a transient nature.
I tried making myself aware of the surroundings, talking to people around me. “Prices have doubled” all say. “We have become sensible,” some claimed. I also met a considerable number of people who were ecstatic. “Diwali comes only once a year and at least for one day we are happy. We seldom worry about the high prices,” they drove home their point.
My neighbor was sad and talked of his children who had died in the circus tragedy. “Diwali was a pleasure when they were alive,” he wept. For some, watching the wobbling film stars on their new TV offers great pleasure.
Others had “unbelievable but true” sources of annoyance. For some, Bangalore Water Supply was the culprit. “No water,” they wailed. The traditional oil bath was ruled out. A light shampoo bath was all they could afford, and even this emptied their “store wells.”
For the children, the epitome of innocence, the weather was the source of all trouble. Chilly weather and a persistent mild drizzle, with occasional heavy showers spoilt their mood. “The crackers have become wet and fail to explode,” they cried.
I then walked into the area of the affluent. They were the least affected. They burnt fire crackers in lengthy chains, watched TV, ate a variety of sweets, danced to stereo music, and talked about Amitabh Bachchan. The “water man” walks into their houses and collects money – “fee” for uninterrupted water supply. The rich man’s life made a study in contrast to my previous observations.
I visited my maid’s house. She had, with immense love, invited me to her “small house.” A small clay lamp lit in front of Lord Ganesha’s picture glowed silently. Sweets ate I and took leave of her. Past seven in the evening, I returned home with an evening daily.
“Bendre dead,” read a headline. Another beside said “Baby born in a bus.” A mixture of joy and sorrow I swallowed and sat on my terrace watching the launching of hundreds of “Aryabhatas” and “Bhaskaras” and their parabolic motion. Stars momentarily exploded in the sky.
The night became still and I went into silent sleep.
The next morning I woke up to find the sweeper cleaning the streets. Heaps of paper were visible all over. My neighbor gave the sweeper a packet of sweets which she smilingly accepted. Another neighbor gave her a packet of fire crackers. She said, “Give me some sweets or snacks. My children can eat them. If you give me fire crackers, my children will only dirty the streets and the sweeper down my lane will have more work to do.”
I was stunned by her magnanimity. A mild drizzle takes me indoors. I am at my table instinctively, involuntarily….
