Deepavali, a Festival of lights, hope and joy, was an enchanting part of my childhood. The legend states that this festival is celebrated as a victory of Lord Vishnu, appearing in the form of Sathyabhama and killed Narakasura, a demon who gave trouble to the people. The deepam or diyas are lit to commemorate the destruction of the evil .
Though the festival is just for a day, the preparations would commence well before a week. My mother would prepare the budget for that year’s celebration which includes the cost of sweet making, new dresses, crackers followed by a good feast. She would sit in the verandah with a paper and pencil (to erase and rewrite) surrounded by children on floor, grandmother and father who is half asleep in his chair. She would sound very formal, as a Finance Minister would do when he announces the national budget.
Once all the expenditures were covered she would turn into cost cutting. She would start eliminating the expenses which she feels is not really necessary. However, I have never seen a compromise on the cost of sweet making or feast, which according to her is a prestige issue among neighbors and relatives. To our horror, grandmother would induce my mother on how it was a waste to spend hard earned money on crackers, and gives a small lecture on how to could the money be spent in useful ways if the crackers were eliminated from list. But mother would convince grandmother on spending fewer amounts on crackers and would eventually convince us into buying costly dresses if we agree to her terms. Father would remain a mere spectator to this event, but proves his presence by nodding at times and makes sure that he takes turns to support both the ladies at least once.
We would eagerly look forward to the shopping day, when we would be taking bus ride to reach the Town hall. Mom would make us swear at home that we would not be demanding anything apart from dress. We would obey her reluctantly, fearing that if we make her angry she would decide to leave us back at home. The one and a half an hour ride from my village to the Town hall would be so memorable. Fighting for the window seats, which my mother would resolve by asking us to sit in turns, the swift flying of trees, houses, lampposts, adds glitters to our journey. If we were lucky that day, we would even catch a glimpse of the moving train while the bus waits at the crossing. Waving to the train furiously and giggling among ourselves was indeed fun. The town hall would be crowded mostly by shoppers from surrounding villages who would have come like us for deepavalli shopping. We even saw our maths teacher Chitra miss once, whom I despise a lot because of my slow picking mind in maths, was shopping at the same place. My mother volunteered to speak to her. Much to my surprise Chitra miss cast a smile at me. From that day on, my mother would threaten me of complaining to Chitra miss for all my mischief. After the shopping is over, we would visit the Lala Sweet shop for a small snack before taking the return bus to our village.
The new dresses would be analyzed and scrutinized by my grandmother and our neighbors and would take their place in the wooden almirah. I cherish the moments when we peep into the almirah and ensure that our dresses were safe and sound. Father would buy crackers while returning from office. He would convince mother that he has in fact bought crackers less than the intended amount. But we would know better than mother that father was generous, by deceiving mother.
By now, grandmother and mother would have finalized the sweets, savories and the menu for the feast. They would be very busy for the next two days, preparing the edibles and would look forward for the arrival of Meenachi aunty, my father’s sister who comes with her 2 children every year to celebrate deepavalli with us. We would also anticipate eagerly of her visit mainly because our dresses would be displayed once again to aunty and our cousins who would accompany us in all our games.
On the day of deepavalli, mom would wake us early and makes us sit in a row for applying oil to our heads. Eager to wear the new clothes, we take Gangasnanam, reciting the mantras half heatedly. The morning would evade soon by distributing the sweets to neighbors. We take up this distribution job mainly to show off our new dresses to friends. We burst the crackers and save the sparklers for the evening. Then we would accompany mother to the temple. After returning, mom would hurry to prepare the feast, leaving us to play with neighbors and cousins, but never fails to keep an eye on us.
The afternoon wades away by running between the kitchen and the verandah; playing hides-and –seeks, with occasional stealing of crispy vadas and appalam from the kitchen. After the feast the elders go into a short nap which is the time for us to continue our play. As the night falls, joy fills us once again. The sparklers would be shared and we take turns to burst them. Some would even be saved for the Karthigaideepam, which comes the following week. Mother would drag us from play, feed us the remains of the feast and would make us to sleep. Even after the festival is over, the joy it created would linger in our hearts for a week.
Same Deepavalli comes these years also. We purchase new dress, buy assorted Bengali sweets from Adayar Anandha Bhavan, burst thousand wala cracker chains and get glued on to the TV for rest of the day. We listen to the interview of some new actress who would blabber in English to the questions asked to her in Tamil. We finish of our breakfast listening to the conversation of how she accidentally entered into the film industry and wishes us merry deepavalli (!). Afternoon wades of by getting dressed up and going to a nearby temple, followed by lunch at some expensive hotel. Then we enjoy taking a small nap but would not forget to wake up at 6 pm, as they would be screening a very recently released blockbuster movie. We would manage to burst the remaining sparkles during the news and commercial breaks. When the movie is about to end, we would be reminded about the work to be submitted by tomorrow and concentrate on that. So here goes our deepavalli like yet another Sunday, with no internal joy or bliss.
It seems that the city life has engulfed the soul purpose of the festivals along with the bliss it creates in our minds and the peace in our hearts. Blessed were those who had a lively childhood experiencing all its joy to the core! I dread to think what my daughter would recite to her kids about her childhood deepavallis.
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