Diwali – the festival of lights and illumination has always
held a cherished corner in my heart.
This festival signifies the return of a victor, the winning of good over
evil, the illumination of the world. In
fact, Diwali itself means the festival of lights.
Relatives visit. Sweets are prepared; there is Laxmi Puja and aarti in the evening. The family gets together over a game of
cards. People buy new clothes, gift each
other. Love, happiness and light are
shared. The whole thing is an event of gaiety and colorful festivities. Young kids go out with elders to stock up on fire
crackers, and the night dwells in a bright darkness.
I am sure we have our favorite Diwali – one particular Diwali,
when something extraordinary might have happened and has, since then, remained
with us all for these years. I am sure I
have my favorite Diwali. It has been a few years since then and yet the
memories are so fresh that it seems just like yesterday.
They say that loved ones come home on Diwali. Well, for me too, it was a sort of welcoming
a loved one home – only I did not know it then. My elder brother who was working in Delhi had come over to stay with us
during the week. One of his friends was
also supposed to come with him, but he did not get tickets, so he had to
postpone it until the very night of Diwali.
It was past eleven in the night, and this friend’s train had
just reached the city a half hour back.
He had called my brother, Anil, once he got a rickshaw. Anil had given
proper address and directions to the home to his friend. But as fate would
have it, the friend did reach the right address, well, almost, but he just could
not find the door.
Anil had told him to look for a main gate with a maroon door. What he forgot was that three
houses down there was another maroon door.
When Anil’s friend called him saying he was standing in front of one,
but he did not want to get inside since it was late in the night and he was not
completely sure if it was the right house, Anil asked him to wait and said he would send his younger sister out
to bring him home.
I looked at my brother a little shocked. “It’s eleven in the
night” I told him in disbelief. “And he
is your friend, not mine!” I added. But,
brothers being brothers, Anil somehow bullied me to go bring his friend
home. “It’s just two doors down! Don’t
be such a spoilt brat!”
“I am not a spoilt brat!”
“Then what are you – a chicken?”
I stormed out of the house to bring his friend home and more, to
prove a point.
That’s how I met Vikas.
That night – amidst the sound of crackers, with little diyas illuminating the dark night, the
small of barood filling the air, and
him – looking at me, knowingly, trusting me instantly (someone he had not met
before) to take him home. I remember it all so clearly, that I still get goose bumps
thinking about that first time we met.
Today, it’s been six years since that evening, and three
years of our wedding. Anil still takes all the credit, of course. Nothing would have happened if he had not
forced me to walk down those three houses to the other maroon door and bring
Vikas home, Anil says. And, I believe
him.
Six years ago, on a Diwali night, a loved one did indeed come home!
Here's another place where you can find more reasons to celebrate this Diwali: https://www.gharwalidiwali.com/
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