It’s 8.29 PM, I’ve just had the egg dosas Heer made me, and I’m thinking about things.
Three people asked me why I don’t celebrate Diwali. And of course, like the answer to the last question how-have-you-been, even this one is a blogpost.
I don’t celebrate Diwali. And I will start with what I told a friend. As a family that’s not very religious, I observed this festival to mean just two things –
Spend money on pretty clothes and accessories for your home.
Spend time with your otherwise really busy extended family.
Growing up, we had neither. The money to buy new clothes. Or the inclination to meet the family my mother was married into, and I grew up in.
So, it was mostly obligatory. One Puja. Scouting for a Kurti that doesn’t look too old. And putting up smiles. I remember, the only thing I wished for each Diwali was to have a home of my own someday, that I could decorate with flowers and lights.
I won’t deny, some of these were nice evenings. Mostly because I was a chatty human. And I would like any occasion that brings people together. For three years in between, while I was still in Chennai, I also had a friend’s mum make pakodis for us. Sweet sweet memory.
It’s just that as you grow up, you start seeing things for what they really are.
Now, as I sit in the first home Heer, V, and I got to rent out, I think about flowers. Lights. The occasion. And it doesn’t come from within. Not that I am sad, really. Just that I don’t feel anything in particular.
And I think I am okay with that. It is truly relieving to not feel the pressure to celebrate something. The fact that we get to choose how we spend a festival in a home that’s almost ours is a celebration in itself.
So, to egg dosas, the lovely meal ADM made me this morning, and the two friends who’ve told me they’ll always have a place for me if I choose to celebrate this time of the year with them. They know who they are.
I shall now go write. It’s a cold, loud evening. And I can’t wait to get a headstart on my to-do list.
9 PM. Nov 1, 2024. Bangalore.