A Cracker Free Deepawali

The snapshots above are some posts from netizens against the ban on cracker sales this year in Delhi and NCR. The sheer intensity of the retorts prodded me to ask:-

So what is it about a cracker-free Deepawali that is so, so abhorrent?

Forgive my temerity in asking such juvenile questions but its just that I want to know. Silly curiosity, of course. That’s all. I swear. That’s all. No Communist agenda. No evil ‘Sickular’ design. And no anti-Hindutva scheme.

So, for this blog’s sake (and only for this blog, be assured of that) lets picture a scene. A Cracker Free Deepawali scene. A scene that I have conjured up with my abundant and hyperactive imagination. Its hypothetical of course, please be amply clear on that. This scene is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to any situation or event is completely (I swear to you) unintentional.

This scene is more like something filched right out of a Karan Johar script.

Chocolate-y. Bubblegummy. Unreal. Impossible.

So, here it goes. Take a dekko........

A Cracker-Free Deepawali.

You wake up to an early winter morning. There’s a smell in the air, a cool fresh kind of smell. The sharp smoky odour of crackers that you are used to being greeted with every single Diwali morning of your life, is missing. That is because yesterday, on Choti Diwali there were no crackers burst. Not even one. Today too, would be the same.

But you have no time to spend musing on crackers. There is so much to do........

Get the Puja room ready for the evening’s worship.

Make the rangolis: one with flowers and leaves on the front porch, one with coloured dust in the Puja room, a Kollam you have learnt from a Tamil friend on the floor of the living room.

Wash and dry the diyas from last year and put them out in the winter sun to dry.

Wake the children up and hustle them out of their beds with promises of coconut laddoos, malpuas and of course an iPad for the older one and a toy Robot for the younger.

Set the clothes for the evening on the spare room bed:  His, yours and the kids. A beige sherwani, a burgundy lehenga, a little girl’s fluffy pink gown and a young man’s shining tuxedo.

Take out the crockery for the evening’s get together, wipe them clean and lay the table.

List out the gifts, placing tiny labels on them: Papa, Mummy, Tanu, Josh, Lovely Bua, Shefali Didi, Sinha Uncle and Aunty, Ghai Uncle and Aunty, Shaloo Bai, Paperwale Bhaiya, Doodhwaali Amma, Ruchie, the Aiyer family, the Sharmas from across the street, the PG bachelor from the opposite flat.......

Steep the rasgullas, fry the gujiyas, sauté the matar curry, slice the salad, garnish the meetha pulao...

Help Him string up the fairy lights.

And as the sun sets in the beautifully coloured Western sky, gather in the Puja room with the Family for Deepawali prayers. Close your eyes in reverence before the Goddess of Prosperity as old beloved arti bhajans, the sweet smoke of chandan agarbattis, the glow of the clay diya and the warmth of people you love washes over you in gentle waves......

The door bell rings and the children rush, behind Sugar Candy, your beige Labrador....There are old friends at the door that have come to spend Diwali with you. The adults gather in your living room. The children rush off to the porch. Soon your house resounds with laughter and giggles and happy talk. The kids run in and out of the house playing strange games that only a child would understand. This time you are not much worried about them playing outside. Inside they might break a few of your prized crystal figurines but outside its completely safe.

A least for Tanu.

You didn’t have to take out her claustrophobic N95 mask this Diwali. Nor bring down the oxygen concentrator from the loft. She has Childhood Asthma. It gets worse during winters what with the cold and the city’s traffic fumes. But during the Diwali week, it preys on her little lungs, her endless cough and heart rending wheeze echoing louder in your mother’s heart than all the patakha in the world. You remember how your Diwali evenings mainly consisted of endless battles with her over wearing that stifling mask and over prohibitions on going out to celebrate with her friends. But today, both you and Tanu are breathing, free of anxiety.

The door bell rings again. You glance at the clock. Nine pm. Wonder who it is this late, you think. You go to the door. But Sugar Candy is there before you. She loves people and this evening with your house full of friends, she is happier than ever. The ringing door to her means more people and that is why she has rushed out, even before you can react. For this Diwali she does not have to cower, shaking like a leaf under the bed at its farthest corner, as her world is ripped apart again and again and again with deafening, ear splitting explosions, whose ‘why’ she is unable to fathom. But this evening there is no stopping Sugar Candy from enjoying her Diwali. For today her world is filled with only the sounds she loves, sounds of her favourite people laughing and talking and simply being happy. She stands at the door, wagging merrily.

You peer out. It’s Ghai Auntie. And oh, there’s Ghai Uncle too. All wrapped up in shawls and caps and carrying along with their walking sticks, two stainless steel dabbas of home- made mithai. You are so pleasantly surprised. This old couple never ventured out of their little corner flat during  Diwali. Ghai Uncle had had a heart attack four years back and had been operated for it. Since they never left home during Diwali, you would make it a point to meet them the next day to hand over their Diwali packets. Ghai Aunty would tell you worriedly, Beta, patake ke awaaz se aapke Uncle ko neend nahin aati. Poorie raat jaage rehte hain,  headphones kaan mein lagake. Kehte hain ki jaise hi pataka phat ta hai, unka dil ka dhadhkan tez ho jaata hai...

You can remember the fear in her eyes, Darr lagta hai kahin phir se attack na aa jaaye.......

You smile at them today, Aaj baahar kaise Ghai Aunty?

It’s Ghai Uncle who answers as he hugs you and steps over the doorway, NO crackers, Beta, it’s a Cracker Free Diwali, he announces grandly.

Ushering them inside, you catch a glimpse of Arati your neighbour placing lighted diyas on her window sill. Her little daughter is helping her, handing over the oil filled lamps carefully to her mother as Arati lights them and places them over the sill.

So late, Arati, you call out.

She calls back.  Had gone to the Club for their cultural show. Just come back.

Preeti had gone with you? You ask. You remember last year how she had refused to come out of her home, clinging in abject fear to her Dad’s arms as the older children exploded deafening crackers in the courtyard.

Her mother had rued to you that evening. She is terrified of Diwali, Didi. Hates it. The noise really scares her.
Today Arati answers you. Yes. She really enjoyed the show.

Great, you wave at them. Happy Diwali, Arati. Come over once you’ve finished with the lamps.

Ok Didi. Arati waves back as Preeti smiles at you.

You turn to get back inside but catch a glimpse of the kids playing in the courtyard. It looks like they are attempting a garba. There is music playing on someone’s cell phone placed on a plastic chair. Tanu it seems is the dance director. She is bossing over the kids, most of them older to her and many of them teenage boys. With some of the older girls in attendance, she is ordering them to line up, showing them how to clap the garba sticks together, teaching them dance steps.....You watch them at their innocent play for a few minutes, amusement and relief flooding your heart and then as you turn to go back, you spot the Western sky. It is speckled with stars on this moonless amavasya night. You stand back for a moment to savour this spectacular night sky, pitch black, pierced with little solitaires and think.

This Diwali has been good to you, for you. 

Your Tanu has breathed free this Diwali. Ghai Uncle has rid himself off his obnoxious, useless head phones and come to celebrate Diwali with you and his friends without Ghai Aunty scared to death for his health and well being. 
Little Preeti has lit diyas without being petrified of chocolate bombs exploding next to her tiny ears. She can now grow up carrying happy memories of Diwali and not fear it any more. 
Sugar Candy has been able to continue to indulge in her love for people this Diwali without being jailed under the bed, unable to understand why the world had turned into a nightmare of sounds. 

You have celebrated this Diwali for the reasons it was meant to be celebrated, in the way it was meant to be celebrated............with lights for dispelling of darkness and with the drawing closer of family and friends...

And tomorrow, on Christmas Eve or on Eid or on Baisakhi, or during Sharmaji’s son’s wedding or even when India beat Pakistan at a midnight match, you can stand firm and tell your friends, 
Wait! Stop the crackers! They are not good for us, for any of us. 

You know we had celebrated a Cracker Free Diwali this year. 

You can do it too.