Taste of a Happy Diwali: A Daughter’s Wish for Her Father
Diwali is India’s most cherished festival, but for Sindhu, it was a reminder of her broken home. The firecrackers and celebration only highlighted the pain of her parents’ unending fights and her father’s refusal to perform the Lakshmi Puja. Dreading the night, she held onto a distant, happy memory, hoping against hope… that this Diwali would bring a miracle
Diwali was round the corner – firecrackers had begun bursting, the markets were full and brimming with new things, clothes, utensils, new types of mithais, dryfruit packages and fresh discounts too. There was no place to even walk in the markets or on the roads. It appeared there was traffic everywhere and everyone, it seemed, had something to look forward to, somewhere special to go to and someone special to wish on Diwali.
But Sindhu wasn’t really happy. In fact, she had been burrowed in her room, refusing to be part of the festivities despite her mother calling out to her and asking for help to clean the house and make it ready for Diwali. Instead, Sindhu was thinking of all the previous years when the festival had been less than happy – far less happy than her childhood days.
Her childhood memories of Diwali as a “happy” festival to be looked forward to vs her recent memories of Diwali as a festival where her parents fought over small, little things and then her father refusing to perform the puja making the festival an unhappy one flooded her mind. She would rather not have celebrated Diwali this time, frankly.
You see, for Indians, Diwali isn’t just the mother of all other festivals that come round the year – it’s an experience to be cherished, to be remembered, to be savoured like a good sweet – the taste of which lingers for long after it has gone from the palette – till Next Diwali. Of all the festivals that Indians love, Diwali is special. Very Special.
It isn’t just about cleaning the home, making rangolis, lighting it up with diyas, candles and stringing small, fairy lights, wearing new clothes, giving and receiving gifts, exchanging sweets, visiting and hosting friends and relatives, wishing everyone – including strangers, shopkeepers, cleaning staff, neighbours and bursting crackers.
It is also (and mainly about) performing the Lakshmi Puja – about welcoming the Goddess home on Diwali night to bless the home with prosperity, wealth, happiness and joy. It is about counting your blessings and asking for more. And Sindhu’s mother wasn’t one to give up on the Puja – no matter how unhappy the festival had turned out for her and her young daughter of 22, in the last couple of years.
She would insist upon going through the Diwali chores and doing the best she could (in her perpetual, depressed frame of mind) in spite of her husband coming home drunk most nights. They would then fight ad nauseum about his alcoholism, his wayward ways, neglect of family… the mood would carry over into the Diwali day and the cycle would begin anew. No, Sindhu wanted no part of this festival anymore. Diwali, for her, was over for good.
She would rather live with a single, cherished memory back from her own childhood. Her mother had not yet returned from office… and her dad decided to prepare an early dinner for his 6-year-old daughter. There he was, in the kitchen rolling out chapatis, while occasionally stirring her favourite sookhe aloo ki sabzi paired with masoor ki daal, tempered with jeere-tamatar ka chaunkh and chopping onions, tomatoes and cucumber for salad. Sindhu could hear him humming some Hindi film song.
For her part, Sindhu was lolling in the bedroom next door, lying on the cot next to the window with one leg propped up on the windowsill, rocking side to side, while listening to her father and the sounds coming from the kitchen. There in the semi-dark room – lit only by the single diya from the puja sthal – Sindhu suddenly thought of something and called out to her father.
“Daddy!”
“Yes, beta?” came the patient voice.
“Diwali kab aayegi?” she ventured inquisitively.
“Jaldi!” the man of few words replied.
“Kitni jaldi?” Sindhu’s tone was insistent.
“2 mahine baad!” his voice carried a smile.
“Toh abhi patakhe, mombatti, mithai aur diye le aayen?” she was eager to start shopping.
“Abhi se kyun?” His curious response dampened her spirit somewhat.
“Kyunki,” she started with an exaggerated sigh, as though trying to deal very patiently with a slightly dumb child, “Diwali tak, sab khareed lenge aur hamare liye kucch nahi bachega!”
He laughed as he walked into the room with her dinner plate, flicked the bulb switch, and asked her to get up and have dinner.
“Fine,” he assured, “We will go tomorrow, buy the crackers and candles and everything else so that they don’t finish up.”
“Yay!!!” with a jump up and down on the bed.
“But wait.” He raised a hand. “We can’t light them until Diwali so what will you do with them until then?”
“Ohh!” She hadn’t factored in this one.
“What caannn we do?” she looked up at him rather like a balloon whose air has been sucked out without warning.
Dad always had a solution.
“Don’t worry. We will ask shop uncle to hide them for us until Diwali… is that okay?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Yeah, that would be good.”
So, before he left for office next day, Sindhu and her dad trotted off to tell shop uncle that “their” Diwali crackers, candles and everything else had to be hidden for them until Diwali. The co-conspirator uncle solemnly promised and gave Sindhu a lollipop for her efforts and congratulated her for thinking ahead of time!
Now, Sindhu couldn’t wait for Diwali to come soon enough. It did, in its own good time. Dad promised he would get the Diwali goodies bag from shop uncle while returning from the office. He did, laden with a large brown bag. It was full of crackers – from sutli bombs, to chakris, to snake tablets, anars, rockets, phuljaris in different colours, the mandatory ladi bombs and so much more – all of which Sindhu couldn’t wait to burst.
“But this is only one bag… these won’t last long enough, Dad!” she worried.
“Inko toh khatm karo pehle,” he replied. “When these get over, we will go and buy some more. Okay?”
“Yess,” Sindhu was pleased. Soon after the Puja which was performed by both her parents, Sindhu eagerly lit all the diyas, candles and began bursting the crackers one by one with her father, while mom looked at the two of them smilingly – occasionally welcoming neighbours walking over with goodies and mithai thalis! Yess, Diwali had been really a happy time.
This was the Diwali Sindhu wanted to cherish for the rest of the life, the father she wanted to be with.
Now, he didn’t seem himself anymore. She was unhappy, but she couldn’t reach him or reason with him at all nowadays. That irritability and annoyance showed up in her behaviour towards him. He never replied nor did he lose his patience with Sindhu whenever she yelled at him. No matter how much he was provoked.
But with mom, he was a different man. They fought, yelled, sometime even exchanged fisticuffs when things got really bad.
“Sindhu,” her mother’s yell brought her out of her anguished thoughts. “Come and help me here!”
‘Ohh, why doesn’t this darned festival just get over?’ Sindhu thought irritably.
“I don’t have time,” she yelled back. “I have college stuff to finish.”
The day wore on, and her mother went about finishing chores, cleaning stuff and preparing the small puja altar with rangoli, setting out the prasad of kheel-batashe, a sparkling new 10 gm silver coin, the new clay idols of Maa Lakshmi and Ganpati, laddoos and barfis, the mandatory 16 diyas with 2 large ones kept on the sides, all the while muttering about how miserable her life was and how she had to do everything alone. How both daughter and father were really good for nothings.
Still, she decorated the small home temple with marigold garlands, hung a toran on the main door, wrote Shubh Labh on each door frame with roli, and made two small feet at the chaukhat denoting Maa Lakshmi walking into the home. Then, exhausted she sat down to wait for her husband to turn up around Puja time. ‘Why do I do so much? No one appreciates it. No one understands the pain behind all this work. It will be the same, like every year,’ she thought. ‘He will come home sloshed and then make our lives miserable. What a cursed life this is.’
Come evening and Sindhu’s father returned home carrying a carton filled with crackers, candles and mithai and set them on the dining table.
He called out to Sindhu who had yet to get ready for the evening.
“Sindhu, where are you?”
She could never not reply to her father, not when he called out to her like this directly, with a hint of affection lurking somewhere beneath.
“Yes?” she opened the door a little and looked at him warily.
“Oh! Why aren’t you ready?”
Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned to his wife, “When is the muhurat, Sakshi?” (the auspicious time to conduct the puja)
“7.28pm.”
“Ok good, then we have about an hour. Sindhu please, get ready quickly. You too, Sakshi. Pls wear a new saree.”
Neither mother nor daughter could figure out what was happening. They looked at each other in amazement. Was this really the same man? How could he have turned around this time and so completely? And no, he wasn’t drunk at all.
Without waiting for either to respond, he went straight to the bathroom, took a shower, wore fresh kurta-pyjamas and returned to sit quietly on the sofa while waiting for the duo to turn up. At the stroke of the muhurat, they all sat down to conduct the puja peacefully – after years. It was as though the turbulent years in between had never been.
Later, he opened up the bag and asked both Sakshi and Sindhu to join him for bursting some crackers. Sakshi only smiled and lit some Phuljharis while Sindhu – bless the little child in her – couldn’t have asked for more. Refusing to question what had brought about his change of heart, she simply trusted her instincts to have the best Diwali with her dad. They burst crackers till late in the night, laughed at silly jokes and ate lots of mithai and namkeen – long after mom had gone off to sleep. It was like the old times.
Tired and spent after all the fun, Sindhu walked up to her father, gave him a hug and whispered, “Happy Diwali, Dad. Thank you. Thanks so much for this Diwali.” Her father kept her close and replied with a smile. “I had been missing both of you… all these years. It was time to return. Happy Diwali, my dear.”
It was almost as though Maa Lakshmi had paid a special visit this time and quietly blessed all of them with joy and peace this Diwali.
Happy Diwali everyone.
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