Missing how Diwali was

Bubbu Tir

AROUND this time of the year, the roads become maddening. The entire town seems to be charged with festive spirit, hence roads groan beneath an unending traffic train. Every year, we hear about an economic slowdown dampening the festivities, yet every time, we witness Diwali in all its splendour, followed by a sparkling wedding season. 

City Beautiful, once proudly thought of as a bureaucratic hostel, is now clearly a re-peopled abode, what with a gamut crop of businessmen, technocrats, artists, politicians, mediapersons, students and a sizeable floating population turning it into a favoured address. So you see, the Page 3 culture tip-toed in quietly from the glitzy Mumbai and the power-packed Delhi in no time. We can boast of the prettiest socialites, getting off either Papaji’s red beacon or Kakaji’s. The landed gentry of Punjab and Haryana came here to educate their children, never to go back to their simple yet meaningful existence in the villages. Like all metropolises, Chandigarh too is a melting pot of sorts. One can converse with a Gorkha in chaste Punjabi and be responded to in the same, with his added accent. A bearded turbaned Sikh gentleman can surprise you with his grip over the Bengali language, as he probably descended from Kolkata in search of greener pastures. In the last few decades, people have begun to experiment anew with opportunities in places that have little to offer besides jobs. Trade has elbowed in, in this laidback sleepy town. 

One does miss the the old spirit of the festival though. Cleaning up would begin months in advance. New clothes were much awaited. Nowadays, the swollen wardrobe leaves people with no genuine excitement. Diwali, for most movers and shakers of a well-heeled section of society, is the time to lend legitimacy to bribes and get things moving. An expensive gift might get circulated in half the town before it makes its way back to the original house, unopened and unappreciated. Glittering fingers shuffle through card-packs as many a privileged home turn into a gambling den. People are out to outsmart, impress, intimidate rather than win over their fellow beings. The fakeness that has seeped into our lives has dampened the spirit far more than any economic recession could have possibly done. 

As I give my maid her Diwali allowance, she gently pushes the money back into my hand saying, ‘Could you deposit it in my daughter’s saving account? Her college fee is due next month. She is the lamp of our house. We wish to keep it fuelled. That is our Diwali.’ 

Wiping my moist eyes, I silently pray for her little world, wishing it the best of sparkle now and forever. Happy Diwali to the spirit of diligence!