With passage of time, many things undergo change, festivals and festivities being no exception to this...
I had woken
up almost couple of hours prior to my regular time and wanted to go back to
bed, as it was just 4:00 am. There was something, which compelled me to act
otherwise. The mouthwatering aroma of besan fried in pure ghee took me straight
to the kitchen.
My mother was engrossed in frying while my grandmother seated on the floor was rolling besan into round balls giving it a definite identity of ‘Besan Ladoos’. Seeing me at the door, my grandmother called me towards her and pointing towards tiny round besan balls (little bigger than the regular size of marbles) in the plate amidst the bigger ones said, “they are all for you to taste, even before you have your traditional Diwali bath. Provided you go and brush your teeth and come back quickly in the kitchen.”My sleep had vanished as I realised that it was Diwali today and besides new clothes and firecrackers, I would be getting festive delicacies to relish upon all throughout the day. In no time, I was back in the kitchen after doing a quick brushing daily ritual to savor hot mini besan ladoos specially prepared for me. My mother though did not approve of me eating them before the traditional Diwali bath, but she just could not challenge her mother’s love towards me. After all everyone knew how much my grandmother loved me, be it festival or otherwise.After 8 to 10 tiny besan ladoos down my tummy, it was time for my mother to take charge of me. She made me sit on a stool and applied oil all over my body, little generous downpour when it came to my dry and rugged hair. “Do not get up from here while I get things arranged for traditional Diwali bath. If you move around you shall put oil stains all around and shall increase my workload,” with the annual Diwali instructions my mother went away not to be anywhere in sight. I could still see my grandmother now busy frying the Chakli.It was almost 5:30 am when like a Prince I was escorted towards bathing room, I knew what was coming next but pretended to be ignorant at that moment. Like every year, my grandmother first poured water over my head followed by my mother. They took turns in applying Utna (sandalwood powder mixed in turmeric and milk) until they were assured of me completely covered with it. After bath, it was time to head directly towards main entrance where I crushed a Kareet (bitter berry fruit under my left big toe) and had a taste of bitterness all over my tongue with a single drop of it. Being symbolic of the victory of good over evil, it also depicts that only after tasting bitter, one realises the importance of sweetness. One look towards both sides of my door and that of neighbours, I could see colourful rangoli and diyas lit all across the corridor.Few minutes later, dressed in new shirt and pant, I sat on a small wooden platform referred to as Paat. Both the women who were pampering me all this while put a tikaa over my forehead and sprinkled few rice granules over my head. Few rounds of lit Diya made me feel like a King now, who was about to embark for a battlefield.Diwali was here, every house had a similar scene. Everyone dressed in new attire greeting one another. Coming few days was going to be full of fun and frolic. I was excited thinking all that we friends had planned during Diwali vacation. School, exams were nowhere in sight or mind.In the evening, I went to the common ground we kids were allotted to burst crackers. Just when I bent down to light a cracker, someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see my wife waking me up by saying, “aren’t you going to wake up. It is already 8:00 am in the morning, I know its Diwali and you got holiday too. That does not mean you will sleep this long.”I woke-up and sitting on my bed I looked towards my kitchen…it was as deserted and silent as I had left it previous night. Yes! It is Diwali today, but it was going to be of a different kind. No besan ladoos, no diyas, no Utna, no Kareet. Not even the customary exchange of sweets. How could it be the same? My grandmother has now a kitchen in heaven, my mother too old to carry on the customary rituals. What remains today, are the black spots of those smoky snakes that we once lit as kids, reminding us of that magic moments we once called DIWALI.
My mother was engrossed in frying while my grandmother seated on the floor was rolling besan into round balls giving it a definite identity of ‘Besan Ladoos’. Seeing me at the door, my grandmother called me towards her and pointing towards tiny round besan balls (little bigger than the regular size of marbles) in the plate amidst the bigger ones said, “they are all for you to taste, even before you have your traditional Diwali bath. Provided you go and brush your teeth and come back quickly in the kitchen.”My sleep had vanished as I realised that it was Diwali today and besides new clothes and firecrackers, I would be getting festive delicacies to relish upon all throughout the day. In no time, I was back in the kitchen after doing a quick brushing daily ritual to savor hot mini besan ladoos specially prepared for me. My mother though did not approve of me eating them before the traditional Diwali bath, but she just could not challenge her mother’s love towards me. After all everyone knew how much my grandmother loved me, be it festival or otherwise.After 8 to 10 tiny besan ladoos down my tummy, it was time for my mother to take charge of me. She made me sit on a stool and applied oil all over my body, little generous downpour when it came to my dry and rugged hair. “Do not get up from here while I get things arranged for traditional Diwali bath. If you move around you shall put oil stains all around and shall increase my workload,” with the annual Diwali instructions my mother went away not to be anywhere in sight. I could still see my grandmother now busy frying the Chakli.It was almost 5:30 am when like a Prince I was escorted towards bathing room, I knew what was coming next but pretended to be ignorant at that moment. Like every year, my grandmother first poured water over my head followed by my mother. They took turns in applying Utna (sandalwood powder mixed in turmeric and milk) until they were assured of me completely covered with it. After bath, it was time to head directly towards main entrance where I crushed a Kareet (bitter berry fruit under my left big toe) and had a taste of bitterness all over my tongue with a single drop of it. Being symbolic of the victory of good over evil, it also depicts that only after tasting bitter, one realises the importance of sweetness. One look towards both sides of my door and that of neighbours, I could see colourful rangoli and diyas lit all across the corridor.Few minutes later, dressed in new shirt and pant, I sat on a small wooden platform referred to as Paat. Both the women who were pampering me all this while put a tikaa over my forehead and sprinkled few rice granules over my head. Few rounds of lit Diya made me feel like a King now, who was about to embark for a battlefield.Diwali was here, every house had a similar scene. Everyone dressed in new attire greeting one another. Coming few days was going to be full of fun and frolic. I was excited thinking all that we friends had planned during Diwali vacation. School, exams were nowhere in sight or mind.In the evening, I went to the common ground we kids were allotted to burst crackers. Just when I bent down to light a cracker, someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see my wife waking me up by saying, “aren’t you going to wake up. It is already 8:00 am in the morning, I know its Diwali and you got holiday too. That does not mean you will sleep this long.”I woke-up and sitting on my bed I looked towards my kitchen…it was as deserted and silent as I had left it previous night. Yes! It is Diwali today, but it was going to be of a different kind. No besan ladoos, no diyas, no Utna, no Kareet. Not even the customary exchange of sweets. How could it be the same? My grandmother has now a kitchen in heaven, my mother too old to carry on the customary rituals. What remains today, are the black spots of those smoky snakes that we once lit as kids, reminding us of that magic moments we once called DIWALI.
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