Let there be light

Celebrating Diwali in the times of Corona can be more fun than you think

I bet that when the Covid 19 alarm bells began ringing around March, you did not think that the Coronavirus would still be keeping us housebound and away from our extended family as Diwali came around.

And yet, here we are!

Today is the day when, in normal times, we would be calling on friends and family with some mithai, perhaps a bottle of champagne, or maybe even a present or two to wish them ‘Happy Diwali’. But given the special circumstances this year, it’s only the most foolhardy – or dare I say it, foolish – among us who would dare socialize while there is a real and present danger that our actions could spread the virus even further. And given the air pollution that we are struggling with – and which, doctors say, makes fighting Covid even more difficult – it would be downright criminal to let off even a single firecracker.

So, how does one celebrate Diwali in the midst of a pandemic?

Well, here are just a few suggestions that I hope will help you get into the festive spirit.

•       Play dress up. This is the best part of Diwali for me. The opportunity to pull out a beautiful sari that has been sulking in my closet for years and allow it to sparkle and shine as it finally gets an airing. Did I hear you say that it would be pointless to make an effort with your appearance given that no one is watching? Well, silly, that’s why social media was invented. Post your pictures on Instagram, tagging all your friends, encourage them to do the same, and form a mutual admiration society that will give all the validation you need – and more.

•       Yes, I know, we are pretty much Zoomed out from those endless work calls and webinars, not to mention online classes. But this is the one time that getting all your family and friends together on a video call would actually be fun. You can check out the decorations in each other’s homes, you can tell your cousin how cute her baby daughter looks in a ghaghra choli, you can even share a Diwali meal, even if all of you are eating it at your respective dining tables miles apart.

•       I have never been much for card games, but I get that for some people Diwali is incomplete without a few hours of teen patti. Well, the good news is that you can play online as well, getting all your usual card partners into a virtual room, where you try your luck against each other. Just don’t play for very high stakes, because it’s not nice to clean anyone out on Diwali. And remember in case you lose, you mustn’t be disheartened. Those who are unlucky with cards are believed to be very lucky in love!

•       Keep up with your family Diwali traditions, even if you might have to modify them a bit this year. For some reason, my mother always made an immense pot of mattar pulao for Diwali dinner, and this year I will remember her as I recreate that dish from memory. I won’t be inviting all my neighbors over to dig in – as she would – because, you know, Covid. But just eating it in her memory will be enough. And, of course, like her I will do a special puja for Lakshmi Mata, praying that she blesses us with peace and prosperity, chanting the same words of the aarti that she knew by heart, and I have to read off a book.

•       I know that your home is probably heaving with packets of mithai, dry fruit and hampers full of goodies dropped off by friends, family and neighbors. But just because your dining table is drowning in kaju barfi, macaroons and besan laddoos, there is no reason why you must eat it all. Spread the joy by distributing it to your staff and those who work in your building.  Carry some in your car and drive to the
nearest intersection where there are kids begging for food. Watching their faces light up will light up your Diwali as well.

Pray it forward

This Diwali, ask Goddess Lakshmi to shower her blessings on those who need it most (and no, that’s not you)

For me, the most important part of Diwali has never been the lights, the fireworks, the mithai, the new clothes, or even the endless parties. The one moment that makes Diwali meaningful for me is when I settle down in my little puja nook, along with my family, to pray to the Goddess Lakshmi to bless us with prosperity over the coming year. This ritual became even more important to me when I married a Gujarati, because for him, this day marks the beginning of the New Year. So, how better to celebrate than to importune Lakshmi Mata – whom we worship only on this one day – to shower us with all things bright and beautiful.

This year, though, as the temperatures drop in the early morning and late evening, and the unmistakable scent of the festive season is in the air, I have begun to reassess the modus operandi I fall back on every Diwali. This year, I am beginning to wonder if all that praying for myself and my loved ones, isn’t just a tad selfish. 

After all, like most of you reading this article, we are the lucky ones. We have a roof over our heads, enough to eat, and with a bit of luck, a steady income coming in every month that covers all our needs – ‘wants’ are another matter altogether. We may want more. Hell, we always want more. But is that really what we should be asking for on the one day we turn our attention to the Goddess of Wealth and Prosperity? 

I think not. 

In a world in which income disparity is rising to obscene levels, in an environment in which some people have so much and others have to make do with so little, doesn’t it make sense to mark this festival by doing our bit for others, instead of holding out for more for ourselves? 

And by that I don’t just mean that we tack on a few heartfelt words to our prayers when we sit down in front of our Ganesh-Lakshmi idols as we do our Puja on Diwali. That’s a good start. And it’s always a good idea to pray it forward. But that’s not enough in itself – not by any measure. 

So what, you ask, could we do, in concrete terms, to pay it forward as well? Well, just to start you off, here are a few suggestions:

• For every present you send to a business contact, for every hamper of goodies you send to friends and family, set an equivalent amount of money aside to give to those less fortunate than yourself. You could make a contribution to a local orphanage. You could buy gifts for underprivileged children in your locality. You could use that money to host a lunch or dinner on Diwali day for those who can’t afford to feast on their own incomes. The options are endless – and limited only by your imagination.

• If you want to make a more permanent impact on other people’s lives, then this is the time to make a grand gesture. Instead of blowing up thousands of rupees on setting the sky ablaze for one night commit to paying for a girl child’s education until she graduates school (there are plenty of charities that facilitate this). If you want to keep it personal, take on the educational expenses of the kids of your household help or office staff. 

• One good way if improving the quality of life of those who work for you is to get them medical insurance – and pay the premiums yourself. That’s one way to guarantee that even when they no longer work for you, one medical emergency won’t render them bankrupt, or make them homeless. And that might well be the best Diwali gift they ever receive.

• If you get a Puja or Diwali bonus from the company you work at, don’t fail to pay it forward. Buying your staff a sari or shirt as a festival gift is all very well, but money speaks louder than any token gifts at this time of year. Be generous and give them a cash gift so that they can enjoy the festival with their families as well. A month’s salary is a good ballpark, though you could go up or down depending on how generous you are feeling.

At the end of the day, all that matters is that you share your good fortune with those less fortunate that yourself this festive season – even more so if they work for you. How this generosity manifests itself, is entirely up to you, as long as you remember to both pay – and pray – it forward.

Happy Diwali!

It’s the festival that is celebrated all across India – but in many different ways

No sooner did the Supreme Court of India declare that firecrackers (and only the ‘green’ variety – whatever those might be) could only be let off between 8 and 10 pm on Diwali than the protests began. Most of them emanated from outraged firecracker enthusiasts who could not understand why they had to restrict their passion within a narrow two-hour band. (Pollution? What pollution? Don’t you know it’s caused by all those pesky cars and trucks? Not to mention the burning of agricultural waste in neighbouring farmland.)

But there were some who had an entirely different problem. These people were from the south of India, where it is customary to celebrate the festival during the day. In the south Indian tradition you mark Diwali by having an oil bath in the morning, getting dressed in new clothes, doing a puja, and then setting off all the firecrackers you can lay your hands on. How could these communities possibly celebrate according to their traditions and not fall afoul of the Supreme Court ruling? Especially considering that they celebrate Diwali the day before north India does.

And those are not even the main differences between a north Indian and south Indian Diwali. For starters, it is called Deepawali (not Diwali) in south India. And it marks – no, not the victory of Lord Ram over Ravana – the day Lord Krishna killed the demon Narakasura after a fierce battle. It is believed that after Lord Krishna vanquished the demon, he had an oil massage and then a hot bath. So, in emulation of the Lord, south Indians begin the day by oiling their bodies – or ritually anointing their heads – and then having a bath just as Krishna did. Only after this ritual Ganga Snanam is over, and they have donned new clothes for that day, do the festivities and fireworks commence. And yes, they take place over the daytime. Surely, the Supreme Court could have made provision for that?

The truth is that while popular culture revolves around the Diwali rituals and celebrations of north Indian communities, there are as many different ways to mark the festival all over India as there are different communities.

In Maharashtra, for instance, we see an interesting amalgamation of south Indian and north Indian traditions. The day before Diwali is celebrated as Narak Chaturdashi to mark the defeat of Narakasur by Lord Krishna (just like they do in the south). The day starts with an oil massage but here a special ubtan (scrub), made from sandalwood, camphor, rose, orange skin, turmeric, etc., is used before the ritual bath (called the abhyang-snan here). On Diwali day, however, Maharashtra falls in line with the rest of north India to worship the Goddess Lakshmi, and then set off some – you guessed it! – firecrackers.

In Bengal and some other parts of Eastern India, however, the goddess who is worshipped on this occasion is not Lakshmi but Kali. In fact, the festival is described as Kali Puja rather than Diwali in these parts, and is dedicated to the fierce goddess who killed all the demons in her path (and used their heads to fashion a garland she wears around her neck). When the gods wanted to stop her killing spree, they sent her husband, Lord Shiva, who lay down in her path. In her fury, Kali stepped on him too before realizing her mistake. Which is why she is pictured with her tongue out and her foot on Shiva’s chest. It is this fierce incarnation of the Devi who is worshipped here at midnight, not the benign Lakshmi.

In Gujarat, on the other hand, it is the Goddess of Wealth who reigns supreme on this day. For Gujaratis, Diwali marks the end of the year and the next year is celebrated as Bestu Varas, or New Year’s Day. So, while Diwali is marked with a Lakshmi Puja in the evening, in which the whole family gathers to propitiate the Goddess, the following day is devoted to welcoming in the New Year. It is heralded by the bursting of firecrackers at 4 am (wonder what the Supreme Court will have to say about that!) because of the Hindu belief that the new day begins as dawn. And then begin the endless greetings of ‘Saal Mubarak’ as Gujaratis across the world call to wish each other a Happy New Year.

In Punjab, while the Hindu community follows the standard north Indian pattern of celebrating Diwali with Lakshmi Puja, the Sikhs mark this date because this was when Guru Hargobind, the 6^th Guru, was released from prison by Emperor Jahangir in 1619 along with 52 other princes whose release he secured. The occasion was marked by lighting up the Golden Temple in Amritsar, and that tradition continues to this day. So, when you see the Golden Temple all lit up, remember it’s not Diwali they’re celebrating, it is Bandhi Chhor Diwas (Prisoner Release Day), yet another example of the triumph of good over evil.

But no matter which community is doing the celebrating, fireworks seem to be mandatory on this occasion. So, will the Supreme Court ruling make any difference to how people mark the festival of lights – and increasingly, noise – all over India?

Well, give it a few days and we’ll find out one way or the other. Until then, I wouldn’t hold my breath – unless, of course, I am forced to by all the pollutants in the air.

  

Mid-life crisis?

No, it’s not that bad; but this may be the time to ring in some changes

There is something to be said about multiculturalism. For one thing, it allows me to celebrate New Year thrice every year. There’s the regular New Year on the 1^st of January, when I party along with the rest of the world. There’s the Baisakhi New Year in April that I get to enjoy because I was born into a Punjabi family. And now, there’s also Diwali, which is celebrated as New Year by Gujaratis, a community I belong to by marriage.

This Diwali, though, as I did my puja, praying to Ma Lakshmi for prosperity, I realized with a start that I have more New Years behind me than I have New Years to look forward to. Without even realizing it, I have tipped beyond the halfway point in my life. And from now on, I’m going to be counting down rather than adding up.

Yes, like Bill Clinton said so memorably at the Democratic National Convention, I too have more yesterdays than tomorrows.

But while I am not in the throes of a mid-life crisis quite yet (well, I think so; my friends and family may well disagree), I have come to the realization that time is not on my side. In fact, it is the enemy, racing past even as I struggle to play catch up.

So, from this year on, my motto is that immortal line that has stayed with me since my days as a student of English literature: ‘Carpe diem’. Seize the day. Make the most of every moment because it will be over before you know it.

As is my wont at such times, I began by making a list of all the things I should and should not do to get the most out of the days, weeks, months and New Years I have left. Here is a small sampling:

·       No more revisiting of favourite destinations. I’ve been there and done that. There is an entire world out there to explore. And I should do it while I can still explore – as in walk on my own two feet without the aid of a Zimmer frame. London and New York will still be there when I am old and decrepit. But I may not be able to do justice to the mountains of Switzerland and the beaches of Croatia when I need to stop and catch my breath every 10 minutes.

·       Sit right down on my desk and write that book. No more procrastinating. No more endless revision of chapters that I have written already. No more displacement activity masquerading as ‘research’. No more endless trawling of the Internet. No more excuses about lack of time or mind-space. It is time to sprint to the finish line. And when I’m done with the book I’m currently working on, it will be time to pick right up where I left off the novel I abandoned three quarters of the way through.

·       Prune that reading list. Reluctantly, I have come to the conclusion that I no longer have the time to waste on airport bestsellers and other junk reads. From now on, I will only invest time in authors whom I love and books that show potential. And no more feeling like a failure because I can’t finish a book – if that is a failing, then it is the author’s, not mine. (Also, if I intend to re-read the classics that I last studied in college – just to see if they speak differently to me – then I need to get on with it. Middlemarch awaits…)

·       No to endless socializing with people I don’t even particularly care for. No to large parties where no conversation is possible (mostly because you have nothing to say to fellow guests). Yes to small dinner parties with friends and prospective friends, where we can actually hear ourselves talk and listen to those speaking to us.

·       Declutter my life: not just of things that no longer bring me joy but also of people who only bring me down. A ruthless cull is in order, so that I can both simplify and sanitize my life. By the end, I hope to be left with a pared-down existence that allows me to appreciate what I have rather than bemoan what I don’t.

·       No more taking health and fitness for granted. From now on, sadly, it will be a slippery slope downhill. And the only way to make a controlled glide down is to invest time and energy in eating well and exercising right.

·       Ah no, you misunderstand. That doesn’t mean I am going to survive on salads and soups and turn away from dessert. Life is too short to eat rabbit food. Or to drink water rather than wine. But it will get shorter if I forget that magic word: moderation. So, I’m going to keep repeating it to myself in the hope that it sticks even when that pesky memory loss kicks in.

So, that is my magic formula for getting through the rest of my days. Read, write, travel, play. And yes, eat, drink and be merry…Well, you know how that one goes.

And a belated (or early) Happy New Year to you all, whichever one you choose to celebrate.

Eat, Pray, Love

Let's mark Diwali as a Festival of Lights, not a Celebration of Excess

My childhood memories of Diwali revolve around (no, not shopping, crackers or mithai) cleaning. Yes, you read that right: cleaning. As a child I rapidly came to recognize that the first sign that the Festival of Lights was around the corner was that industrial-scale cleaning would commence in the Goswami household.

Entire rooms would be cleared out so that they could be washed and swabbed and swept until the floor was clean enough to eat off. The 'special crockery' that lived in the cupboard all year long, and was never used for fear of breakage, would be brought out ceremonially to be given a good scrubbing before it went right back on the shelves. The silver would be polished, the bronze given a good seeing-to. And all the Gods and Goddesses that presided over the Puja room would be ritually bathed and clad in brand-new clothes.

All of this was, of course, a communal activity, with the entire household pitching in to do their bit. Even the kids who were too young to be of much help would be handed a dusting cloth and sent forth to do their best.

I know it doesn't sound like it, but it was enormous fun. So much so that even now, when the weather starts to change and the air begins to hint at Diwali, my thoughts go back to my childhood home in Calcutta and our annual Diwali clean-out. I flash back to the vision of all the household furniture piled up high in the verandah to be given a little lick and polish, while the rooms were flushed of the dust accumulated in corners over the year. Which perhaps explains why to this day, to me, nothing says Diwali like the smell of soap-suds and bleach.

Growing up, it was made abundantly clear to me that it was only after the house was squeaky clean -- and sparkling enough to pass inspection by Ma Lakshmi -- that the task of celebrating Diwali could begin.

Of course, it was a different Diwali in those days. For one thing, communities were more integrated, and not only did we know the names of all our neighbors, we also thought nothing of dropping in on them unannounced. In fact, we weren't just in and out of each other's houses, anybody who was around at mealtimes would be asked to tuck in as well (and even expected to help clear up!).

Not surprisingly, Diwali also used to be a more communal (in the positive sense) affair. Kids would pool their resources to buy crackers and then get together in the evening to set them off while the entire neighborhood watched. Card games were more laid-back, with low stakes so that nobody could lose a fortune no matter how hard they tried. And it was enough to take a box of mithai to the neighbors to wish them Happy Diwali; you didn't need to put together an extravagant hamper full of luxury chocolates, wine, whiskey or cheese.

But as you may have noticed, things are very different these days. Instead of a home-style festival focused on family, friends and feasting, Diwali has been turned into a celebration of conspicuous consumption.

On Dhanteras it is not enough to buy something useful for the kitchen. No, the ads tell us that it is imperative to splash out on some gold. It is not enough to just buy one new outfit for the Diwali day itself. No, you must invest in a whole new wardrobe so that you never repeat a dress as you make the rounds of the endless 'card parties' that precede Diwali. It is not enough to just light up the house with diyas on the day of Diwali. No, you must get garish lights hung on the facade of your house for weeks on end to properly get into the 'festive spirit'.

Well, even though I have made my peace with the modern, more mercenary Diwali, sending out and receiving hampers with the best of them (keeping up with the Junejas, as I like to call it) there are times when I find myself longing to go back to a simpler time. A time when Diwali was truly a Festival of Lights not a Celebration of Excess. A time when we worshipped the Goddess of wealth instead of just spreading our wealth around.

So this year round, I made a resolution. I would try my best to recreate the spirit of the Diwalis of my childhood and teenage years. Here's a tiny little sampler of how I went about it.

* No to electric lights. Yes to earthen oil-filled diyas with homemade cotton wicks. (If that seems much too fiddly to you, go with beeswax candles.)

* No to heavy-duty hampers that take in everything from macaroons to Darjeeling tea to premium champagne. Yes to eco-friendly gifts like potted plants which will flourish and grow rather than be consumed and forgotten.

* No to splurging on household goods that I don't need (and scarcely have the space for). Yes to taking a collection of goodies and presents to the local orphanage and seeing the kids' eyes light up.

And, on the cheerful note, here's wishing all of you a very Happy Diwali. Stay blessed.

Let there be light...

When it comes to a fight between good and evil, in the end, good will always win

I write this column in the period between Dussehra and Diwali, just as the last Ravanas go up in flames, and as we brace ourselves for the festivities associated with the festival of lights. Since I married into a Gujarati family, Diwali has taken on a greater poignancy for me, as the start of new beginnings, because it marks the Gujarati New Year.

But even as I wait for the assorted ‘Saal Mubaraks’ to roll in from all over the world (seriously, is there any country in the world which doesn’t host a member of our extended clan?) and start the deep-cleanse of the house that is an essential preparation for Diwali, I find that my thoughts keep returning to Dussehra, and its ritual immolation of evil, in the shape of that ten-headed monster, Ravana. And that leads me inexorably to the origins of these festivals: the story of the Ramayana.

These days, the Ram Leela is the most visible reminder of those origins. Dussehra marks the defeat of Ravana (evil incarnate) by Ram, Lakshman and the Vanar Sena (the forces of good). And Diwali is meant to remind us of their triumphant homecoming to Ayodhya, when the entire kingdom celebrated by lighting diyas. And yes, no crackers were destroyed in the celebration of this festival. It was the festival of lights, remember? Not the festival of noise.

Things have changed since the era when that epic story was first told. Now, even in the run-up to Diwali, the crackers get louder and louder. And the festival itself has become more and more commercialized, till it resembles nothing more than an ode to conspicuous consumption (‘Buy a new fridge!’ ‘Gift your wife a diamond!’ ‘Buy gold for your daughter!’ ‘Get yourself a new car!’ The exhortations go on and on and on).

In all this frenzy of buying, buying, buying, we seem to have lost sight of the festival’s origins and its significance in our calendar, even though Dussehra, with its symbolic destruction of evil, should remind us of how it all began. But no, we are too distracted by the shiny objects being dangled in front of us to pay much attention to the myths, the stories, and the lessons they have to teach us.

But can I draw your attention away from the mega-sale in that electronics showroom for a moment and focus on the festivals themselves, both of which remind us of the power of the Ramayana, India’s greatest epic in its depth and sweep. Like the best of Hinduism, this epic can be read on so many levels: as a religious text; as a morality tale; as an adventure story; or even as the kind of mythological saga that enthralls schoolchildren.

Yes, yes, I know, it is not exactly a feminist tale. The fate of Sita and the behavior of Ram towards her seems very problematic to us, from our 21^st century perspectives. But epics like the Ramayana are rooted in the times when they were first created, so critiquing them from a modern perspective is, well, foolish and pointless, to say the least.

But feminist objections apart, I sometimes wonder if we realize how much the Ramayana still impacts our everyday lives. Hindus will, of course, recognize the festivals that emerge out of the Ramayana tradition: Ram Navami, Hanuman Jayanti, Dussehra, and of course, Diwali. But even today, we use the phrase ‘Ram Rajya’ to mean an ideal state, which looks after the interests of every citizen.

Sadly, the Ramayana myth hasn’t always had a positive impact on our politics. It was the conflict over the Ram tradition, and controversy about where Lord Ram was born, that led to one of the most divisive agitations of our time: the battle over the Babri Masjid and the Ramjanmabhoomi. The demolition of the Masjid led to riots all across the country, and the wounds suffered at that time have yet to heal.

But put aside the commercialization of the Diwali and the divisive politics over Ram and think back to the beauty of that legend and you realize how much the Ramayana is integral to our ancient cultural traditions. I was reminded of this recently when I saw scenes from the Ramayana drawn on the walls of temples in Cambodia, dating back to the 10^th century. And, of course, versions of the Ramayana story can be found in Bali, Thailand, and much of East Asia.

In many of these countries, the Ramayana no longer has much religious significance. But it has become part of the cultural heritage they share with India. The main roads in Bangkok, for instance, have some variation of Ram in their names (Rama V or Rama VI) while the Thai kings themselves take on the Rama name. In that sense, the Ramayana is a reminder of how Indian culture has spread through the world.

And yet, as I hear the pre-Diwali crackers starting up, I wonder if we in India, amidst the glitz and the noise, have lost sight of the essential message of the Ramayana: that where there is evil, it is our job to fight it. And that eventually, no matter how great the trials and tribulations, good will always triumph.

In the troubled times we live in, that is a message worth recalling. As long as we fight the good fight, good will always win.

Sound and fury

Counting the many, many things I hate about Diwali

Don’t get me wrong. I like a celebration as much as any other Indian. And like everyone else, I wait all year for the festive season to come around. There is the first hint of winter in the air; the markets are lit up, gleaming like new brides; and the annual round of parties promises some great food and drink. What’s not to like? And I do like it very much indeed.

But of late, the build-up to Diwali has left me reaching for the sick bag as the commercialisation of the festival reaches new heights every year. And as the original spirit of the day – to celebrate the triumph of good over evil, the victory of light over darkness – dies a deafening death every year, I get more and more disillusioned by what we have turned Diwali into. From a festival of light it has been transformed into an orgy of noise; from a day of prayer, when we welcomed the Goddess Lakshmi and the spirit of prosperity into our homes, it has turned into a celebration of conspicuous consumption; and from an occasion to get together with friends and family it has become an endless round of social events where one-upmanship is the name of the game.

Every year, as I settle down the clean the debris of the festival, sending off hampers of baked goods and mithai to the neighbourhood orphanage, I can’t help but reflect on how soulless and impersonal our Diwalis have become. So here, in no particular order of importance, is a list (by no means exhaustive) of what I have come to hate about Diwali.

1)   The advertisements: The build-up starts weeks before the festival, as every company worth its marketing budget starts bombarding its target customers with exhortations to buy, buy, buy – and then buy some more. Buy your wife gold jewellery; buy your mother a bigger, better fridge/TV/expensive electronic appliance of choice; buy your kids a new phone/ipad.

As I flip through newspapers or surf TV channels, I can’t help but wonder how this affects people who can’t afford any of this stuff. Do they feel like failures because they can’t buy new clothes for their kids, leave alone jewellery for their wives? Do they get depressed at the thought that theirs will be the only family in the neighbourhood not to get a new TV or sofa set? Is the festival effectively ruined for them because they can’t afford all those goodies, so seductively set out for their delectation?

2)   The traffic: Yes, it does become a bit of a nightmare, doesn’t it, as the entire city gets behind the wheel to do the rounds, driving from one corner to the other to drop off all those Diwali presents to friends, family, business colleagues and corporate honchos.

Result: travelling times gets doubled no matter where you go and what time you set out. Tempers fray, instances of road rage increase, and don’t even get me started on the amount of fuel wasted.

3)   The hampers: Ah yes, the hampers. The baskets full of rubbish, most of which, I suspect, has been hastily recycled from one basket to another (though, on the bright side, it does make it more eco-friendly). Gone are the days when a dabba of mithai would suffice. Now you have to source exotic chocolates, endless pastry products, jars of olives, and that obligatory bottle of wine/champagne. Honestly, why not just send a diya and be done with it?

4)   Card parties: Oh God, how I loathe them! All that huddling around a table, staring furtively at your cards, refusing to wind up the game so that dinner can be served at a decent hour, and then moaning and groaning about how much money you have lost. How can this be anyone’s idea of a party?

5)   Diwali melas: They are my idea of hell. It is as if the entire collection of second-rate products in the world has been brought together in one place so that you can choose from among a treasure trove of tasteless tat (once you’ve found parking for your car, a near-impossible feat). Isn’t it time we rediscovered the charm of shopping for Diwali at our own locals?

6)   The spam: It starts from the week before, as every company/PR outfit/shop/restaurant that has bought your phone number off some master list starts inundating you with smses. Get 20 per cent off on Diwali dinner if you buy a loyalty card; say no to crackers; buy a new flat.

7)   The crackers: Diwali has long since been transformed into a festival of sound rather than a celebration of light, but of late the cracker menace is getting even worse. I’m not one of the green brigade that believes that crackers will bring about the end of civilisation as we know it, but I can’t help being appalled at just how over-the-top the fireworks display has got of late.

As children, we were happy to light our phooljharis and anaars and set off the odd rocket. But the sheer scale of cracker-bursting these days is both scary and repellent. Just how much money do we blow up every Diwali, and how much damage do we do to our environment (never mind, scaring the life out of little children and dogs)?

I can’t help but think that if all of us curtailed our expenditure on some – if not all – of the above and gave the money saved to charity, it would be a true celebration of Diwali: the festival that marks the triumph of good over evil.

Happy Days!

Whether it’s Christmas, Diwali or Id, there’s nothing we Indians love more than a good festival

Unlike most people who grew up in Calcutta and then moved away, I am not overly nostalgic about the city. I don’t pine for Bengali culture or Bengali music. I don’t reminisce fondly about the late, lamented Sky Room (a landmark city restaurant in its time). I don’t hanker after the baked beans of Flury’s or the jhaal muri outside Lighthouse cinema (though I sometimes dream about the puchhkas!). I don’t long for the lawns of Tolly Club. I don’t miss the delights of New Market. And I certainly don’t gaze back on my Calcutta days through a fug of rose-tinted nostalgia.

Except on one day of the year: Christmas. Or as we Cal types call it, Bada Din, or quite literally, Big Day.

That’s the only time I get a bit nostalgic about my Calcutta days. Growing up, Christmas was a huge deal. The excitement would start building up weeks in advance, reaching a crescendo when the festive lights on Park Street were turned on. Christmas trees would crop up in the unlikeliest of locations. There would be a sudden flurry of shopping as everyone stocked up on presents. The city’s clubs would vie with one another to host the most spectacular Xmas Eve party. The more devout among us would head to St Paul’s Cathedral for the midnight mass.

Christmas Day would be reserved for picnics to make the most of the short-lived Calcutta winter. I, for one, still have vivid memories of Bada Din family picnics in the Botanical Gardens, with almost the entire neighbourhood in attendance. Meals would be cooked in the open, the kids would dance along to loud music or play raucous games while the adults amused themselves with a pack of cards while keeping a wary eye on their children.

It didn’t really matter what religion we belonged to or what God we worshipped. When it came to Christmas, we were all believers – and celebrants.

As the saying goes, what Calcutta did yesterday, India will do tomorrow. And sure enough, over the years, Christmas has become a huge deal in the rest of the country as well. Our children believe in Santa Claus as fervently as those in the West. Mistletoe and ornament-laden Christmas trees sprout up all over our public spaces as well. We plan special parties on Xmas eve. We enjoy the day off on Christmas with our families and friends.

Of course, the cynics among us will say that it’s just that we Indians love nothing more than a good old festival. And Christmas, with its message of good cheer, its gleaming fairy lights and its lilting carols, fits the bill exactly. It’s a festival after our own hearts, with its emphasis on family, friends and feasting. Rum-laden fruit cakes, stuffed turkey with cranberry sauce, eggnog, mulled wine – who could possibly resist?

But I think there’s more to the way we have made Christmas our own. If you ask me, this ‘secularisation’ of Christmas is, in a sense, a triumph of Indian secularism itself.

As someone who spent her entire childhood in convent school, I grew up with a sense that Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary were just two more idols to add to the Hindu pantheon that I worshipped at home. Before every major exam, most of us would slip quietly into the chapel to have a quick word with God. It didn’t really matter if it was Mother Mary of Ma Durga we prayed to. Even as kids, we knew instinctively, that God was one even if She was called by many names.

And it is in this spirit that we in India take to celebrating each other’s festivals with as much gusto as we would our own.

The most obvious examples are Diwali and Id. Both have religious significance for Hindus and Muslims respectively. But the celebrations that mark them cut across religious lines effortlessly. Diwali parties are not all-Hindu affairs, just as Iftar gatherings and Id dinners are attended by people of all religions.

Hindus may mark Diwali with a special puja to Goddess Lakshmi, but there are many Christian and Muslims families who will light up their homes and burst crackers with as much fervour. Practising Muslims may celebrate Id with prayers in the mosque and exchanging idi gifts with family and friends. But their Hindu, Sikh and Christian friends will join in by cadging invitations to homes where they are guaranteed the best biryani and seviyaan.

And so it is with Christmas. Christians may mark it with a midnight mass or a early morning service on Christmas day, but the rest of us will celebrate the spirit of the day in our own way.

And that, if you ask me, is the greatest triumph of our syncretic Indian culture: that our festivals retain their religious significance even as they are celebrated across religious lines. Contrast this with the West where political correctness now dictates that you should say ‘Happy Holidays’ instead of ‘Merry Christmas’’ for fear of giving offence to some minority or religious group.

Strange, isn’t it? Especially when in secular India we have no problem in wishing one another Shubh Diwali or Id Mubarak. And in keeping with that spirit, here’s wishing all of you a Merry Christmas. Enjoy the Big Day!

Happy Diwali!

This festive season, go forth and light up someone else’s life

Aren’t you just about fed up with the absolute avalanche of advertising asking us to go forth this Diwali and buy, buy, buy? I know I am. I am fed up of being told that I should bring home a new sofa/fridge/car/television this ‘festive season’. I am fed up of being lectured about how the best way to ‘celebrate’ this special time to buy some diamonds or invest in some gold jewellery. And I am fed up of the suggestion that the only way we can make the special people in our lives feel special is by breaking the bank and buying them some extravagant present.

Yes, I know that this is the time that the Goddess Lakshmi is worshipped in most Hindu homes – even those that are not particularly religious at other times of the year – and that the Goddess of Wealth is supposed to be welcomed with, well, a show of wealth. But seriously, what is it with all these exhortations to spend, spend, spend...and then spend just a little bit more?

Is that really what the spirit of Diwali has been reduced to in these materialistic times? Did the ‘festival of lights’ metamorphose into an ‘orgy of conspicuous consumption’ while we were busy shopping for gifts for the family? And is money really all it takes to celebrate the advent of the Lakshmi in our midst?

Well, it is certainly beginning to look like it. The markets are clogged with eager shoppers greedily picking their way through the shiny wares on display. The traffic moves at a snail pace because everybody and his uncle (and aunt and a gaggle of children) are out in their cars busy dropping off Diwali presents to all their near and dear ones. And everybody who is anybody has a veritable mountain of corporate hand-outs littering their dining table.

At one level, I guess the excitement is understandable. After all, Diwali comes around just once a year. And amidst all the diyas, the patakas, the phuljharis and the anaars, it is easy to get lost in the sheer headiness of it all. But as we scoff the chocolate barfis and kajus and badams and swear that we will go on a detox diet as soon as the last box of mithai has been polished off, do we ever stop to think about how those who don’t have our kind of disposable income are celebrating the festival? How do they cope with the ubiquitous message of conspicuous consumption when they can barely scrape together two meals a day? How do those who have no money to speak of welcome the Goddess of wealth to their homes?

If these kinds of thoughts ever do rankle, then this Diwali make a pledge to do something about it. Ignore all those media messages asking you to re-do your homes, buy a new wardrobe, upgrade your car, splurge on some jewellery or whatever new gizmo there is in the market. Don’t order a huge hamper full of exotic goodies to give away to friends and family. Cancel that expensive dinner you were planning to host for your card-playing buddies. And do the environment a favour by not bursting any noisy, polluting crackers.

I am not saying that you shouldn’t celebrate the festival with your loved ones. But do so with love and affection rather than just by mindless spending. Don’t bother with expensive, all-purpose gifts. Instead think of what each individual on your list would most enjoy. Is your cousin interested in cooking? Gift her some herbs – parsley, coriander, mint, sage, rosemary – growing in small pots that she can place on her kitchen ledge. Is your wife a proud hostess? Find her some hand-made aromatic candles that she can display proudly at her next dinner party. If putting that much thought into each gift seems daunting, then just stick to the tried-and-tested: earthernware diyas that can be used in the Diwali puja, and potted plants that can survive the seasons on the balcony.

Once you’ve bought all these ‘alternative’ gifts, make a quick estimate of how much money you have saved. Now, find some worthwhile cause to donate it to. It could be to an NGO you trust; the neighbourhood centre that educates underprivileged children; the blind school; a shelter for battered women; or even a temple that feeds the poor.

As for all those hampers of bakery products and confectionary littering your drawing room, pile them all into your car and head for the nearest orphanage or blind school. Set up a little counter and give away all the stuff to the children. Watch as they scoff it down with delight. That experience is worth more than any bit of jewellery you could possibly own. And the fact that you are able to enjoy it is true wealth.

So, this year instead of going forth and buying, buying, buying, make a pledge to go forth and spread some good cheer among those less fortunate. And on that note, Happy Diwali to all of you!