As the lights fade...
You wave your hand and the heads and hands popping out of the taxi wave back. The taxi turns round a corner and you can’t see it anymore. Slowly you put your hand down and having said goodbye, turn around. You walk up the stairs, back to your apartment and open the door. A strange silence greets you. The house is a mess. The packets of Rangoli, now almost over, lie in one corner, and the diyas, all burnt out, line the window sills. The wax has burned away and empty aluminium holders are all that remain of the beautiful candles.
The pillows on the sofa look terrible and need to be fluffed. A couple of packs of cards repose on the carpet. You pick them up and put them in a drawer. The boxes of sweets, chocolates and dry fruits, some half eaten, some unopened, lie in a couple of stacks on the dining table. You see their beautiful wrappings, some a bit torn, some crumpled, but some as good as new next to them. You walk into the gallery and look outside. Hundreds of pieces of red and white paper, from the crackers, litter the road and an emptiness lingers in the air around. You walk back in and take a look around once again.
One by one, you pick up the diyas, throw the burnt wicks and oil away and put the diyas in a box that will now remain closed till next year. You fill the dry fruits in jars and throw away the empty packets. With the chocolates in the fridge, wrappers neatly folded, the dining table already looks neater. You go to your bedroom and see your stunning dress lying on the bed with a couple of necklaces and a pair of earrings next to it. Carefully, you fold the dress and keep it in the wardrobe properly, wondering if you’re going to get a chance to wear it again. The necklaces and earrings go in a velvet lined violet box and are lulled to sleep. On the other side of the bed, lie a few colourful envelopes and some gifts. You stow the envelopes in a shelf. You’re in no mood to organise the gifts so you stash all of them in a bag, promising to take a look at them later.
The house looks much better after cleaning a bit more. But nowhere does it match how it looked the night before. Bright, radiant and glowing with laughter. You plump on the sofa and close your eyes. You’re tired. The festival has taken up your stash of energy but it was totally worth it. The fun you had with your family, talking to everyone, eating excellent food, lighting diyas, playing cards late into the night, the game of dumb charades, watching the sky light up, all bring a smile on your face. You wonder how fast time flies. The holidays have come to an end though it seems like it was yesterday, when you came home, excited, looking forward to a week of joy.
Diwali has gone away, as fast as it had come. In no more than a day, the strange silence will become normal. You will go about your work and get back into your routine.
The sun has set, and it’s slowly turning dark. As you turn on the lights, you accidentally turn on the lantern in your gallery and you realise that you’ve forgotten to take it off. You go out, with all intentions to unhook it, but you don’t. Instead, you gaze at it. Behind it, you can see the city that has lit up. It looks beautiful and so does the lantern. Its warm glow brings a fresh wave of Diwali memories. Not just this one. You remember the first time you burst a cracker, the fear and excitement, the time you realised that crackers harm the environment and didn’t let anyone in your family burst crackers. You remember the time you’d painted diyas with your mum and the time your dad had taught you to put the Diwali lights on. A faint smile gilds your face and you decide to let the lantern be.
The lantern continues to illuminate its surroundings, spreading a warm glow, no lesser than the joy the festival had brought.
