The Perfect Diwali

Yesterday,I toddled to the nearby Good Earth to pick up a few dozen candles in my favourite fragrance,the mogra,to light up the house for the weekend. The presents have started arriving too: a silver filigree photo frame,six coffee mugs from Villeroy & Boch,Indigo’s annual goodie basket and a pair of crystal candlesticks.But this is not my perfect Diwali.

My perfect Diwali is the one had I used to have years ago. My mother would make such intricate rangoli at the entrance of our house,the patterns seemed as if inspired by Iznic art. Then she would light up the house with real diyas—the ones made of clay and with oil wicks. (She is now “chilling” with her sister in Singapore for a month.) I tried my hand with the coloured powders this morning: I made a childish pink daisy,just as I had each year before this.

My grandmother would make pista barfi that was so green we’d pretend it came from Alice’s Wonderland. Nanima would send shakkar para and nariyal ghugra in steel boxes to last a month at least.

In my perfect Diwalis,my grandfather would return from work with his car’s boot filled with firecrackers from Mohammed Ali Road,days before we began expecting them. He would spend Rs 1,000 on them,a whopping sum those days,and earn a stare from my grandmother. We would take them over to my best friend’s house down the road and burst them way after midnight,when the yawns began. The rockets would be aimed at the guys’ houses who we had a crush on and didn’t like us back. The Laxmi Pooja at the office was my favourite part. The whole family would be dressed up as if we were at a wedding. I would sit right next to my grandfather through it,while my father and the assortment of chachas sat behind us. He would tell the pundit,“The daughter of the house is the real Laxmi”,as he washed the many silver coins.

Then came the bonuses. The staff of the office got theirs first,along with a box of kaju-badam biscuits. Then came the chachas and then came my brother and I. A princely Rs 101. We never had a Laxmi Pooja after my grandfather died; he even took the office with him. Nanima’s passing last year means no more homemade yummies. The 10 pm noise deadline is a dampener,but not as much as Mr Obama’s Diwali day visit: the police have banned crackers on Marine Drive.

And I don’t know how to oil a diya wick at all.

(namratanow@gmail.com)