Out on the ledge

Festivals like Deepavali, Eid, Gurpurab and Christmas are so much a family thing that mostly we can't manage to remember all the Lonelies,...

Festivals like Deepavali, Eid, Gurpurab and Christmas are so much a family thing that mostly we can8217;t manage to remember all the Lonelies, Oddbods and Outsiders who do not fit into the golden land of TV commercials where all is as it should ideally be. The street poor, fortunately for once, are remembered by all on major festivals, but I often think it8217;s the poor gentlefolks who seem to have a pretty thin time of it.

Salaried people trying to live respectably on scant resources, perhaps with huge financial burdens that must be borne bravely, patiently and with good grace. Disabled children, and more importantly, their caretakers, who may not feel like celebrating, but are impelled to put up a good show. Single people: unwelcome widows, untended widowers, bachelor boys and girls away from home, poor music teachers and maths tutors. Outwardly busy careerists who may be desperate inside for a drop of emotional and social support.

Singletons agree that the worst hour of a festival, indeed of any day, is the evening, without anyone to share the lamp lighting. Nor is it pleasant to eat alone with the radio or TV on, when everywhere, behind the lighted windows and on every rooftop or side street, families seem to be cosily gathered in celebration. Not even great music seems to work fully when the human heart hungers for the satisfaction of knowing that another living heart is ticking away in the house, even if it is pre-occupied in its own thoughts.

Family festivals bring out the latent suicidal streak in many lonely people. It sends them out on the ledge, if not physically, then emotionally, into crying jags and solitary tantrums. Help lines seem to get extra busy, because it feels as though society has turned its back on you to celebrate by itself and you feel left out and unwanted. But it8217;s marvellous what a few hours of good fellowship can do to restore battered morale. And our informal home culture, our akshaya-paatram meals in which one pot of dal, sambaar or amti can easily stretch for an extra person, allow space for generosity.

As families, we could invite the lonely stranger or acquaintance to share part of our Deepavali. And though we are taught not to care for material things, their context can give them a sentimental value way above the price on the sticker. A small present to our guest 8212; perhaps a box of sweets, or something to wear or drink out of 8212; would mean a lot, because it is tangible proof that the world cares for them and includes them, especially if it is given with affectionate words and a friendly smile. Even a coffee mug acquires the glamour of a golden goblet, because it is an unexpected gift.

As for Lonelies and Crazies whom nobody invites home 8212; this year 8212; there8217;s nothing for it but to make our own light. We just have to reach deep into our own selves and yank out that hidden God. It8217;s easy for the world to say, forget your sorrows by helping others. Brilliant solution though it is, many of us are simply private people, who feel awkward with too many variables in a situation. But our constant, always, is God. Who dries our tears and coaxes us to smile again at the Divine Comedy of existence, at all the endearing, absurd or splendid thoughts and things that the world is full of!

So let8217;s get off that ledge and stop thinking wistfully how nice and restful it would be to end our lives. Let8217;s invest two rupees and light a diya instead on the cornice that we wanted to jump from. And let8217;s learn the Maha Mrutyunjaya Japam. Atilde;sup2;f40Atilde;sup3;Om triambakam yajamahe, sugandhim pushtivardham urva rukumiva bandanath mrutyor mrukshiyam8217;amrutarth. Something in it takes us from darkness into light, right into Deepavali.