A singular kind of blessing

Another Diwali, another year abroad. Another round of celebrations away from home. It may be the festival of lights but nothing is as bright if it is not celebrated with family.

There’s no point getting sentimental, though. I cannot remember the last time I was home, running around bursting firecrackers under my cousin’s bed or stealing sweets.

I have vague memories of such times in India, of stringing together so many “chilli bombs” – tiny dynamites that came in packs of 12 – that they extended all the way across my friend’s house, past the swimming pool and tennis court and right down to the main gate. We concealed the train behind the bushes, and in the evening – just when the adults were getting comfortable – set off the entire string. The firecrackers went off for at least 15 minutes. The adults shouted, we giggled.

In contrast, the celebrations away from home have been sober. And it almost seems that each year I compromise on a lamp and light a candle instead. This year, I didn’t have time to shop for anything – the traditional terracotta lamps, a string of lights, new clothes, an appliance or even a small indulgence such as a piece of jewellery.

I am not sure if it’s proximity. When I lived in Toronto, the idea that I was so far away from home made me observe the little rituals. In Abu Dhabi, it seems, when there are so many people around me celebrating, I feel like it is OK to let go of the apprehension that if I don’t practice my culture, I will lose it. As a result, Diwali crept up on me this year.

Among other things, Diwali celebrates the return of the ancient king of -Ayodhya, Ram (along with his wife, Sita, and brother, Lakshman), to his kingdom, ending 14 years of exile after a war in which he killed the demon king, Ravan.

Their return represents the -triumph of good over evil, light over darkness, joy over despair, right over wrong. It is believed that the -entire kingdom celebrated by lighting lamps in order to guide their path through the darkness.

People took to the streets and burst fire crackers. However, legend has it that one old lady, who lived by herself in a decrepit hut on the outskirts of the village, could not afford such extravagance. So she filled a single terracotta lamp with oil and lit it. On his way to the palace, amid all the fanfare, it is said that Ram noticed the hut.

This year, I was that old lady and I hope that lighting my singular brass lamp will invite just as many blessings as lighting a hundred.