The Enduring Glow: Reclaiming the Soul of Diwali Through Cherished Memories

Long before the dazzling city lights eclipsed the quiet charm of the countryside, Diwali was an intimate affair, painted not just with vibrant colours and loud crackers, but with the subtle hues of tradition, togetherness, and heartfelt anticipation. It was a festival woven into the very fabric of life, a gentle crescendo of excitement building up weeks before the actual day, promising warmth and wonder.

The air itself would transform, becoming a symphony of sensory delights.

The tantalizing aroma of besan being roasted for ladoos, the spicy tang of chiwda preparations, and the sweet perfume of newly fried karanji would drift from every kitchen, mingling to create an olfactory tapestry uniquely Diwali. Every household would buzz with activity – mothers meticulously sorting lentils, grandmothers humming old tunes while shaping dough, and children, armed with innocent enthusiasm, helping with the simpler tasks, their small hands eager to contribute to the grand festive production.

This was the authentic melody of Diwali: the rhythmic thud of a pestle in a mortar, the sizzle of oil, the excited chatter of family, and the faint, distant echo of a lone firecracker signalling the nearing celebration.

Our Diwalis were not defined by extravagant firework displays or grand, competitive shows of wealth.

Instead, they found their magic in the soft, flickering glow of hundreds of earthen diyas, carefully placed on every window sill, doorstep, and puja altar. Each tiny flame was a beacon of hope, a whisper of devotion, and a silent prayer for prosperity. The simple act of lighting them, one by one, watching them banish the encroaching darkness, was a ritual imbued with profound beauty and meaning.

It was a meditation, a shared moment of peace and reflection before the evening's gentle festivities began.

The morning of Diwali was a kaleidoscope of textures and tastes. Early baths, fragrant with ubtan, were followed by new clothes, crisp and vibrant. Then came the 'faraal' – a spread of homemade delicacies, each bite carrying the flavour of love and painstaking effort.

From the melt-in-your-mouth shankarpali to the crispy chakli, every dish was a testament to ancestral recipes passed down through generations. These were not just snacks; they were stories, memories, and a tangible connection to our heritage.

As dusk descended, the entire neighbourhood would come alive, not with cacophony, but with a collective, shimmering radiance.

The gentle popping of small firecrackers, the sparklers weaving ephemeral patterns in the night, and the joyful shouts of children playing in the dimly lit lanes filled the air. Neighbours exchanged sweets and greetings, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of diyas, reinforcing bonds of community that often get lost in today's fast-paced world.

It was a testament to a time when community was paramount, and celebrations were a shared experience rather than isolated events.

Today, as the festive season approaches, I find myself drawn back to those simpler Diwalis. The grand spectacles of modern celebrations, while impressive, often lack the soul-stirring intimacy of those cherished memories.

There's a longing for the quiet magic, the profound sense of belonging, and the raw, unadulterated joy that permeated every moment. It's a reminder that the true essence of Diwali lies not in the loudest bang or the brightest flash, but in the enduring glow of tradition, family, and the timeless warmth of a shared heart.