Diwali! The beginning of wintery nights, heavy Razai, fuzzy socks.
Waking up to a lazy house, suddenly sprung into action with the shrill of the pressure cooker's whistle and rocked into calmness with the fragrance of simmering Kheer and the whispers of my parents from the kitchen, partnering yet again, to make the day perfect, decking the halls and our half awake dreams with their love.
Papa, pulling out from the trunk, an old, like new, chaadar with zari, a mildly fading dari, memories wrapped in festive clothes, photo albums, string lights, crystal platters, all aged in the sweet smell of dust!
Hurried hands and busying bodies, cleaning every corner of the house, dusting away the past year's burdens, layer by layer
The crackle of phuljhadi and the patter of feet running to the terrace to catch a glimpse of glittery rainbows exploding into the night sky and vanishing too soon.
Open doors, lit up terraces, warm hugs, crispy nights, noisy and foggy neighborhoods and smokey nostrils.
Papa's crisp Khaadi Kurta and Nehru Jacket and Mama's wet hair and easily wrinkled silk suit that makes her face shine like gold.
Platters filled with cashews, raisins, pista, Kaju Barfi, all waiting for the first guest.
Shiny long grains of Basmati, flooded with Rajma, chunks of Paneer floating in red curry, as red as mama's bindi, as red as the teeka on Papa's forehead.
Lowered heads, closed eyes, folded hands, the fragrance of agarbatti filling the house, the sound of Mama's aarti, sprinkled with pauses and giggles, as she tries to remember the words and we try to catch up.
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Diwali! Neither the beginning of fall, nor the end. Somewhere in between.
When the Marigold is still blooming, but the trees are already going bare.
Busy mornings but no dari to pull out, no dust to clean, no crystal platters, no cashews, raisins, pista, no waiting for guests!
But somewhere in the house,
Little minds, half awake, ready to make their own memories, ready for their half awake dreams decked with our love
And so...
We pull out our memories wrapped in festive clothes, photo albums, string lights and stories.
We fill this home with -
The crackle of phuljhadi and the patter of feet running outside to catch a glimpse of glittery rainbows exploding into the night sky and vanishing too soon.
Open doors, lit up front yard, warm hugs, crispy nights.
Lowered heads, closed eyes, folded hands, the fragrance of agarbatti filling the house, the sound of my aarti, sprinkled with pauses and giggles, as I try to remember the words and they try to catch up.
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The write-up on Diwali reads like a prose poem. The words ring true. I would like to have more like this from the author.
A kaleidoscope of memories, the past and the evolving. Diwali ki shubhkaamanaye!
Aapko bhi!! Diwali mangalmay ho!