November light

Diwali. The festival of lights, the time I wait for, for most part of the year. A golden warmth spreads to the root of every heart. The earthy scent of the oil-drunk clay diyas. Orange-yellow marigold patterns adorning doorsteps. The crisp November air thick with an amalgamation of smells, mostly that of fried sweets and noisy firecrackers. Happy people, reunited in a bubble of joy, tucking away their differences for a day or two. A perfect world.

Happy Diwali dear friends.

Diwali

The diyas are out again. Everywhere, on doorsteps, on terrace borders, on balcony lattices, and inside homes, warming them up to a toasty perfection. Glitzy and pretty, like small wonders they shine, as they unveil the hidden joy from bustling city lives. Gone are those days when lines of traditional earthen diyas would adorn every veranda in the town. I still have fond remembrances of  the crisp October-November evenings, when I would sit beside grandma and watch her make wicks from coarse cotton, which would be later dipped in diyas filled with castor oil on the evening of Diwali. Sadly, the lack of time and tradition in our urban lives and rampant consumerism have replaced this beautiful ritual with ready-made jazzy and colourful lamps that are mostly a cross between a diya and a candle. So this time, I got little pot-shaped lamps filled with wax with a wee bit of fancy lace tied around the neck.

We have been waiting for the last five years, and how desperately, to celebrate this much loved festival of lights in the home country. And here we are at last. What adds a big dollop of happiness to this Diwali is the joy of lighting firecrackers, a thrill we so dearly missed in the States. The husband has gone back to being a gleeful ten-year-old (himself, that is) and has come back from the market with a bursting bag of firecrackers. We can't wait for the evening twilight to fade and the night sky to turn into a twinkling canvas of light and colours. One luminous, kaleidoscopic feast it will be. If only I wasn't bitten by nasty cold bug! Nevertheless, wrapped in the warmth of festivity and well-being, I hope to make the most of it.
'Tis time then, to pop, fizz and sparkle. Wishing one and all a very happy Diwali.

PS. Here's a glimpse of our cracker craze!

Let there be light

It is that time of the year again. Back home, of course.
Diwali, our festival of lights.

When the beautiful diyas on everyone's front porches do the talking... When their orange-yellow flames envelop all in a tight bond of love and togetherness... When the air is filled with the boom and roar of colorful firecrackers... When happiness is all you could smell and be... When the tempting aroma of sweets wafts from warm homes...
When it feels all is well. And even if it isn't, it will be. Someday it has to be.

This time, I won't do my regular share of homesickness rant here that I am so used to during these festive times. Instead I will show you the sparkling diyas that lighted our home and warmed our hearts this evening. I also made gulab jamun, a traditional Diwali fare which is dumplings made from milk powder dough which are deep fried and then soaked in a fragrant rose syrup. And yes, the garnish includes crushed almonds and pistachios.

Here is a glimpse of the little India that the husband and I put together this evening.
Wish you all a very happy Diwali, dear friends.