The Day Before Diwali

Betwixt eleven and the witching hour the power decided that enough was enough. Over a thousand geysers switched on and double that many visitors in a frenzy to take a bath: not because they needed one, arriving as they did in air-conditioned vehicles – but because it was raining and cold.

The cold necessitated heaters. These were instantly switched on by those waiting to shower – and those that had no intention of taking one – and, if that were not enough, each room had every light switched on.

That was it … In a huff the power shut off abruptly.

There were plenty of ‘bang-bangs’ in the darkened night heralding Diwali. In the true spirit of celebrating the festival of light it is perhaps mere courtesy too, directed at those who have come: a reminder of sorts to tell them why they were here. Now they are rudely made aware that the big day is less than twenty-four-hours away.

To add to the insanity there is some moron mouthing sweet nothings in the wind.

As a people, we have a tendency to defy any court rulings; especially so where levels of sound are concerned. Of course they are in complete contradiction to the law … but nobody chooses to complain, much less obey such venal decrees!

So much for the Supreme Court's diktat on green crackers – it merely serves to drive an entire nation nuts. Painting Chinese atom bombs green is not what they meant: not that our lot would waste time with that anyway. Time is precious and we are precocious.

And if the night wasn’t loud enough already, the gods above got into the act. A bewildered Vlodomyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy, searching for his promised Tomahawk missiles was looking in all the wrong places: the villain was in the sky.

Even as Beethoven’s tenth was blasted from the firmament, with a larger than life son et lumière show … and the gods frowning in disdain at the limp display below … The notion is disputed.

A section, from the land of the Mahatma, says that the performance has nothing to do with the gods. It was their contention that some wag had made his way into the Pentagon and stolen the entire kit and caboodle of America’s firepower.

It might well have been Kash Patel but there is no evidence of that. Be that as it may it is something to behold!

Simultaneously the entire conflict between the Pandavas and Kauravas continues across the pitch black night. It goes on to highlight the war between Rama and Ravana; concluding with the perennial battle between the Devas and Asuras, which probably caused the redoubtable Bethoven to completely lose his hearing.

Dawn brings with it its own chorus. After all it is the Sabbath and yelling from pulpits and elevated platforms by repugnant creatures begin moaning the morning away.

Someone is selling fish using a loudspeaker!

In their earnest desire to let the world and beyond know how they feel, there’s no better way than turning to ubiquitous loudspeakers. It’s the only way to vent their egos directly into outer space: what a pity there is no vehicle to transport them there.

It’s not the message that counts any longer. It’s all about who shouts loudest; where devious means are resorted to, to promulgate louder and louder decibel levels. Be it the intensity of the spoken word or the power of the omnipresent fire cracker, hideous insensitivity wins the day!

The day-before-Diwali is renowned too for diabetic agony. Every Indian has a sweet-tooth. With over a tenth of the population suffering from diabetes the populace must fight the urge to consume boxes of delicious goodies brought to the doorstep.

But there are thoughtful folk too. Knowing that Indian sweets are silent killers they bring instead cakes with rich slatherings of icing! That is so considerate …

In a land where sweetness is sacred, even insulin must bow before tradition. Nothing is sacred as dogs cower under beds; wild animals, frightened out of their wits, hide in holes and belligerent elephant’s block roads, questioning motorists about what the Dickens is going on!

Milk curdles under a combination of cacophony and the lack of refrigeration brought on by the lack of power; it adds to the chores of housewives who now have the added responsibility of converting it to paneer and chaas.

There’s no more milk to be had. The household cow is nowhere to be seen. It has broken its moorings and it wouldn’t be any surprise at all if it has jumped over some proverbial moon!

Yet beneath the din, there lingers something timeless. The laughter of neighbours, the mingled aroma of ghee and incense, the shared exchange of sweets and smiles that all fuse into a warm glow that no power failure can extinguish.

The day before Diwali may be chaotic, deafening, and absurd, but it is also irresistibly alive.