Diwali - I remember

Diwali mornings had a magic of their own. We’d start early, collecting bright flowers and leaves from the garden, ready to transform them into a rangoli masterpiece. My cousin, sister and I would sit around, arranging petals and leaves in colorful patterns in the living room.

Inside, the warm, comforting aroma of sweets filled the air as my mom and aunt worked together in the kitchen. Each ladle dipped into the hot oil sizzled with the promise of something delicious. My mouth watered as I tried to sneak a piece, and they shooed me away with a laugh.

Then, it was time for the hot oil bath, a ritual both dreaded and cherished. Mom would pour the oil over our heads, muttering blessings, and we’d stand there, slippery and impatient to rinse off and get into our new clothes.

Afterward, we gathered for the pooja, offering thanks to Goddess Lakshmi and lighting diyas all around the house. As twilight set in, the flickering glow turned our home into a warm, welcoming beacon of light and joy.

Finally, that much-awaited moment arrived—the first *bijli pataka* of the day. As it burst in a crackling fire of sound, I’d jump back, caught between fear and thrill, while everyone laughed and cheered.

Looking back, those simple moments made Diwali unforgettable. It wasn’t just about the lights and sweets; it was the laughter, warmth, and love of family wrapped in tradition.

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A cry not heard!

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