Today, Father and I scavenged for fairy lights after having tested my mother's patience and constant calls for “sabke yahaan lag gayi”. And, we still haven’t been able to find them!.
Currently I am dreading receiving and replying to “Happy Diwali” messages that will fill my WhatsApp tomorrow, not just from friends but “conscientious (?)” relatives who miss no chance to call on Diwali but suddenly go off the grid when rumors of their dearest daughter being seen sitting behind a boy on his bike start spreading. The fiery words “Tumne suna, Tina ne kya kia” start under my aunt's Jhumka till it reaches some distant Mintoo maama’s ears who is just about to cut himself while shaving, because the gossip on Tina that his wife brings is far more interesting and has distracted him for good. I have decided to call that poor girl Tina because my understanding of the name is shaped by bollywood who is cruel to Tina and makes sure that she has a classic mild under her salwar.
What do these festivals mean anyway? Holi, which I loved growing up, is suddenly threatening because the faces with whom I enjoyed playing it with aren’t there anymore and the water on my Tshirt might just accentuate my bulging waist showing every laddoo that I chose to have. But thankfully, Mr Sharma, my neighbor, would give the queer community some sign of acceptance, judging by him suddenly embracing all Gulaal and the colours on the rainbow flag.
Diwali this year is no different. The Delhi air is pristine as ever and to add on to the brunt of burnt- stubble-flavored air, our Delhiites vest their egos in the fact that who did the best jugaad and arranged for illegal crackers from a certain shady ‘Monu bhaiya’ who the Delhi police is trying to get hold of after several unsuccessful sting operations.
The only difference is that the world in which it is celebrated today is a pinch more brutal, more orphaned, more childless, more unloved, more abandoned and more amputated.
Father has just discovered the fairy lights resting in a sad corner of the shoe cupboard and turns out they are not working. I can sense a frustration in him and maybe in his sincere attempt in finding them (considering I gave up and starting writing this and he still continued) he was looking for a chance to feel like his family belonged among the neighbour's houses adorned with fairy lights.
So Happy Diwali to everyone, especially to Tina, because I hope she was able to convince her parents that the guy she was sitting behind was actually like her brother and the cigarettes in her drawer were in fact herbal. Meanwhile, I will dance to the heavily produced beats of “Kinna Sohna” by Bally Sagoo.