<p>In my first year of living in Mumbai, I discovered, most unpleasantly, that the Diwali (Deepavali, down South) festival was not how I thought it would be. I’d envisaged the gentle glow of diyas and fireworks radiantly painting the sky. What I didn’t expect, but experienced, was a bomb cracker exploding right next to me in the street. It was so deafening it affected my unprotected ears for days and left me feeling traumatised. This caused me to dread, and even dislike Diwali. I feared going outside and cringed with every thunderous boom, while wanting to join the dogs of India in hiding under a bed. My despair peaked one Diwali at around 3 am, after bomb blasts at frequent intervals over a preceding couple of hours, despite there being a hospital in the vicinity.</p>.<p>Usually, I find that if I understand the reason for something, it helps me accept it. So, I searched for reasons as to why anyone would want to make a din so deathly that it resembles the advent of an apocalypse. Crackers supposedly scare evil spirits away, therefore the louder the better (although, if I was an evil spirit, I’m pretty sure I’d revel in such a cacophony. Light, no thanks). Of course, there’s more to it than that though. Apparently, men feel masculine and brave when they blow up bombs. They get a buzz from it. And they like to show off by being louder than their neighbours and friends. Diwali, it seems, justifies this production of excruciating noise pollution for pleasure, wherever and whenever. Never mind that such reckless actions injure, and kill, people and animals. I couldn’t help wondering, how is it in keeping with the traditional meaning of Diwali? Isn’t peace-loving Goddess Lakshmi, who visits on Diwali, adverse to destructive forces and jarring sounds? Isn’t Diwali a time for introspecting, and shedding light on our own demons and darkness? Isn’t it incongruous to disturb and endanger others for a brief thrill?</p>.<p>If it wasn’t for the way my in-laws celebrate Diwali, I dare say I may never have appreciated or enjoyed the festival. They’re from Odisha, where Diwali is dedicated to farewelling ancestors. It’s believed that the souls of ancestors descend to earth on Mahalaya and return to their abode on Diwali. While the ancestors are here, they give blessings and are worshipped, and then on Diwali the path for their journey back to a higher realm is illuminated. This ritual is called Badabadua Daka. It involves lighting diyas and sugarcane (or jute) sticks, and chanting a verse that translates as, “Oh great forefathers, come in darkness and go back along the lighted path.” The whole family participates in the ritual together. Sparklers and low-decibel crackers follow. To me, there’s something profound and uplifting about it all. It’s comforting to be able to connect with ancestors in such a way, to have them present, and to honour and guide them.</p>.<p>As Diwali approaches, the focus is again on crackers. Will there be a big shift in behaviour this year? Restrictions are tougher, given the pandemic and air pollution. In Mumbai, all crackers are banned, except for sparklers and flowerpot anars in private on the main day of the festival. However, the government only announced the ban in the week leading up to Diwali. Vendors had already purchased and sold stock, bombs included. According to news reports, turnover was much lower than usual. How many people will choose to put health and the environment first? It’s definitely quieter. I’ve heard just one round of crackers so far before the start of Diwali. I’m not completely against crackers. However, it’s clearly time for change, with regulated eco-friendly options being the way forward.</p>
<p>In my first year of living in Mumbai, I discovered, most unpleasantly, that the Diwali (Deepavali, down South) festival was not how I thought it would be. I’d envisaged the gentle glow of diyas and fireworks radiantly painting the sky. What I didn’t expect, but experienced, was a bomb cracker exploding right next to me in the street. It was so deafening it affected my unprotected ears for days and left me feeling traumatised. This caused me to dread, and even dislike Diwali. I feared going outside and cringed with every thunderous boom, while wanting to join the dogs of India in hiding under a bed. My despair peaked one Diwali at around 3 am, after bomb blasts at frequent intervals over a preceding couple of hours, despite there being a hospital in the vicinity.</p>.<p>Usually, I find that if I understand the reason for something, it helps me accept it. So, I searched for reasons as to why anyone would want to make a din so deathly that it resembles the advent of an apocalypse. Crackers supposedly scare evil spirits away, therefore the louder the better (although, if I was an evil spirit, I’m pretty sure I’d revel in such a cacophony. Light, no thanks). Of course, there’s more to it than that though. Apparently, men feel masculine and brave when they blow up bombs. They get a buzz from it. And they like to show off by being louder than their neighbours and friends. Diwali, it seems, justifies this production of excruciating noise pollution for pleasure, wherever and whenever. Never mind that such reckless actions injure, and kill, people and animals. I couldn’t help wondering, how is it in keeping with the traditional meaning of Diwali? Isn’t peace-loving Goddess Lakshmi, who visits on Diwali, adverse to destructive forces and jarring sounds? Isn’t Diwali a time for introspecting, and shedding light on our own demons and darkness? Isn’t it incongruous to disturb and endanger others for a brief thrill?</p>.<p>If it wasn’t for the way my in-laws celebrate Diwali, I dare say I may never have appreciated or enjoyed the festival. They’re from Odisha, where Diwali is dedicated to farewelling ancestors. It’s believed that the souls of ancestors descend to earth on Mahalaya and return to their abode on Diwali. While the ancestors are here, they give blessings and are worshipped, and then on Diwali the path for their journey back to a higher realm is illuminated. This ritual is called Badabadua Daka. It involves lighting diyas and sugarcane (or jute) sticks, and chanting a verse that translates as, “Oh great forefathers, come in darkness and go back along the lighted path.” The whole family participates in the ritual together. Sparklers and low-decibel crackers follow. To me, there’s something profound and uplifting about it all. It’s comforting to be able to connect with ancestors in such a way, to have them present, and to honour and guide them.</p>.<p>As Diwali approaches, the focus is again on crackers. Will there be a big shift in behaviour this year? Restrictions are tougher, given the pandemic and air pollution. In Mumbai, all crackers are banned, except for sparklers and flowerpot anars in private on the main day of the festival. However, the government only announced the ban in the week leading up to Diwali. Vendors had already purchased and sold stock, bombs included. According to news reports, turnover was much lower than usual. How many people will choose to put health and the environment first? It’s definitely quieter. I’ve heard just one round of crackers so far before the start of Diwali. I’m not completely against crackers. However, it’s clearly time for change, with regulated eco-friendly options being the way forward.</p>