When the lights went missing

Tini Sara Anien writes about how a pair of twins discover the true meaning of Deepavali.

"Deepavali without lights? That’s like cake without frosting!” Aarav whined.

His twin sister, Meera, looked up from the floor where she was sitting. “Calm down, Aarav. It’s probably just a power cut.”

But it wasn’t. The entire street — every window and balcony — was dark. Even the stars were missing from the sky.

“Something’s wrong…,” said Aarav, adding, “Deepavali, the festival of lights, is tomorrow! How can we celebrate if there are no lights?”

Dadi, their grandmother, sighed while polishing a silver diya, meant for puja. “I just called up the folks at the electricity board. They say it will take a whole day to fix the issue. We’ll have to manage with candles and diyas till then,” she said.

Aarav slumped onto the sofa dramatically. “Manage? We were supposed to have the brightest house in the lane! I told Rohan we would beat his fairy lights arrangement this year,” said the seven-year-old.

Meera rolled her eyes and said, “The festival isn’t about competing — isn’t it about celebrating the festive spirit together?”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who claimed I would win!” retorted Aarav.

Dadi smiled as she listened to their banter. “You know, when I was a child, we didn’t have fairy lights or lanterns. Everyone helped each other. We shared whatever diyas we had, and somehow, it always seemed enough,” she recalled.

That night, Aarav couldn’t sleep. He sat up and looked out into the dark street. Even the mango tree looked gloomy, its leaves still. Suddenly, something flew past his window. 

“Fireflies!” he whispered. Hundreds of them twinkled in the nearby park like tiny lamps.

An idea struck him like a spark. The next morning, Aarav ran into the kitchen. “Operation Deepavali Lights begins now!”

Meera, who was enjoying her breakfast, nearly dropped her toast. “What operation?” she asked.

“We are going to find lights that can shine without electricity!” Aarav grinned. Meera was curious and followed him.

They stopped at the park. Aarav was carrying a medium-sized mason jar. Meera was skeptical. “You think we can light up our balcony with bugs?” she asked.

“Fireflies are nature’s fairy lights!” Aarav said excitedly, trying to trap a firefly in the jar. It buzzed away.

“You can’t just catch light, Aarav,” Meera giggled. “Also, maybe the flies don’t want to be trapped.”

Aarav frowned. “You’re right. Maybe I was looking at this the wrong way.”

Suddenly, a group of boys appeared, led by Rohan. “Hey, Aarav! Heard your house is going to be the darkest this year,” he said, teasingly. Aarav pointed at the fireflies. “I had a plan, but it failed,” he admitted.

Rohan snorted. “You were going to decorate your house with bugs? That’s… eww.”

Meera jumped right in. “At least our lights wouldn’t need batteries.”

The boys laughed and walked off, calling their house “the bug house!” Aarav’s shoulders drooped.

But Meera looked at the fireflies and shook her head. “Maybe we just need to make a different kind of light.”

Back home, she rummaged through their art box. “What if we make lanterns out of old jars and paper — like in Dadi’s time, when people made their own lights?”

Soon, their table was covered with glue, glitter, coloured paper, and chaos. Aarav painted faces on jars — happy, sleepy, even a goofy one that looked like Rohan.

They worked all afternoon, laughing, arguing, and accidentally gluing Aarav’s sleeve to newspaper sheets. By evening, they had a dozen lanterns. But there was still one problem.

“How do we light them?” Aarav asked.

Just then, Dadi entered with a box of tiny clay diyas. “I thought you might need these,” she said, smiling.

They placed the diyas inside each jar and along the balcony railings. The light glowed through the jars, painting the walls in orange, blue, pink and yellow hues.

Neighbours peeked out of their windows, smiling. Soon, Rohan and his friends came running. “Whoa! Your house looks like a rainbow!” he exclaimed.

Aarav grinned and did a victory dance while Meera clapped.

The boys asked if they could make some lanterns too. Aarav and Meera shared their leftover jars and papers, and taught them how to make them. Soon, the entire lane was glowing with these handmade lights.

Dadi watched on, her eyes shining. “Looks like the light has returned after all.”

Later that night, Aarav asked softly, “Dadi, do you think we won the competition this year?”

She smiled. “You didn’t just win, beta. You reminded everyone what the festival is really about.”

Meera asked, “About diyas?”

“No,” said Dadi, putting an arm around the twins. “About bringing light where there’s darkness — not just outside, but inside too. You helped others shine. That’s what truly makes the festival special.”

Everyone laughed and cheered, enjoying their favourite sweets that their neighbours and Rohan had brought over.

As the soft glow of their lanterns filled the street, Aarav whispered, “This might actually be the warmest and brightest Deepavali ever.”