I was glowing in my yellow and purple lehenga. It was the same one I’d worn at my engagement 8 months back. The little pregnancy bump was visible only to me. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. A mature woman stared back at me. Before I had time to dwell on it, I heard Sumeet shouting, “Honey, are you ready? We are getting late for the Laxmi Pujan! Mahurat nikla jaa raha hai!”
I smiled. He and his family were obsessed with these little details known as “Mahurats” or “Auspicious time”. They followed it down to the seconds!
I walked into the living room. The OHP rangoli I had painstakingly made with kundan lay glittering on the floor. The house looked regal with all the oil lamps and fresh marigold flowers.
We headed out to our other house in the same society where the remainder of our family lived. A gigantic peacock rangoli greeted us at the entry. Our nephews were running about with phooljhadis in hand. I ran a hand fondly over my tummy. This time next year, I’d have my own baby running around gleefully bursting crackers. All ten of us bundled into the car and headed to my father-in-law’s shop. That’s where our long night of laxmi pujans would begin!
I was awestruck at the preparations. Platters and platters of flowers, the frames of goddess Laxmi decorated with sandalwood. Huge banana leaves flanked the entire set-up. Piles of mithai lay in offering to the idols of lord Ganesha and the goddess of wealth. My father-im-law kept chanting mantras. Everyone in the family swayed as though in trance. I was the only one peeping from under my lashes. I had never witnessed a puja at this scale and of such fervour!
Pujan back at home at my parents’ was a very simple affair. I had been brought up in a nuclear family of four. We were a close knit bunch, very reclusive, private people who celebrated the Festival of Diwali in a simple way. As kids we would drag our parents off to our uncle’s place. We cousins would go crazy with firecrackers, mothers would gossip, dads would sit around with beer and chakna. As we grew older, we started losing interest in going anywhere or in bursting crackers. Environment mattered more and we preferred investing the cracker money on new phones. We would buy new clothes, dress up in our finery and chill at home after a five minute “aarti” thanking Laxmi mata for blessing us with everything we had. Post this we had our diwali photo sessions, without fail. From pulling stupid faces to creating magical family photos, we did it all, every year, without fail. We needed profile pictures for facebook after all! Dinner consisted of kheer puri, which mom prepared in the afternoon itself so that we could peacefully eat and watch the beautiful rocket show in the skies. Everyone in our apartment building would be happily asleep by 10 even on Diwali.
I was jolted back to the present when my husband lightly pressed some sweet meat into my palm. “Prasad! Eat!” He smiled at me.
All of us then headed off to my father-in-laws elder brother’s house. There another session of Laxmi Pujan ensued. Everywhere you could hear his voice booming. “Papa is the unofficial pujari in our family!” Chuckled my husband when I asked him.
We both laughed as we walked hand in hand to another uncle’s house across the street.
By the end of the night, we had done five Laxmi Pujas and were yet to complete the formalities at our own abode. It was well past 1 a.m by the time we reached home. Diwali was officially over. But for us it had just begun. I have no idea where my father-in-law got the energy, but if possible, his voice shook the entire society awake as my husband and I took the Puja thaal as the newly married couple, to perform the aarti.
All the uncles, their families, kids, had joined us at our home. The hall was filled to bursting point. I stared saucer eyed as everyone tore the covers off ladi-bombs. The silence of the night shattered as Deepawali began in earnest at the Agarwal residence. The responsible citizen in me wanted to tell them to stop, but the “bahu” in me was having one hell of a time. I gathered up my ghagra and ran from potflower to potflower, squealing in glee when after a whoosh a hundred sparks flew out in fountains. I danced on “chakras” till I could stand no more. I gorged on sweets till my tummy hurt.
Finally, the watchman came, waving his laathi threateningly. I hurried to him with a tray full of homemade sweets, gifts for his children and a bag of crackers. He smiled crookedly and let us continue our frolicking.
That night, or should I say morning, as I lay in bed, I heard my phone beep.
“We missed you motu,” it read. Mom looked stunning in her silk saree. I looked at her display picture on whatsapp and let the tears flow.
It was my first diwali away from home in my new home, with a new family.
This is my entry for the https://www.gharwalidiwali.com
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P.s. This video literally had me in tears. Please please don’t forget to wish your loved ones and be nice to people in general. You just never know when they’ll stop being around!
Sunkissed 