Indian arrested for street fire cracker display in Melbourne...

...or that WILL be the headline if I decide to get on the road, like India, like home, and throw some patak bombs and a couple of anars. Some would think I have terrorist links. If I were to decorate the outside of my house with candles and diyas, it would be deemed a fire hazard. Sigh. HAPPY DIWALI everyone!

Other than screaming HAPPY DIWALI in all-caps on this blog, there is no "feel" of Diwali. Dussehra too went by without a whimper, no lights, no new clothes and no Ravan burning. At least I can blame Hindustan Times for the new clothes; had they paid me on time -- and in full since I am still expecting payment from them -- I would have bought something new.

For the first time in years, my house will be dark on Diwali. Last year, November 7th was the date, Partner, my brother and myself had stood on the fourth floor terrace of my New Delhi home and enjoyed the crackers going off in the haze-filled Delhi horizons. Golu and Loona, my dogs, had run across the terrace in mad circles barking at the rockets that whooshed atop us and exploded in myriad coloured sparks... Year after year, newspaper and website headlines have screamed how Diwali is disastrous for Delhi pollution.

Maybe I am being selfish, but oh! How I would love to have the peace on my "street" (there are only streets, no colonies here) disturbed by kids setting off random loud break-your-window-pane bombs or the 1000-strong ladi. I have always--- HAD always -- loved looking at the bedecked houses, some with fairy lights, some with diyas and others with candles as they stood trying to twinkle amid the smoke and the smell of explosives. I LOVE that smell though have been known to be a big coward when it comes to igniting the fuse on the 'bombs'. I am the stuff-my-fingers-in-my-ears type of person and usually enjoy crackers -- bomb variety -- standing behind someone else. Or used to enjoy...

Diwali with my parents and brother meant cleaning up, dressing up in Indian finery, arranging the candles and diyas on a big plate and going around the house, decorating it with lights. That was Ma and my duty. The boys -- Dad and bro -- were in charge of the crackers and entertainment. Every Diwali, Dad would wait patiently to find the perfect bottle to hold the rocket stem so that it would rise really high...

As I grew, Diwali also became synonymous with betting and gambling. I know friends in Delhi who live for the Diwali time gambling. Interestingly, this period is also one of gambling in Australia-- or at least Victoria state -- though it's on horses. It's the derby season, November 4th being the Derby day. Like most festivals, most celebration is about drinking. Birthday? Let's drink. Anniversary? Let's drink. Christmas? Let's drink. Marriage? Let's drink. Boxing Day? Let's drink. Anzac Day? Let's drink. Hmmm...

So I reported to work at 7 am and I'm currently supposed to be working on a business proposal that has to be submitted coming Monday. It's part of the coursework. And am wearing a grey noodle-strapped top (called a 'singlet' here), jeans and there is no indication around me that today is one of the biggest festivals in India.

I miss Diwali. I miss India... I miss being with the menwhopause (last four Diwalis), I miss Ma-Pa and Bhai, I miss the rangoli that office would have, I miss the free Diwali office gift (even though most would bitch about it later), I miss schools signing no-fire-cracker campaigns, I miss old people tut-tutting at young people who delight in startling people with sudden bombs. I miss narkol nadu at Lokkhi pujo. I miss houses looking beautiful...

I really, really miss home. I am sorry I've not written for this long. For once, I am keeping all Diwali messages in my inbox.... and am craving my phone buzzing with greetings and wishes. It stays silent though. It's now an international number.

Oh Golu.

PS: To You who has been mailing and I have not replied; no, I am not heartless. I don't know what to write back. Yes, I am in good health and considerable good spirit. But something yearns.

to DJ: I had never realised how much those mid0-week cups of coffee meant to me. I miss you terribly too.

to menwhopause: thankyou for all the times when alone in Delhi, I celebrated festivals with you boys. From Holi, Diwali to Christmas...