Another Deepavali has just come and gone. Bidding farewell to the festival of lights has always left me with pangs of longing for another Deepavali. It was like this, even decades ago, when I was a child, and it is so even now, when I am a senior citizen at 63.

In the plethora of Hindu festivals around the year, Deepavali is arguably the most exciting, especially for children. More than the sweets, the main attraction for the kids, is undeniably the fireworks and sparklers.

DAMPENER ON FESTIVITIES

Though I understand the damage that fireworks cause to the environment, it was with a tinge of sadness that I read recently that increasing ecological awareness, rising prices and campaigns against fireworks have led to a gradual decline in the bursting of bombs and lighting of sparklers by children. It troubles my heart to see the ‘grown-up behaviour' of the kids. Obviously, this has made the sale of fireworks fall. According to a survey, the demand for fireworks is estimated to have fallen by 35 per cent to 40 per cent this year. There was less noise, less fumes and less pollution.

It is depressing to realise how today's children miss a lot of the innocent fun that was once associated with Deepavali. For a variety of reasons, such as early schooling that begins before the child barely learns to walk, today's kids age faster and tragically lose their childhood much ahead of time. Precocity is now a forced phenomenon. They don't know the simple pleasures associated with the festival of lights.

UP BEFORE DAYBREAK

In the good, old days, one could smell the sweet scent of Deepavali even a couple of weeks ahead, during the time of Navaratri. A child of the 1950s, I would savour the flavour of the festival in the distant sound of the fireworks bursting in the neighbourhood. I smelt its sweet smell in the fumes they produced. I saw its light in the silvery sparkler that lit up the sky now and again.

On the cool and misty morning of Deepavali, one woke up much before daybreak. In fact, one never slept the night before, as one kept awake with sheer excitement. My father, a sales representative of the erstwhile Lever Brothers, would buy fireworks from the wholesale merchants at Sivakasi. For Rs 30 to 40 (no little amount during 1950s), he would get a score or more boxes of fireworks at least two weeks before the festival. For days together before Deepavali, the fireworks, having colourful images of Hindu gods and goddesses, would be put under the sun to remove dampness due to the coinciding rainy season.

It was really exciting to keep watch as we waited for D-Day. On Deepavli eve, my father would distribute them among us — five brothers, and a couple of cousins who lived with us. These we lit up in a few hours, from the hours preceding daybreak, to the approaching rays of the sun. Suddenly, all the festivities would come to a stop for us, the kids. Only then would we become aware of the brand, new dress we were wearing, and the awaiting sweets and savouries that hardly excited us. There was then a strange feeling of sadness and longing. It was a depressing thought that one had to wait for one more year for another Deepavali.

And so it is, every year. I guess you never really outgrow Deepavali indulgences.

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