A Deepavali Night Stroll: Scenes from the Streets

The sun was making its steady descent on the horizon (because every story starts with a nod to the skies), casting its orange-yellow tint all over the streets. It was only a matter of minutes before the lanes and buildings were bathed in darkness, only to be lit up by fluorescent lights shimmering into life. I pulled up my socks, slid my feet into my grey shoes, tightened the lace and stepped out. Alas, this wasn’t an evening like any other, this happens only once a year! It is Deepavali!

As I made my way away from the thoroughfare, into the cozier lanes lined with trees and parked vehicles, I could see small troops of 2s, 3s and 4s, on the streets, with smatterings of different coloured lights and echoes of crackling crackers across the block.

I first chanced upon a young family - father, mother and a son likely not older than 5 or 6 years. They had the foot-long version of the lighter used to light up firecrackers. The dad was holding the son’s outstretched hand which in turn held the lighter, as they edged towards the tiny fuse of a Lakshmi vedi. Slight jerks in what should have otherwise been a fluid flow told me the son was still getting used to the idea of firecrackers. I remained an observer in the shadows as they edged closer and closer till even I could see a bright red dot take steady hold on the firework’s thin white fuse. Within seconds, the father – son duo was a safe distance away, watching in excitement and anticipation. Boom. I move on.

I made a left turn and before me was an early 20s woman and an older lady I presumed to be her grandmother. She was uncoiling a rather long wiry red package, the unmistakable sight of a “10,000 wala” or a garland cracker. I worked up my courage, walked up to her and asked if she was okay if I lingered to take some photos of the cracker bursting; after a momentary confused look, she agreed. The grandmother was giving me a quizzical look from within the house compound, safely away from any potential misfiring of the cracker. The woman lit up the cracker and joined her grandma. Without much ado came the customary rapid sequence of sharp popping sounds and I whipped out my phone and crouched to get a low angle. I got in a good 5-10 shots and a short video as well. I waited for the woman to emerge, gave her a friendly wave, mouthed thank you and moved on.

Few streets further along, the sound of exuberant voices filled my ear before the staccato pops of crackers. It sounded like a grand family gathering - I counted at least 11 people, of different generations and genders. At least three of them were busy either waiting their turn to ignite the cracker carefully set on the road or making their way back to get their hand on the next one from the stash of crackers. It was a heartwarming sight - smiles all round, flowerpots lighting up the scene for those precious few seconds as eleven pairs of eyes locked on to the sudden splash of light.

I was met with a gang of guys next. What indeed is Deepavali without a boisterous but civil (oxymoron? Yes) group of guys spilling out on the streets for some adventures (and hopefully no misadventures)? True to the cliches, the name of the game here was rockets - bomb rockets and whistling rockets. I turned away as the second whistling rocket screeched into the sky past a bent branch of a wayside tree.

The time was around 9.30pm as I passed a classic “tea shop”. Glancing over, I wondered what were these three – four adult males doing here on a Deepavali night, sipping tea? Maybe these are folks away from home - here for their livelihoods, maybe they are squeezing in a few quiet moments away from the humdrum, maybe they aren’t celebrating this year, maybe all of them are thinking the same thing - wouldn’t it be better if they were back in their hometowns? I’ll never know their stories.

Largely content with my own little neighbourhood tour, I paused for the police patrol jeep to swish past me as I crossed the road and into my home. The night hummed around me - bursts of explosions near and far, soft beams of streetlamps and vehicle headlights slicing through the smoky air, and a gentle breeze carried the lingering scent of spent firecrackers.

In those passing moments, I was reminded that there is lot more depth to the seemingly mindless drone and routine of the city’s daily grind. And that there are a thousand untold stories, moments and emotions in every street, every day.