Recapture the magic

Can we ever recapture the magic ? The magic of childhood memories. The anticipation, the excitement, the joy? Before Christmas, decorating the tree, hanging up stockings, going carol singing, listening for Santa’s sleigh, the thrill that milk and cookies are eaten, opening presents and sneaking in the baby Jesus somewhere.

 Another Diwali comes up. The Festival of Lights. The victory of good over evil. The victory of Lord Ram aided by his brother Lakshman, the monkey god Hanuman and a mythology full of magical creatures and devotees over Ravan, the king of Srilanka, who had abducted Ram’s wife Sita. The celebration of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, who will come in your home if you light it up to welcome her. The New year, celebrated after a month of shraadh, when the ancestors are remembered, not an auspicious time for weddings or business deals, where life is slowed down to pay homage to the past.

Diwali starts with cleaning and whitewashing the house. The home is decorated with shiny things, a rice powder painting is done on the floor at the entrance, a rangoli in beautiful colors. New clothes and jewelry is bought. Decorated 2 pound boxes of Indian sweets are purchased by the dozen to be distributed to family, friends and neighbors. Small home religious ceremonies (the poojas) are held in every Hindu household. The kitchen is a bustle with special dishes being prepared to eat and to share. The little earthenware shallow bowls called diyas are set out and loaded with oil or ghee and the hand rolled cotton wicks are lit. These line the entrance to the house, the window, the pathways, the gate.

Folks gather on roofs or in gardens or driveways and the fireworks start, usually all hand held. The rockets that shoot up and explode in brilliant multicolor circles, the Roman candles, the spinners, the fountains, the wheelies, the garlic shaped poppers that snap on the ground, smoke bombs, sizzling uncoiling fiery snake firecrackers, the monorail ones dangling from tree to balcony, the flaming arrows, the booming noises, the crackling and spitting of sparkly light. Adults and children run around with sparklers. Its bright, its noisy, its colorful, its exciting, its fun.

Then is the family and friends dinner, the food, the drinks, and the adults play cards. The night is long, and then we rest.

Now we still celebrate it, we still do the same things, there is a spirit of bonhomie, the friends call, the parties continue,we dress up,  the kids do fireworks and it feels nostalgic more than fun. Rozzi’s is open for Diwali, we stand in line at Brij Mohan to buy special sweets and savories, we bow to the gods, we light the diyas, we enjoy it all, but it is not the magical event it once was. I loved the magic, I miss the magic.