This Diwali has been a happy one, but still bittersweet, filled with memories of my distant childhood where we actually celebrated Diwali in a large Hindu family, and of course my father was still alive and always made it special.

I think I’m old enough to use phrases like “when I was young….” And yes, when I was young our convent school celebrated Diwali and Christmas with gusto and proper holidays after exams were held. We enjoyed all the holidays without studying unless one was a complete nerd, and I’m sure plenty of us did and lied about the swotting. I don’t remember touching school books, only holidays with extended trips to Matheran or two weeks of fun and only fun at home in Bombay.

If we were home there was an endless supply of brightly wrapped paper boxes filled with sweets and dryfruits to be sent out, receiving as many in return.

There was always a grand chopdi poojan and Laxmi Poojan in the family office, shared with my Dada and kakas. Surrounded by old fashioned vaults, armoires of painted steel, my Dada had a huge desk we could play hide and seek under. The Pooja would go on, the pandit droning on swaha swaha for hours and hours, while we lingered for the mithai and the blazing arati and vermilion tikkas on our forehead. There were huge framed posters of the goddesses in their finery, banana leaves, coconuts, smoke and ghee, piles of fruit and sweets, statues of the gods and the dhoti clad punditji.

There were lunches and chaat parties with the large Dossa- Shroff – Bhatia- Merchant- Ashar Clan, at my Dada’s large old house on Pedder Road. We sat on the floor, on cotton rugs, shining steel thalis on flat wooden patlas before us as we, the children, were hauled in from mischief in scratchy ghahghara cholis and shiny new clothes, and served first. Hot rotis with dollops of ghee, lachhko dal, bhinda, khandvi, a myriad of chutneys and pickles and sweet, savory and spicy. Till today, I love Gujarati thalis the most, the sweet sour dahi kadhi, tamata bateta nu shaak, fulavar peas, chaas and more. All vegetarian. All sweet and tangy, tart and hot.

Nights were filled with visits to Hindu Gymkhana on Marine drive for plates of jalebi ghatia and masala chai in the lawns. Or the CCI for and chaat. Ravan Dehan and Ram Leela on Chowpatty Beach. Watching Dada play chaupat at Merchant’s Club and eating more jalebi ghatia.

And crackers. We would always have a giant carton of noise free crackers, all the latest ones from Mohammadali Road. Papa just didn’t buy bombs or ladis, but plenty of extraordinary light shows were had each evening with all our neighbours on the building terrace.

This year has been filled with so much loss it doesn’t feel celebratory at all.

I just wanted a happy diwali, without any negativity or sadness, and we managed that due to some amazing friends. It was a difficult week with Piggy’s passing away, so much having changed at home, the new normal; plus the firecrackers never ceased and the animals were just terrified. I have been stricken by the friendly flu going around, did I get it at work or did I get it from any of my friends?

My dearest friend is reeling from a series of crises, as is my own home. How she is holding up and holding on is a miracle. She is the sunniest, most positive woman I know but this time she seems stricken by life. Sucks.

For us, losing our beloved dog after almost 19, yes nineteen years, was really, really hard. Piggy was surrounded by almost all the people who loved him and came to be by his side as he was euthanized. Piggy went happy, his belly full of lemon cake, pate and sausage. His bed is still there, and only the big ginger cat dares to claim it.

For me, I am reminded of my loss every time the house is silent without his stacatto bark reverberating across the society, his deep, insistent bark. He was little, but he was fierce. No, he was Mighty. Piggy had a truly Might Heart.

So Diwali was a sombre affair with barely any enthusiasm to feast, shop or dress up. I was getting over my internal struggles and making my peace with life, incidents continue to trigger, occuring with alarming regularity.

Something changed inside me, I managed to find some light though we did even less than we always do. This year there were no diyas, or flowers, or parties save the annual one at Ambica’s. There was hardly any mithai, no desire for new clothes. And yet, it was happy. Because Maa, The Child and I were together. Though I was in bed with a ghastly viral and Piggy had just departed after nearly nineteen years as our beloved Protector.

I reflected and shrugged and said, diwali is still about light. And we light up our own lives. It is really, all the light you cannot see. It comes from the soul.

Happy Diwali…. May you always be filled with light too.