Finally, Deepawali is over a weekend. Something intrinsically wrong about getting up and having to go to work on a day I associate with afternoon snooze and a lovely breakfast. Among other things, I’m recovering from the flu, and the constant cough and cold makes me feel like I am in Delhi. Mostly because the festival of lights and shredded tamil newspaper gave my lungs a tough time and I spent many of my Deepawalis trying to avoid a coughing fit.
I have a strange relationship with this festival. From being annoyed that the Northis appeared to have so much fun, to the point where the crackers put me off. But I love it nevertheless. Something soothing about all that light.
And in that spirit I give you a four year old me on Diwali. Possibly at the crack of dawn. Distracted by my mother while my father dutifully captured my radiant four year loveliness. I was a good kid no? Check the vibhuti, the pottu and the gold earrings out. It all went downhill after that.
Have a lovely and safe Diwali/ Deepawali.