Deepavali, the festival of lamps was celebrated on Amavasya during Krishnapaksh. Ayodhyavasis lit the road with lamps when a victorious Rama returned home. It is the beginning of the New Year in North India where the “bahi khaata” or the new account books are symbolically started. We felicitate Ganesh and Lakshmi, Lakshmi for wealth and Ganesh for auspicious beginnings.

The thirteenth day of this lunar fortnight is Dhanteras when Lakshmi came out from the ocean during the churning of the sea. It is considered auspicious to buy utensils or silver or gold. The day before Diwali is  Naraka Chaturdashi when Narakasura was killed by Krishna, Satyabhama and Kali.  We light lamps on all these days. Interestingly, not only do we put diyas on the doorstep to show Lakshmi the way but all the drains have to have one apiece. The versions differ, they say Lakshmi may come up that way or to stop her from falling into one.

Our childhood memories are of fire crackers, the loudest, brightest, a virtual bomb blast. We revelled. The memories are of the cracker competitions in Victoria, where arsenals were collected and each group tried to outdo the other. Money up in smoke literally, the thrill addictive. The card parties abound with everyone playing teen patti, the bets varying from low almost nothing to unspeakable amounts that are legendary.

My grandmother was a devout Krishna bhakt, lived in Vrindavan and had Krishna and Radha idols who were pampered more than her blood related kin. We heard many versions of folk lores with absolute wonderment. The devotees around my grandma actually believed in miracles and God was as real for them as life. I grew up witnessing a schedule more elaborate than ours. Krishna awoke, had breakfast, bathed, had lunch, napped and evenings were reserved for song, dance and games. For festivals they were dressed in finery, jewels, and the temple glinted and gleamed. It was swarg, the pantheon of Gods celebrating in unmatched style. We observed all festivals with gusto, we prayed, we celebrated, we exulted. For me it was somewhere as real as my heart beat. It was a part of my growing up.

The stories abound as do the reasons to rejoice. Each region or family has a fascinating story to share and the underlying message is the same. God grant us wealth, peace, prosperity. Some more wealth would be nice. The lamps bought, new clothes worn, bedecked, we pray for salvation, for bounty, by God’s grace.

I married a Bengali and Diwali is Kali Puja, we light 14 lamps on Diwali  eve to ward off evil spirits. Quaintly the day is called  Bhoot Chaturdashi, our very own Halloween.

The sparkling lights, worship of the slayer of demons, this victory of good over evil by a woman yet again after Durga Puja. The reverberating sound of dhaak, the rhythm and beat almost martial in its fierce resonance. A group of women from the ages of 12 to 40 are phenomenal performers from the village of Mashlandapur where Dhaak has been used as a weapon for women empowerment. They are now independent earning members of families who initially stopped them from even going out of their homes.

While most of India worships the demure, light-skinned, pragmatic, housebound goddess of wealth on Diwali, in Bengal we worship a fierce, demon-devouring, naked, noir goddess that deals death and destruction, with offerings of alcohol and goat meat. For those who believe that being a good Hindu means being vegetarian, abstaining from alcohol, and modesty for women, Hinduism has as its essence plurality of traditions and tolerance of  counter-views.

I love all our festivals with their symbolism, pomp, pageantry and jashan.