As a child, when asked to write an essay on Diwali, the first point we all would write is "Diwali is the festival of lights, we burst a lot of crackers on Diwali". But now, having come quite far away from home, to a place where the city is always lit and pattas is a constrained commodity, we realize, Diwali is too much to be constrained.
On a recollected Diwali eve, you would come back home late-night with a superstar movie hangover at 1AM and amma would shout “oh, u remember this is your house? And tomorrow is Diwali, nyabhagam irukka? Y don’t u sleep at the cinema”, so loud that neighbours would mistake that for a ten thousand wala (writing is as ‘10000 wala’ didn’t sound right). But she is the one who wakes you up at 5AM, in such a soft voice that u would mistake it for lullaby. Then you get ready for the longest bath (famously known as the ganga-snanam) of the year, where one might even become a tone fairer. Then you would wear your new clothes, take the actual ten thousand wala and ….. then starts the competition. A never spoken about competition, where the house which collects the maximum pattas left-overs at its verandah is the winner of that Diwali.
In between the competition, you would have 2 main hurdles. One is when you are forced to visit your uncles and auties to seek their blessing, ok wait, seek some more money that goes to the competition funding. Two been asked to distribute sweets to neighbours. This scene is interesting. What one is supposed to do: visit the neighbour and say “happy diwali aunty, sweets, amma told me pass this to you”, then she goes “happy diwali kanna, dress supera irukke (that’s a very good looking dress)” and she passes equal or more sweets that you should properly transfer to your mom. But how it actually goes, collect all the sweets boxes from home at once, go to all the houses, literally throw the boxes and press the door-bell so hard, making sure their diwali morning is ruined and go back to the competition.
At the half-time of the competition, you come home in a state where your new Diwali clothes looks like a cloth used to clean the car or much worse, ur amma gives u a look as if she doesn’t recognize you. That’s when you hear the magical words “SOAP pottu hand wash panniya”. The most sumptuous meal is served. It gives back all the drained energy and also re-energising you for the second half of the competition. There aren’t much hurdles in the afternoon except for the ‘opposite house thatha’ shouting “pothuma pattasu??”.
After crossing all the hurdles, when you are declared as the winner, you visit your friends and relatives place. At this point it is a strict NO NO to vehicles, only walking because comparing your pattas leftovers with all the other houses in your area (turf) takes time, vehicles are too fast for that.
Diwali grows, you grow, you leave your turf to compete at higher levels, in search of better prospects, in search of better quality of life.
But the moment never grows. The moment, when you buy two sets of dress because one is definitely gonna be burnt by the pattas. The moment, when you fight with your siblings because “it’s my turn”. The moment, when you depart with your pattas because you don’t want your house-maid’s son standing in a corner and watching you have all the fun doesnt sound right.The moment, when you become a little older and you don’t burst any of the pattas for moral values like (global warming and child labour) and finally say “kadaise pattasa? Naan vekkata?”.
The moment, when years later, you sit far away from home, where their definition of diwali and yours doesn’t match, thinking about the simpler competitions of life, you would probably smell the scent of pattas in the air and follow it to find an Indian family, who jus got done playing with the pattas and call you to click a group picture. There u say “okay, ready everybody, 1…2…3… PATTAAAAAAS”.
