My Diwali memories - Alyssia Birjalal

I HAVE fond memories of burning fireworks and eating sweetmeats until my tummy ached.

We’d wake up in the morning, take a bath with a “three kind of oil” mix, dress up to the nines in gorgeous and expensive Bollywoodstyle outfits, have a good breakfast and then start parcelling 20 to 30 boxes of treats to deliver to family and friends throughout the day.

When the clock struck six, my family would do aarti (prayers) at the Luxmi (place of worship) and then light clay lamps that brightened up the inside and outside of our home – it was breathtaking.

After supper, usually a vegetarian biryani, dhal and salad – we would take a pack of mum’s incense sticks and head outside to light fireworks. I was never one for the loud bangs. I enjoyed watching the colours light up the night sky.

Once the colour light tipped over the side and shot out on the ground, and everyone ran for cover. No one was injured, our panjabi’s bore the brunt, but that wouldn’t stop us.

We would burn hundreds, sometimes thousands of rands away. We’d sleep only when it was finished.

Fast forward a little more than a decade later, Diwali has taken on a different meaning. No fancy clothes, no Diwali parcels, far fewer visits, more savouries than sweets and, most importantly, no fireworks.

Some may say I’ve lost the tradition, but I say, I’ve grown from it.

I still pray and light clay lamps at 6pm. I visit the most important people, being my parents and my only surviving grandparent.

I’ve become less tolerant of the bangs and worry about animals and pollution.

And this year, due to Covid19 causing havoc, I’ve decided to provide the poor with food hampers instead of feasting.

While I’ll always have fond memories of mom’s cooking and baking and dad taking us to the shop to buy fireworks,

I’m ready to start my own tradition that I will pass down to my future family.

I’ve learnt the deeper meaning of Diwali – one that surpasses fireworks and fancy clothes.

Wishing you a warm and light Diwali.