Divali

-as seen by an orphan somewhere

The night is ablaze. The sky dons a vermillion hue. Quaint eruptions of laughter and revelry sail in through wrought iron gates. All is calm here, but not silent. The opening round of crackers burst erratically. It is an equal music.

I stand in a forgotten nook of the orphanage. The wind lacerates the mud water as it puffs towards me. Outside, the traffic slashes through the brightly lit roads. Its roar comes to me as white noise.

Divali night is always subdued inside-tonight, it is even more so. An aura of gloom envelops the compound, contrary to the gaiety outside. Some light filters through from the outside world and makes feeble attempts to dispel the glumness inside. Burnt 'rocket' ends land on the dried grass from time to time.

Almost tearfully I ruminate on some lines my mother once read to me. That voice is still clear but bodiless:
'That night of hate grows dense around us.
We laugh through what we can't dispel,
While apathy and terror hound us
On well-intentioned paths to hell.
…Live day to day; relieve a little
What sorrow lies within ourscope;
A moratorium on hope
Will, if it makes our laughter brittle,
Lend peace until that day of wrath
When the smooth doomtoys hurtle forth.

Today I've turned thirteen. Already I feel ten years older-burdened, troubled and uneasy with my own self. Eight years ago, life came crashing down on me; on Divali I lost my parents, aspirations, belongings, history and perhaps, accent.

Eight years later things have finally settled down in their un-allotted slots. The wheel of time may have come full circle. But life is now more profound, more contradictory.

From the orphanage funds there came this evening, a few sparklers, crackers and 'rockets'. These were shared by about a hundred of us helplessly happy souls. Not surprisingly, the brief and feeble fireworks lasted for about as long as our initial delight. A gaping void took the place of enjoyment.

At present, I listen intently to the caustic ticking of my wristwatch-my only remaining souvenir of my past life. It is just eight in the evening. Our ephemeral celebrations are past. Even the two stick-jaws each of us received, have been consumed with relish.

I am content here-well looked after, happy, healthy, well-fed, literate-yet somehow not satisfied. Even now I await the arrival of the folks who came yesterday and promised us a grand show of fireworks tonight.

I trudge towards those huge iron gates. I peek through the bars. An unrecognized world buffets me. I spot unadulterated happiness, goodwill-even bliss. The real show has just begun. Without pause, crackers continue to bang and fizz. Coloured sparklers swarm the streets. Exhilarating 'rockets' blur the night sky. The show continues. Unending. Undiminished. The tempo continues to increase. I am besides myself with glee and tears. The world beckons. But the gates remain barred.

Suppressing a nagging desire to join the people outside, I delightedly watch the show. All shops and houses are decorated with artificial light. Here, we made do with a few 'diyas'.

Impatiently, I wait those people to arrive and give us our due.

The fireworks outside continue. Minutes dissolve into hours. Slowly, the fireworks wane. But still no sight of them. It is now ten-thirty. People who still wish to pour their lucre into fire, continue bursting crackers.

Gradually, the night quietens. A harsh breeze cuts across the compound. By now, I have lost hope of their ever coming.

Quietly, I retreat into the glowing shadow belt...