STAMPED IMPRESSIONS
Why I don’t visit friends on Divali
Reeta Sharma

The festival of lights is getting more and more commercialised

I have always hated the festival of Holi. I could never bring myself to enjoy this festival even during my childhood. The excitement on the faces of people of all age groups while playing with colours never enthused me. I did not want to be pushed into playing Holi on the plea that "Iss din sab chalta hai!" Often, my freedom was violated by near and dear ones.

It was impossible to hide from these revellers even in your own home. Over the years, I learned to escape from my home to spend those ‘threatening hours’ with some old couple or the other. I still have no answers as to why such festivity is imposed on people who shy away from it.

Unlike Holi, I had always loved Divali — not for any religious sentiments attached to it but for the sheer beauty of this festival. I used to make a list of all my near and dear ones whom I would either invite or visit. These visits were never restricted to the D-day. These used to be spread over a week. For years together, I cannot recall giving any gifts, flowers or even sweets, solely because I could not afford them. The list ranged from 8 to 10 families and there was no money to spare for even a token gift. There used to be a certain thrill and sense of belonging that Divali celebration used to bring.

Such bonds have now ceased to exist. Divali has increasingly become a very commercialised and consumerist festival. I now find two things objectionable about the way this festival is celebrated. Today, I am in a position to buy reasonably good gifts. But I am terribly afraid to do so. Today, gifts are decided depending upon one’s status. Even among friends there is no sense of equality. Divali literally tells you where you stand vis-`E0-vis your friends, relatives, official colleagues, neighbours, etc.

The very thought that gifts were being rated in terms of their price tags jolted me out of my blissful thoughts that all friends and near and dear ones were equal. I was taken aback when once a friend boasted about the Divali gifts she had received. Excitedly, she said, "Look, what this family brought for me. A sleek Edinburgh crystal vase and this Hugo perfume box. This must have cost them a fortune. Then I was also given an exquisite dinner set from Italy and another friend of mine floored me with these designer table-lamps." Like Sudama, I desperately wanted to hide the Rs-150 earrings that I had brought for her, after having stretched my budget. And unlike Krishna, she made no effort to make me feel comfortable. Putting away the small packet in a corner on a shelf, she routinely said, "Oh! How sweet of you."

Treading cautiously, the next Divali, I decided not to give gifts to any one, so as to avoid any comparison between my gifts and the expensive ones. I just carried one box of sweets to each of my friends and near and dear ones. Again, I encountered a problem. I was told by all of them that they were receiving too many such boxes and they did not know what to do with them. And yet again the commentary on the comparison of gifts continued.

It has now been years since I visited friends and near and dear ones on and around Divali.

My heart lighted up when I read a news item that 1,000 students had taken a pledge to shuncrackers on Divali. Isn’t it strange that though educated people know that bursting of crackers is not only dangerous but also disastrous for the environment yet they do not refrain from this practice? Each morning following Divali, I take a round of Chandigarh. It only adds more pain to my heart. In front of a large number of houses, I find huge piles of cracker shells and fillings. It gives me a fair idea about how much money must have been spent by people on crackers. Why can’t these people share this very money with the poor? How can we, year-after-year, continue to burn crores of rupees on crackers? What has Divali really taught us?

Often, a counter argument is extended in favour of the cracker industry, dwelling on the fact that lakhs of people gain employment from it. What will happen to them, if we stop bursting crackers? This argument sounds something like that unless people fall sick, how will doctors earn their bread! Certainly, there is need to have alternative employment for all those working in the cracker industry. But more importantly, parents as well as schools must inculcate respect for the environment in the minds of the children, so that they do not ‘burn money and environment’ in the name of Divali. As for the materialistic trend of exchange of gifts is concerned, I foresee no immediate change, for people are totally gripped by consumerism.

This feature was published on November 8, 2003