Photo via Getty Images
Imagine spending New Year’s Eve in Times Square, or the Fourth of July at the National Mall in Washington, D.C., but every single year. That’s Diwali in Mumbai — an annual holiday that places you right in the middle of the action, where it matters the most.
Observed by Indians all over the world, Diwali (duh-VAH-lee) celebrates the victory of light over darkness, good over evil, and knowledge over ignorance. It’s a time for families and friends to gather, for endless feasts and decadent snacks, and for spreading light and love all around you.
Taking place this year on Oct. 24, Diwali has always been my favorite festival. When I was growing up in Mumbai, the celebrations bordered on magical, and the essence of the holiday lies in feeling that magic all around you. If there were an aerial shot taken over Mumbai during Diwali, I guarantee that the city would sparkle.
When I moved to Richmond 16 years ago to marry my husband, I thought I had left that behind. It took me a while to realize that, along with so many other things, the magic wasn’t gone. I just hadn’t found it yet.
In Mumbai, our preparations began weeks in advance. My mom would make everything from scratch, the smell of cardamom and ghee wafting from the kitchen all day. When Diwali was approaching, my dad would visit the local market to pick up huge baskets of marigold garlands, and we would decorate the house with them, along with twinkly lights and kandils, colorful paper lanterns. A five-day celebration in total, the peak of Diwali is in the middle.
Laddoos (Photo by Keya Wingfield)
We enjoyed snacks including chakri, puri, sev and chevdo, an assortment of chickpeas coated in spices and seasonings, then deep-fried or cooked over the stove. My personal favorite are laddoos, round sweet balls made with sugar, milk and sometimes flour. One of my earliest memories is of my brother and I cramming all the laddoos we possibly could in our little hands before going to watch fireworks together, completely mesmerized and riding a sugar high.
In our household, I was the chief rangoli maker, which was the perfect job for a young girl. While I was making the intricate designs of colored sand and rice flour outside our front door, my dad would participate in a Diwali worship ritual in his office called Chopda Pujan. Marking the end of the financial year, he and his staff would place the books containing their business records on a small altar, after which a pandit, or wise man, would pray over them for continued growth and success.
The day before Diwali, friends and family would drop by to say hello. Usually, they’d bring a box of assorted sweet treats called mithai, or dried fruits, with them. Then my family and I would do the same, visiting others and gifting the snacks that my mom had spent weeks making.
On the first day of Diwali, we would wake up and have a small pooja, or prayer, before indulging in a lavish breakfast. Later in the day, we’d spend time with our family, followed by a feast for lunch. The evening brought fireworks and, you guessed it, more food. There was live music, snacks to enjoy, friends and family all around. Everything lasted well into the night — a true celebration in every sense of the word.
After moving to Richmond from Mumbai, I missed those moments. For so many years, my only pathway to the past was lighting a small lamp on the day of Diwali.
With my parents still in India, my only brother in Hong Kong and the rest of my extended family scattered across the globe, the sense of community that once was so strong was gone. As an immigrant, going from an over-the-top cultural celebration each year to participating in the festival through such a small act left me feeling isolated.
A local Diwali celebration (Photo courtesy Keya Wingfield)
As time passed, I started doing a little more each year to celebrate. At first it was just for myself, but as I started to make friends, both inside and outside the Indian community, I learned that nothing was stopping me from cultivating that light right here in my new hometown.
When my daughter, Uma, was born in 2018, I knew that I wanted to pass on these traditions to her. So now I make snacks and mithai from scratch and give them to friends when they visit. In a few years, she’ll be able to make a rangoli at our doorstep and hang up kandils and make laddoos. It may not be on the same scale I grew up with, but this can be her Diwali.
Last year, we were invited to a dear friend’s house for a Diwali party. There were marigold garlands and oil lamps called diyas everywhere, just the way we used to decorate my parents’ house. For the first time since moving to the U.S., I enjoyed a big celebration. And that evening, it felt like the real deal. After over 15 years in the country, I had finally celebrated Diwali. Just as that realization struck, an Indian woman at the party shared that it was the first time she was celebrating Diwali in the U.S. as well.
And that’s when it hit me: The light is always around us if we choose to see it.
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