I grew up in India and Africa, and Christmas was barely a whisper on our festival agenda. It brushed past us in a blur of Santa Claus images and end-of-year fug, and was really just an excuse for presents. The real celebration for the Indian diaspora was Diwali.
Diwali often occurs relatively close to Christmas but is governed by the lunar calendar as most Indian festivals are, and is thus dependent on priests determining the appropriate date. This adds a layer of enchantment and uncertainty to most Indian celebrations, and is far removed from the clockwork precision of Christmas and the other Western holidays I am now accustomed to.
The Indian community in Africa was a close-knit band of expatriates. I made my first friends there, ripping into tandoori chicken as my feet sunk into impossibly white sand at the beach. Most celebrations and festivals were characterised by a few things: dressing up, food (always so much food), song, dance and some form of collective jubilance.
Dr Ahona Guha. Source: Supplied
Diwali involved all of these, usually kicked off by a Diwali mela (market) where we purchased diyas and firecrackers. Diyas are little earthenware lamps filled with oil and epitomise Diwali for me. Each year, we painstakingly laid them out on balconies and in front yards on the eve of Diwali. We also used coloured powder and ground rice to draw elaborate designs on the ground – the ceremonial rangoli. Rangoli patterns are meant to bring good luck and prosperity and to welcome guests. For a child, they were also an excuse to paint the house in a parent-sanctioned manner.
All our houses blazed, twinkling beacons of light. Mithai (Indian sweets) were distributed... and adults and children alike flocked outside to light fireworks.
At nightfall, the diyas would be lit, electric lights switched on and the real celebrations would commence. All our houses blazed, twinkling beacons of light. Mithai (Indian sweets) were distributed – not that we hadn’t already been eating these for days – and adults and children alike flocked outside to light fireworks.
Later, when we moved to India, the Diwali celebrations were similar, though on a far grander scale. As with Christmas celebrations here in Australia, certain houses in each street were known for their decorations, draping endless strings of twinkling fairy lights from roof to garden. Diyas had given way to something a little brasher, though the motif remained the same – light, and the triumph of good over evil.
Firecrackers served a similar purpose and illuminated the night in never-ending cartwheels of flame and fume, rocketing high into the sky and blasting away evil with bangs. Often, we struggled to breathe the next day, as a toxic sludge settled over the city. At other times, we heard stories of people who burnt themselves severely while playing with firecrackers. A little bit of caution injected into the levity – and a reminder that the classic battle of good vs evil is rarely as black and white as we think.
I remember entire streets would take on the air of an enormous party, as we spun around together. It was a time for the different generations to come together, though the changes in how we perceived festivals were stark. For my grandmother, the emphasis was on a puja (prayer ritual), time at the temple and certain mithai made to exacting and closely-guarded family recipes.
For my parents, it meant some time off work, a sprinkle of religion and myth, and a chance to connect with friends. For us children, it was really about the fun – a moment away from the grind of school work, new clothes and food. Looking back now, it is interesting to trace this generational pattern in our understanding of culture, and I wish I could go back in time and talk to my grandparents about the meaning of some of these rituals for them.
As I reflect on my work as a psychologist, it strikes me that it echoes the ethos of Diwali and reflects the primordial battle between the forces of good and evil, dark and light.
My life now is very different. I’ve lived in Australia for longer than I did in India and identify far more closely with the Melbourne hipster part of my identity than I do my Indian self (though I still carry an abiding love for mithai). I am a forensic psychologist and much of my work involves assessing and treating offenders, and in trauma treatment.
As I reflect on my work, it strikes me that it echoes the ethos of Diwali and reflects the primordial battle between the forces of good and evil, dark and light. Of course, things are more nuanced in real life than in myth, and it is sometimes difficult to separate good from evil as clearly as I did as a child.
I often think about the role of social connection, creativity and play in our mental health. Now, as I look at these rather intangible concepts, my mind flashes back to Diwali nights past lit up with sparklers, large smiles plastered on all our faces.
While I haven’t had the opportunity to celebrate Diwali for a while, I have managed to find a Diwali mela at home and tucked it into my diary, feeling a small frisson of excitement as I did.
Dr Ahona Guha is a clinical and forensic psychologist from Melbourne, Australia. You can find out more about her work and writing .
