I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn.

I have always believed, there lives a fire within me. Fire is my element. Fire draws me towards itself like I'm a fly, cursed to live and die in its flames. While we're celebrating the festival of fire (The festival of light some would say, but potayto-potahto!), the fly couldn't be more excited, now could she? 

I've been at my father's back for the last two days to come out with me and buy the Diwali lights because our set breathed its last this year. While he acts as nonchalant as possible, I am grown enough to see how much he enjoys my love for fire and light. Today, on Dhanteras, I started sulking for the same reason and he switched on the T.V. He hates to see me sporting a long face (a girl, AND his firstborn), so within ten minutes, he had gotten dressed and was asking me my plans for the porch this year!

Behind my dad on the scooter, I have this habit of staring at the road - At people, at the little shops, and during Diwali, the decorations and the crackers on display. While we proceeded, something that I saw pierced my heart and tore it apart. A little boy, four years old at the most, barefoot and dressed in hand-me-downs that were probably given in charity, was being pulled off the main road by his slightly older sister. He was trying to cross the street to go over to a shop on the opposite side which had a coir bed full of crackers on display. The child's eyes were lit, and in his eyes I saw that fire which draws me to fire- luminous and innocent, beautiful and excited, like pools of magma, yet not looking to sear anyone or anything. The children were untidy and under-dressed for an autumn evening as cold as this one. My heart leapt out to them. Isn't this supposed to be the festival of joy? Don't those children deserve to light a few crackers and get a whiff of their childhood? I asked myself these basic questions and grew sad, pledging to myself to give these children a little Diwali. While on the street, I saw more children like them. Some shopkeepers gave these homeless children a few incense sticks and some small crackers. Words haven't yet been coined to define the joy on those faces. Even more children walked away from shops distraught and crestfallen after being shooed away by less generous shopkeepers. Overall, I saw misery. I saw innocents being deprived of the joy that I was so anxious to buy. 


I wished for these children to come to my house for my mother's awesome Chicken Tikka and to celebrate the festival with us. For them to be bathed and cleaned before the Puja. Yet, none of this will ever happen. They'll forlornly roam the streets on Diwali, when I shall be enjoying myself too much to see. 

Everywhere, on Facebook and Twitter, I see people pledging to have a cracker-free, fume-free, "green" Diwali. What I wish for is much more basic. I want a Happy Diwali. Not just for you and me and the people I know and will wish over WhatsApp on the day of the festival. I want a Happy Diwali for all of these people and all those people who I did not see during the drive today. I pray for a Happy Diwali for all those whom the fire won't engulf in its charm. Equality is a foolish person's grope in the darkness. I wish for equitability. It is mindlessness to expect one person to go around combing out all the poor and homeless kids they see and bring them closer to the light. However, a lot of those children can enjoy the festival if you put one firecracker and one sweet in the hands of one cheerless child.

Have a happy Diwali, everyone!