The Hindu Christmas

There were women dressed up in the most beautiful sarees and men in goregous kurtas. There was a pooja in the morning. People on the streets were elated and the mood was festive. People greeted each other with hugs, kisses and laughter. The streets were trickled with cracker remains, and grew in number as crackers blew up in the background. The streets were crowded with people bustling from home to home or temple to home or just mingling. Visits were made, gifts given and sweets eaten.

The evening brought with it the twinkling of earthly stars. Diyas guarded the entrance to every home and every store. And lights were draped across buildings. Even the poorest of the poor would have at least one indicator that he was celebrating this festival of lights. Crackers sprayed drops of light, swirling around dancing to the Tune of Diwali.

Everyone was joyful and everyone was hopeful about the new year.

I sat with four other girls in a Mumbai cab, driving home. And I basked in this ambience that engulfed this city on this joyous occasion. The blood stained streets of the Delhi markets were now only a distant memory. Perhaps not to the families of the victims..

We drove back late at night, the roads lighted with the faint glow of the lamps that lined them and the occasional cracker that blew up on either side, despite the late hour. The night was cool and the light breeze streamed through my hair.

I remembered Christmas. The parallels and the differences with this Hindu Christmas. And I longed to be home.
Yet the final goal was the same - bringing God home.

My first Diwali .. and I spent it with good people and people I loved. Contentment. Peace.