I stood in a local market in a city in northern India. It was three days before Diwali – the biggest festival here. A festival that celebrates the victory of light over shadows, good over evil. Lamps are lit around the house to ward off dark forces. Family and friends are remembered and cherished – for love is always stronger than hate.
Makeshift pavement stalls displayed colorful garlands and festoons, plastic templates of auspicious symbols. Young girls huddled over colored glass bangles and elaborate earrings with glittering beads. I smelled spicy fritters floating in hissing oil in enormous woks.
I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell and the colors. A woman squatted on the street close to me. She was selling clay lamps or diyas as those are called in India. You fill the hollow with oil, dip a cotton wick within and place them around the house. A dance of flickering flames rises along the perimeter of every home on Diwali night.
Clay is an elemental part of the Indian civilization. Clay pottery was pervasive in the old lifestyle. Tea was served in disposable clay cups, earth-friendly and quaint. Water was stored in clay matkas, earthen jugs that kept the water cool.
The Diwali diyas are often sold by women. They come from the villages during the festival with their handicrafts and set up shop in street corners. The woman next to me had her diyas on a white cloth spread over the dusty road. She wore a bright pink salwar-suit and a glittering nose-stud. She smiled at me broadly.
I bought a dozen lamps, painted red with a golden border. She told me it takes a long time to make those. The price was 40 Rupees for a dozen, around 50 cents. I gave her more than that. She looked surprised.
“Let there be light in your home,” I said.
She looked at my face and smiled.
“What do you want this Diwali?” she asked.
“I wish there would be joy in my heart,” I said.
“So be it,” she said.
She posed for me, proudly holding the diyas wrapped in newspaper. I walked away with her blessing. No gift could have made me happier this Diwali.
This Diwali I choose to be grateful. I was fortunate to receive diyas from a woman who painted them with love, sold them in the sun on the crowded street, and touched my life.
Diwali Diyas