HAPPY DIWALI.

When travelling along the central track by train, you can see the green mountains on one side and the creek on the other side with the salt pans. In the rains, small waterfalls emerge from the crevices of the green mountains. During summers, the mountains appear brown and dusty. But the sight to behold is during the festival of lights-Diwali ! The hutments along the slopes of the mountains are decorated with the colourful lanterns which look so beautiful from a distance.
As if God has planted neon lights on the hills. This sight lasts for a few days. Then, the whole mountain looks dull all over again like the lives of the poor resident people eking out a humble existence. Getting water from the base is a herculean task, leave aside provisions or medical facilities. The old people pant their way to reach their homes. They get fresh air though, free of cost. This air infuses their troubled lives with hope. They come daily to the city, hunting for work with dreams in their misty eyes. Diwali is a festival of hopes after all.
This Diwali, the municipal officials razed the mountains for a sprawling residential commercial complex. They used dynamites to blow up the whole mountain. A booming Diwali for the poor, soon to be homeless folks.

The rich kids were celebrating Diwali as if there was no tommorrow. A long garland of red coloured crackers was bursting and was making the kids jump all around in joy and cackling laughter. Some kids were watching from a distance. As soon as the revelry was over, The watching kids slowly and stealthily advanced to the site of the burst crackers.
A few crackers were unburst with their fuses intact. They were slowly scavenged by the kids. A plastic bag was used to fill it with the unlit crackers.Their Diwali started on the streets, albeit a little late in the night. They were happy with the left overs.
After all, Diwali was a festival of giving and sharing.

It was an institute for the young unfortunate population in our small town. They used to impart vocational skills to them. This Diwali, they made lanterns for the whole town. They were in all shapes and sizes, delicately crafted by the nimble sensitive fingers. Some were fluoroscent in colour, screaming for attention. One by one, all the lanterns were lapped up by our small town folks. The young people who made the lanterns were happy to earn a small side income for the festive season.
They, however could not understand the meaning and significance of these colourful lanterns. These industrious people had never seen light, all their lives. Diwali was a festival of sounds for them. Their sights had been cruelly snatched by the almighty, a long time ago.
Their white canes with a ringing bell slowly led them to their lantern lit homes.