Diwali — And the Warm Afterglow

A personal reflection on Diwali — part laughter, part longing — where food, diyas, and memory coalesce, reminding us that love glows quietly long after the night quietens to your breath.

I don’t consider myself particularly religious (veering right seems to be very happening these days) — more spiritually leaning, if that makes sense.

That doesn’t mean I’m sitting in lotus yoga poses wearing Lululemon pants, seeking enlightenment, hot and sweaty, or meditating for hours to transcendental beats, watching my chakral visions float before me. Just thought it fit to clarify.(And honestly, more power to you if that’s your thing.)

I saw an Instagram reel recently that mocked the “spiritually inclined” crowd as convenient and malleable — maybe it’s nonsense, maybe it isn’t. But here’s where I stand — or levitate: whatever keeps my boat afloat works for me.I do me, and you do you, mate — simple as that.

Circling back to Diwali — and why I love it so much. It used to be, and still is, my favorite festival. The food is what carnal desires are made of — the yo-yoing between palate and remorse that follows (literally) is definitely worth running the entire gamut of emotions.

Incidentally, my sister has this quirk of checking her weight after every meal — something I can’t quite wrap my head around. Tracking everything in grams… phew, that’s a heavy weight to carry.

And how can we forget the sartorial choices that make it all the more festive? Be it boho chic, norsey nomad, or the traditional tara — take your pick; there’s room for everyone at the table.

This year was more a gentle reflection of the happenings of the year gone by. A loved one passed on, and every intentional act was a homage to him — in remembrance of the good times we had when he was around. The beating heart of our family gatherings, the one with a funny bone, an impish smile, a heart of gold, and a childlike spirit — my dad.

Instead, my family and I spent Diwali quietly — grateful and reflective — as we lit two small diyas and perched them on a small table by the door, a symbol of eternal love.

In their soft, luminous glow, we basked in the warmth, sheltered from the cold and from the darkness that threatened. (There was a power outage, I just remembered, and it was raining incessantly — a cyclone warning had been issued.) Our little lighthouse — a beacon of hope amidst the symbolic swirling inky-black waters — that eternal duality of life, where light and darkness coexist.

And maybe that’s what the afterglow of Diwali truly is about — not the noise, not the fireworks, but the quiet light that stays behind. The one that reminds us that love contours our lives, smooths the edges, and anchors us firmly in our roles and the destiny that awaits us.

Molecularly yours,

Sanjana

Irrepressibly Curious

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