Another year has sailed by. I found myself standing in front of the mirror some while ago and looking at myself and not recognizing the reflection that was being presented to me.* 

*growing up is / was an interesting process. I used to be so sure of who I was. Now? I’m not so very sure. 

I think of my burning heart, an allegiance I have to it. In not knowing what to do, I made a pledge – to simply try even if what I do seems to fail before me. 

Years and years ago, when I was younger, when tradition and culture made no sense to me, mainly because how of how far removed I was from it, I would tell myself that this was all, “so fucking pointless”. 

Now I wish I could go back into my nine-year-old body and shake it senseless. I yearn for that remembering. 

Before my grandfather died, he would tell us all on the day of the PADAYAL, a night before Deepavali, “When I’m gone, do not pray for me. Do not waste your time and just live your life”. He couldn’t have been more wrong about it all. We still pray for him. My father, his son-in-law, a man so far removed from my life, keeps his father-in-law’s memory alive. It is important to his wife, my mother. He loves her. 

**

I come home after spending a day out with my family, a family I haven’t spent some time with in over eight months. I am ladened with guilt, sickeningly heavy guilt of leaving them as I recovered from the crushing blow of circumstances. 

The house is quiet, it is large, it is empty. Who am I?

I reheat some food my friend got me from Chilis. I cook up some chicken pre-marinated chicken. When my friend comes home, he washes the dishes and makes us all alcoholic beverages as the dishes dry. The rest of us wait patiently for the drinks to find a completion. 

Two more days to Deepavali. 

The night before, he cooks again. This time, a beautiful spread of claypot chicken rice. More drinks follow. Another friend stays over. I am building a new tradition it seems. 

I take what is practiced from the hands of the elders, and I give it forward – to whom, I do not know. 

The day of is tiring. The night before spent till four in the morning. I think of my friend whose birthday I celebrated at the karaoke – a first for me. I sang Gwen Stefani’s 4 in the Morning at the top of my lungs and had no voice in the morning. 

When I awoke on Deepavali morning and prayed for blessings for everyone in the house, and in my life, I got whisked away to my grandmother’s place. Tradition is important. 

Every year since I was 7, Deepavali mornings would be spent there. I would pass out this year, on the couch, curled up into a ball next to my uncle who I have been thinking of in passing. 

When I wake, everyone is already packed and ready to leave. Food is sent with me. “Patima, can I pack some food home? My friends are there”. They are. Three hungry mouths to feed. 

I come home, lose my keys, and pick up my two girl friends from the lobby. 

Oh look, it’s time for dinner at my parents. A Halloween party after. 

I am anxious. What if my parents are mean to my friends – my friends who are my family. I wish my other friends were here too. I think of my CHITTI. My first best friend. 

We eat, we take a walk. We return home. We do not go and celebrate Halloween. 

A friend dresses up for me. After years of listening to the same album on repeat, I birth to life a reproduction of my greatest joy. 

Goddamn, man child. 

Deepavali ends. I am tired. My right side is knotted so badly from the stress of the week. 

I can’t wait for it again. 

***

Big thank you to my family for allowing me to do this, my brother – Keaven for the cover image, Sahadev for photographing some more, Pavithran, Anisha, Paalan, Thaqif & Alia for being a part of this project and believing in me.