Into Light

There was a nip in the air and festivity all around. Twinkling lamps and gizmo lights dorned every house. Etheral, is how the world looked from our terrace on Diwali (festival of light) night. We had gone up with our basket loaded with candles and clay lamps. All around the ridge of our terrace we placed the lamps and candles.

Here I must introduce you to our little group on the terrace that night. This is my husband, a business executive, a man with outstanding character. Loves family occasions. Quiet but particiapting always.

That lady in her mid sixties is my mother. Talking nineteen to the dozen. Effervescent. 'The one eyed Jack' look for tonight is real, she had a sudden malfunction of the optic nerve this afternoon. Condition medically unexplainable said the doctor but could not stop her from being on the terrace tonight.

My father, strong, well built man in his early seventies. Both eyes have been operated on. A player of repute in his heydays. Watch his big strides! Candle in hand raring to go.

This is our family companion of thirty plus years. A dwarf. She has been more of a mother to my children than I have. Ever smiling, ever active. Right eye, no vision. Left eye has high powered lens.

Four children of our staff, our energy and laughter.

They have finished placing the lamps, as I was going through the introduction. I hand each one a candle and ask them to start lighting the lamps. Oh I forgot to introduce myself, I am the self appointed manager tonight, the one who calls the shots!

"Give everybody a chance to light a few lamps" I mildly warn the kids who were racing through lighting the rows of lamps. I see my father struggling to light a lamp, he says the candle wick is too thin for him to light the lamp. I replace it with a thicker candle and he starts lighting faster now. My mother said that she was seeing two lights and didn't know exactly the point of contact. I guided her hand to the lamp and she managed to light a few. Our companion mate was slow but managing. My husband had finished an entire row and was waiting in his usual gentlemanly style.

All the lamps were lit and I switched off the electric bulbs, remember I lead the orchestra tonight! Tiny lamps with their golden glow gives our terrace a divine look. The dark night and twinkling lights, I was completely lost, singing in my croaking voice. Oh how I love this darkness and the tiny droplets of light in a row. My father came with groping steps towards me and asked my permission to have one terrace light on. "No" I replied with all my authority and again got immersed in my singing and occasional twirling!

My mother tripped but thankfully she found a chair to steady herself. A few amongst us rushed in to seat her. Expected, I thought while singing, she is one eyed tonight. Now I was in my crescendo and almost felt like an opera singer. Never mind what the others were thinking, the dark night had got to me and I was enjoying. My father again disturbed me asking the same question, can we please have one terrace light on. "NO", old people lose their aesthetic sense! With one electric bulb on it would spoil the entire effect that has been created.

Time to replenish the oil lamps, I tell my team. The kids rushed to pick up the tiny oil bottles that I had kept ready. Are you noticing my percision? Leaders are made of such material. Not my words, borrowed thought but am just making the connection for you. I love the obedience with which they all headed for the lamps. Generals must be feeling the same way looking at their platoons. It is Diwali night and I am allowed these few stray thoughts!

I start my rounds. "No children, not so fast, give others a chance", they slowed. My Dad was managing I observed as I passed him. My mother was still not knowing where the lamps were, I held her hand and refilled a few lamps. She gave up and preferred to be led back to her chair. Our companion mate was doing a good job, I thought as I strode towards her. I froze. She was pouring oil on the ledge. She could not make out where the lamps were. I caught her hand and led it to the lamps.

My father came around and asked again if a terrace light could be switched on. "Why Dad?" I asked with irritation, exasperation and perhaps with a fair tinge of frustration. He slowly replied "...we, three of us cannot see in the darkness, a light perhaps would help us see the lamps."

Silence.

In that one moment I realised how selfish and insensitive I was. I knew that three of them had a vision problem but I refused my father thrice to switch on the terrace light. I reached out and switched all the four terrace lights and heard my mother say "the lamps are looking beautiful, atlast I can see them from here".

I looked heaven wards, forgive me for this. Give me light in my soul so that I may understand and spread the light of happiness. Let not the light engulf me in my own petty world, help me feel.

It is so easy to take things for granted that we have no clue how it is to live without it.

For us that night, the evening had just begun with all of us seeing the lamps twinkle and spreading happiness. I had joined my husband in the silent mode, my mother was singing and my father striding across the terrace with firm steps. Our companion deftly refilling the lamps.

Oh God let there be Light, always.