P S SUNDAR'S ARTICLE ON HIS SON -- 2

DIWALI: FROM GALA CELEBRATION TO SOLEMN CEREMONY 

BY P.S. SUNDAR 

Diwali has cycled a full circle in my life – from gala celebration with family and friends to solemn ceremony praying for my only child’s soul to rest in peace. 

 When I was a child, Diwali was almost a month-long festivity at home. Preparations would begin a month ahead with my parents drafting list of sweets and savouries to be made specifying weight/number along with anticipated expenses. Dishes were to be shared with 50 homes. No reputed sweet shop was in Coonoor that time; in any case, my parents wanted to prepare the dishes at home under their watchful eyes. 

My father would commission Krishnan Nambudri, the Asthana cook for our family celebrations, and the parents would discuss their dishes. Nambudri was comfortable with making Badhusha, but failed to produce shapely jilabi. Boondhi was easy and laddu was rolled out of it. Mixture’s richness depended on the ingredients used, but my parents were against using artificial colours. 

Once menu was finalised, my father would arrange for necessary materials to be bought. A week before Diwali, Nambudri would land with two coolies carrying his equipments. My parents used to regard this as the advantage – Nambudri was a freelancing cook armed with necessary equipments! Dishes would be ready couple of days before Diwali. 

Likewise, a month ahead, my father used to take my brothers and myself to cloth shop, buy materials for trousers and shirts, take us to our Asthana tailor Muthu for recording measurements. My father firmly believed that an excellent tailor like Muthu must be supported with stitching orders. The dress would be ready a week before Diwali. It was a pleasure distributing sweets to friends and bursting crackers donning new dress. 

As years rolled by, my brothers moved to different places on job commitments, my parents passed away and even my wife had to shift to Chennai with our son Vignesh as he contracted the incurable muscular dystrophy crippling him to wheelchair. I was shuttling between Coonoor, foreign destinations and Chennai and my childhood Diwali gaiety vanished for ever. 

Vignesh was excellent in studies and had floated his own website while in ninth class, but was dependent on others. We had employed six persons to assist my wife for Vignesh’s Siddha oil massage, physiotherapy, toilet attendance, driving him to school, hospital and back. Vignesh enjoyed giving them dresses and sweets for Diwali. (“There is more joy in giving than receiving”, he once wrote in an article). He did this in October 2003 also when he was studying in Plus One clueless that it was the last year he could do so – yes, two days before Diwali, he breathed his last. That year, no house in our campus celebrated Diwali. My wife and I silently prayed for his soul to rest in peace. We returned to Coonoor soon thereafter. Every Diwali thereafter is a solemn occasion making us remember Vignesh and praying for his soul to rest in peace. As we observe sixth anniversary of Vignesh’s demise this October 21, I realise, I don’t miss so much of my childhood Diwali gaiety as I miss my child.

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