Trikarthika - Nostalgia unfolded

Once a year, the small earthen lamps that are stored away carefully in a rusty old tin on top of a shelf in our storeroom get a new lease of life, thanks to the festival of Karthika, when lighted lamps adorn the courtyards of houses, filling them with an inviting golden glow at dusk.

As a predictable ritual, my mother washes these earthen lamps, collected over a period of time, and sun-dries them for the evening ritual. Oil for the lamps and wicks cut to the proper size are readied simultaneously, and as dusk arrives, the lamps are ready to be lit.

It was up to the youngsters of the house — myself and my sister — to arrange these lamps at suitable places: in geometric designs on the courtyard, lined along the compound wall, on either side of the steps leading up to the house, on window ledges, and wherever possible.

The children of our non-Hindu neighbours too would assist us in lighting the lamps, and it was total fun trying to shield the small, flickering flames from the sudden gusts of wind which mercilessly blew about at this time of the season. We would relight them again and again, which was of absolutely no use, as we simply couldn’t compete with the wind.

My mother used to make a sweet to be offered as prasadam, which we would all sit down and relish.

I would say the whole process was one of family and neighbourly bonding and, as far as I was concerned, had less of a religious significance.

Today, once again, a Karthika has dawned upon us. My mother still prepares the earthen lamps, and my son and I will definitely light up our courtyard. The glow of these tiny, flickering lamps will fill our home and probably make it into the pages of some social networking site.

But somehow, I feel the lack of a vital element that used to be the life force of such festivities in the yesteryears.

In general, the enthusiasm seems to have toned down considerably, as everything feels more like a chore than an event to be looked forward to.

Perhaps it is the absence of family members who are elsewhere, living their own lives. Perhaps it is our unwillingness to step away from the routines that rule our lives. Or perhaps it is the general decline in interest in keeping up our values and traditions.

I wonder…

All the while we light the lamps, my son would be thinking of getting back to the movie he had been watching on his laptop. I would be wondering about the night’s dinner that was yet to be made and the various jobs I needed to finish before calling it a day. My mother perhaps would be wanting to complete the whole ‘procedure’ before her favourite TV programme started.

I guess it is just the strong breeze that would remain the same, blowing out the tiny, flickering flames one by one…