India > 'Happy Diwali”

I wake up because people are getting off the train. I see that the train is about half an hour late. Today is Diwali in India — the festival of lights celebrated by Hindus to mark the victory of light over darkness and good over evil. I pack up my sleeping things and prepare to leave the train. Just after seven o’clock, the train arrives at Delhi station. When I get off, I see no one waiting for me. I follow the crowd up the stairs to the exit—or so I think—but it turns out to be the stairs to the first platform. From here too I can get to the exit, but I might miss my driver. I keep an eye on the other platform. When I reach the exit, I’m immediately surrounded by taxi drivers. Someone already starts tugging at my bag, trying to take over. “Which hotel, sir?” When I explain that I’m looking for someone to pick me up, they say there’s another exit. Just as I walk back into the station, I see someone holding a sign, looking around. It’s my driver. “Happy Diwali, sir,” he greets me. He says he was waiting by my train carriage. He’s wearing a thick coat and a hat. I’m in a T-shirt. It’s indeed a bit cooler this morning. The smog I feared in Delhi is much less. Rajesh, the driver, tells me it rained briefly yesterday. Rajesh, however, doesn’t have my extra clothes with him. He promises to pick them up as soon as the office opens and bring them to my hotel. At the hotel, the room is already ready. I quickly take a shower and join the breakfast. It’s half past seven in the morning. Afterwards, I lie down for a bit and start repacking my luggage. By noon, the luggage hasn’t arrived yet. I don’t have the driver’s direct number and ask Ramesh, the driver from the first day, to contact him. Meanwhile, I take a walk around the neighborhood. Many shops are closed because of Diwali. A man approaches me, insisting I should go to a local market further ahead. He can arrange a tuk-tuk. Funny, I was already referred to that place last week. He’s persistent and doesn’t understand why I don’t want to go to that market. I, in turn, don’t understand his insistence. He doesn’t seem to want to sell anything or have any other interest. When I struggle to read the text on his screen in the bright sun, he offers to take me to an optician. The consultation is free today, and they are the best. I thank him for his help and keep walking. I arrive at a market by the metro. The market blends into a shopping street. I had my shoes cleaned this morning, but many shoe shiners want to improve on that. Everywhere people are still buying Diwali items. In a small shop, I buy a box of sweets. I’ve been invited later today to celebrate Diwali with a colleague. You can’t show up empty-handed. Another customer explains to me that one kilo of sweets costs 480 Rupees. He also assures me I must buy at least one kilo. Less is not possible. I follow his advice, and my box is neatly wrapped. Besides these sweets, I’ve also brought some typical Dutch gifts. While walking through the market, Ramesh calls me.

India - I am invited to celebrate Diwali at a colleagues home

The driver is now on his way to the hotel. When I arrive at the hotel shortly after, my luggage has been delivered. My colleague calls. He was supposed to pick me up, but the traffic to Delhi is so heavy that he asks me to take a taxi. When I ask for a rough price, he insists he will pay the costs. The hotel owner helps with the taxi. The location given in Ghaziabad is about 35 kilometers away. The driver can’t activate his Google navigation, so the hotel owner opens a hotspot on the driver’s phone. That way, I can use my phone. Shortly after, I guide the way through Delhi to Ghaziabad. We take the route along India Gate, which my navigation says is faster. I wonder whether Google’s estimated travel time is accurate in this chaotic traffic. Especially on the last stretch, I have to direct the driver. Ghaziabad is a city full of tall apartment towers, packed closely together. Each block has its own security. We can’t enter without permission. Only after a phone call is the taxi admitted. We have to drive through the parking garage to reach tower five on the other side. Ravi is already waiting there. His wife and children come out as well. I met them earlier in April. It’s a nice reunion.

India - Dozens of oil lamps burn for Diwali

Tea and snacks come to the table. “Have you already had lunch?” The dinner will only be after midnight. I say I had enough breakfast and expect to have enough snacks in between. Still, shortly after, a plate with two puris—fried bread with curry filling—appears. I thank them for the two rounds. The preparations are still in full swing. I can help by filling dozens of small bowls with oil. These bowls will be lit later in the evening. The preparations must be ready by seven o’clock. That’s the moment for prayer. At the back of the apartment, a small shrine is set up. Each family member lights an oil lamp. The fifth lamp is for me. After the prayer, the children come running in their finest dresses. Everyone changes into traditional Indian clothing. I also brought my kurta. Although mine is rather simple (and a bit wrinkled from the trip), I put it on. Together we take a photo. I hand out the gifts I brought. Outside, the first fireworks are already sounding. When I walk around the neighborhood with Ravi, it’s striking how all the apartments are decorated with lights.

India - Many balconies are decorated with blinking lights for Diwali

Almost every house has twinkling or burning lights. Through the tall flats, it creates a colorful spectacle. Two cousins arrive with children. A brother comes in with his family, and also Ravi’s mother stops by. Diwali is clearly a family event. Everyone wants to take a photo with me. When the family is complete, it’s time to set off fireworks themselves. I’m invited to light fireworks too. I really don’t like this. I do my duty but keep a safe distance. Especially when I see how unstable the rockets are. Inside, meanwhile, a bottle of whisky appears on the table along with snacks, treats, and sweets. Gradually, family members start leaving again. Around midnight, dinner is served. Only three plates are brought to the table. I eat with the brother and his wife. The rest eats later. Whether this is purely practical due to the number of chairs or if there’s another reason is unclear to me. At one o’clock, I walk with Ravi to his brother’s apartment. He wants to show it to me. The daughters proudly show their bedrooms. When I’m offered a drink, it turns out it still needs to be ordered. Ten minutes later, the delivery arrives while fireworks still go on outside. I’m driven back by car to Ravi’s apartment. By then, the calm has returned. The children are in bed. It’s around two o’clock when I’m shown the guest room. I fall asleep quickly.