Reminiscing Tihar

I opened the door to my room, threw the key on the table and set the alarm for tomorrow on my phone. A miss call “Unknown” made me realize that somebody must have called me from home. Suddenly, I realized it was yet another beautiful festival Tihar.

When I was back home, Tihar was my best festivity, for it was an occasion of light and delight. Although Dashain is considered the greatest festival, I never felt its importance until I came here, away from my family. For me, Dashain was a way for the whole family and kith and kin to come together, to hear some political guffaw of my Dad and his acquaintances. Under the dark blue sky, on the terrace of my house, I would listen closely to my Dad and fall asleep on the side gazing at the stars when my Mom would have gone to her parents along with my brother. However, Tihar was something that filled my whole world with a unique aroma of excitement. Flickering candles, diyo and a bunch of deusi-bhaili groups were so cheerful to me. The gayety was even more with crackers that I would buy with my brother under-the- table, for my Dad never liked it.

Every year, I had been with my brother, who along with me, would light up the candles outside the house on this day. Although the bridge would make the flame dance and blow out, we would spend whole night making sure there was light around our house and that Goddess Laxmi would come to our house. The redolence of shell-roti, gujiya and sweets made by my sister and a smile on everyone’s face in my family would please me. I would watch the deusi-bhaili people going from shop to shop, singing and dancing. Then my Dad would ask me to be in his shop so that he could go and do Laxmi Puja.

But, today I lie down on this bed, all tired and restless from daylong work, I am waiting for a call, just one call, from my brother, my sister, my Mom and my Dad. Just one call, and I swear my whole week would go lucky. I’m waiting. All the festivals come and go, but they don’t matter to anyone here. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, they don’t interest me at all. During my own festivals, I find myself and Nepali friends soaked in working and finishing assignments and class projects. I can’t complain.

I turn off the light to sleep and my phone rings.

(Photo courtesy of Blind Manche on Flickr.com)