In the evening,
houses were decked up.
festoons flung in the air.
Even the trees draped
the electric swirls intended
to shine and shimmer.
As Diyas popped up
everywhere, the place was lit heaven.
Kids were in thorough fun and frolic.
But elders were busy in flaunting
and boasting their new arrivals.
Festive spirit cupped with Stateliness
was in the air.
I too dressed up in
the best outfit to pitch in.
Exchanged sweets and pleasantries.
Amidst, I rolled my eyes
to make sure Reetu
was in the proxy.
She – my six year old daughter
is the heaven sent solace.
Robbed in vibrant colour,
the little devil looked splendid.
Hither and thither, she ran
being so much enthralled.
Engrossed in the festivity,
I was lost in exuberance.
A little later, my little princess wasn’t seen.
My legs shivered.
My hands trembled with fear.
I perspired.
My heart was in my mouth.
I glimpsed around bating and searching
The vicissitude blackened me.
Then came the light.
Yes. She stood far-flung
talking with a girl of her age.
I leapt and ran in a moment
to take her by my side.
The girl seemed absent to the evident fiesta.
Although dusky, she looked charming,
with unruly and unkempt locks devoid of oil.
she wore an overflowing gown
patched everywhere, over
her unbathed lean frame.
I enquired her whereabouts.
The slender hand pointed towards
the narrow corridors sleeping in
darkness with no signs of Jamboree.
What a contradictory it was!!
At one end, the festive mood
is grand dancing with pomp and style.
The other end witnesses the darkness
being darkened and starved even to the meanest.
Reetu, questioned, ‘Where is her new dress?’
Tears rolled down my eyes.
looking at the created inequality
as old and rich, despite the same age.
I hurried home, picked up
new dresses and neatly packed.
Rushed down to visit her home
to make it a memorable Diwali for her.
Lighting up a diya,
I vowed to myself that
I shall be the mark of change,
If not for all
at least for Her.
Written by Ramya Sree
