The highlight of Diwali was always the ‘who-will-do-it-first
contest’ – the rush of trying to be the first ones out with the noisiest bang
as early as you could on Diwali morning. We were also usually provoked by the
Diwali-eve taunts of ‘Hah, it’s not going to be you for sure’. At Gokulam, this
challenge was with everyone within audible distance. It wasn’t going to be
easy, because to technically win the war, you had to be the first one lighting
the cracker AFTER your bath (the Ganga snaanam acha? one).
We usually made long drawn-out plots. “4 am”,
my brother would whisper, conspiratorially “no 3.30, let’s set the alarm and
wake up before anyone else”. This was some sort of an impossible feat, since he
needed to be kicked thoroughly to wake up even at 4 pm! However, gamely we
always nodded heady for battle.
Our wake up time also meant that amma and patti had to wake
up much earlier than our target, to make sure the boiler was lit (no geysers
then), our clothes arranged, the oil, nalangu and the incomparable ‘Diwali
Lehiyam’ all in place. After some groggy disoriented moments, we usually
trooped in a line waiting for patti to massage our heads.
For the non-beauty parlour going population then, patti’s
oil massages were a patented experience. On non-Diwali days, we would keep
begging her to keep massaging. Laughing, she would always narrate a story of
how so-and-so slept off during an oil massage and had to be woken up (quite
plausible). On Diwali, however, we were in a rush. Enough patti, quickly,
finish it patti – all available short-cuts were taken to finish the nalangu, patti’s oil massage song and
the betelnut. We could only think of the cracker contest finish line. A short
bathroom argument later, we would hurriedly fall flat at amma’s and patti’s
feet to collect our mandatory blessings and new clothes.
Even before they could speak so much as a word, let alone
bless us with the 'study well' etc. (we didn’t care about studies in any case) we
would race off to change and rush out, ‘saram’ in hand. It was usually just a
few minutes that separated the winner with the also-rans. Either we would groan
hugely and blame everyone around including those in the house who were still
asleep, or we would whoop and jump around to celebrate our being THE ONE. However,
after that early morning excitement and hyperactivity, things would kind of
dull down a bit. A series of sarams, kuruvi vedis and Lakshmi vedis later, we
were usually whittled down to fidgeting with bijlis the smallest, cheapest and most loyal of all crackers, by
the time the sun rose.
In this melee, where were the men of the house? Thatha
usually woke up but sat oiled but unbathed, watching the ruckus or giving an
odd shout here and there at someone. Appa of course, was a different story,
wonderfully managing to sleep through all the noise and firecrackers till it
was quite light. Except, that is, on that one Diwali.
Converging after the peace of the cracker contest, with
cousins and neighbours, with the heaviness of sweets inside, we started off on rockets. Stuck into a bottle, a
scientific forum like discussion preceded the safest angle to light it in.
During one launch, though, our predictions seemed to have gone all wrong and
the rocket, suddenly turned and sped with the greatest determination right into
an open bedroom window. It had chosen carefully, the room where my dad slept.
As we all raced up the stairs, we were only partly worried
about where it fell mostly it was apprehension about the shelling we were sure
to get from all the elders. A sleepy-eyed appa viewed us rubbing his head,
trying to figure out what had woken him up. The extinguished rocket lay on the
floor, satisfied apparently at having achieved its goal. Fortunately, the only
damage done was that appa was abruptly woken up.
We got off, lightly that time, partially because amma and
patti found this to be a hilarious story. Irked at being the earliest risers
year after year, watching the men wander around or sleep, I suspected that they might have even deviously considered making this errant rocket an annual ritual!
Fortunately for appa, that was the only year this rude
awakening happened for him. He woke himself up early enough to stay out of the way of rockets, thereafter. The story of the rocket through the window
circulated with great speed as we wandered around wishing and getting wished.
Along with the bijlis and the cracker contests the story got spicier and more
fascinating.
There were many more tales during Diwali - the 'Vengaya Vedi', (onion crackers that you throw and burst), the cape and gun that heralded the festival a month in advance, the 'collection' we got from hordes of relatives who came. Read also about the errant busvanam story in another of my posts. However, some stories stand out, and the rocket-dad is one of them. Today, it is a part of the numerous ‘tellable’
tales of the Gokulam folklore.
