Back in India, Diwali wasn’t just a holiday; it was the holiday. The focus of the week leading up to Diwali was cleaning, decorating, and attempting to convince my mother that I would actually help. As the big day got closer, the house got filled with the smell of sweets, our balcony filled with lights, and my excitement pushed me closer to the holiday.
For anyone who has never experienced it, Diwali, the Festival of Lights, is one of the biggest festivals in India. It signifies the triumph of good over evil and light over darkness. When I was a child, I used to walk around neighborhood homes, passing out sweets to neighbors, while wearing my lehenga – an Indian dress with a sparkly skirt, embroidered top, and with a lot of twirling potential.
Everybody on that day took time off from their busy lives, families visited each other, parents came home early from work, and happiness spilled on the streets. But my favorite part of the day was always the diyas. Small, clay lamps filled with oil, hundreds of diyas lit windows and balconies as the sun set.
Moving to the United States changed my Diwali experience, and for the first time it felt…. quiet. I had never experienced Diwali in the U.S. when there were no packed markets, no sweets lining the kitchen counter, and no fireworks. Instead, it was my laptop, myself, and a family video call. My mom would turn the camera away from her face to show the house’s new decorations, while my dad, always working, said he was lighting diyas somewhere else.
I would grin and smile, but inside, it was a sweet sadness.
This year, Diwali found me again, specifically at a Diwali celebration on campus, hosted by Ithaca College’s International Club and the South Asian Students Association. Everyone arrived in colorful kurtas, sarees, and lehengas, it smelled like gulab jamun and paneer tikka, and the event was lit up.
I remember one of my friends biting into a samosa and saying, “This is amazing… but my tongue’s on fire!” We all burst out laughing. That’s the thing about Diwali, it’s not just about lights or food; it’s about sharing a piece of your culture, even if it makes someone reach for water on their first bite.
I noticed a change as I stood there that evening, surrounded by people who shared the same traditions but lived far away from their homes. My friend turned to me and said “It actually feels like home here,” I realized she was correct.
While I may not have been able to light the diyas outside my door this year, in some way, I did. I discovered that even when one is 7,000 miles away from their home, Diwali makes its way back to you. And that’s also sort of what Diwali is too; it is a celebration of light, yes, but it is also a celebration of belonging. And this year, amongst friends from every corner of the world, I found my home.