Diwali Through the Years

As i was travelling to Chennai to meet a friend of mine in the Mid Journey to Chennai i had met a Passenger name "Ravi" as we talked about each other's he said his Diwali Experiences through the Years. I found the Story of Ravi is very sad and took a Note.

The Story Diwali Through the Years it was a Story of a Young men Watched his Diwali Celebration from his Childhood to Adult Age.

As Ravi sat on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, the soft glow of the city lights mirrored the sparkle of a thousand Diwali diyas flickering in the distance. It was that time of year again—the festival of lights, the time when families came together, when homes were decorated with marigold flowers and bright lanterns, when sweets filled every kitchen, and the smell of incense hung in the air. But for Ravi, Diwali had always been more than just a festival; it had been a reflection of the times, a mirror showing how far he had come, and how much had changed.

As the sounds of distant firecrackers echoed through the night, Ravi leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting back to the Diwalis of his childhood, in the 90s.

Diwali in the 90s: Simplicity and Struggles:

The Diwali of his childhood was never about grandiose celebrations or luxury. Ravi’s family, like most middle-class families in India at the time, lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment. His father worked as a clerk in a government office, earning just enough to keep the lights on, while his mother managed the household with resourcefulness that bordered on genius.

The preparations for Diwali started well in advance, though they weren’t as grand as the ones people boasted about on TV. Ravi still remembered the smell of marigold garlands that his mother would string together, the small, flickering diyas that they would place all over the house, carefully filled with oil. His parents would take him to the local market, which was always packed with people buying last-minute things. Ravi’s excitement would peak when he could pick out a small packet of crackers—sometimes sparklers, sometimes a few rockets. But there was never money for the big, colorful displays that some of the other kids in the neighborhood had. 

Ravi’s father would make sure the house was clean, and there would be a little ritual: a new pair of clothes bought only for the occasion, something simple but fresh, and a quick prayer in the morning. Then, they would visit their neighbors—some of them would give sweets, others would share a simple meal, and even more would share stories of how they had been doing over the past year. 

But it was always the same: every Diwali, Ravi’s family had to watch how the others celebrated—how their richer neighbors had bigger homes, how their friends brought bags of expensive crackers and new clothes. It wasn’t that Ravi felt envious, but the disparity was hard to ignore. His parents worked hard, but it always felt like their middle-class status meant they had to make do with less.

But there was joy in the simplicity. The neighborhood came together. They would light diyas together, share stories, and watch as the entire street shimmered with lights. There was something about Diwali back then that felt special, not because of the things they had, but because they had each other. Ravi’s parents would tell him, “Diwali is about bringing light to the dark, both outside and within,” and for him, that simple lesson stayed with him for years.

Diwali in the 2000s: The Pressure of Prosperity:

By the time Ravi entered his 20s, things had changed. His family had moved to a slightly bigger house, his father had received a promotion, and his mother had returned to work part-time, helping ease the financial strain. The Diwali celebrations of his youth had given way to something more. Ravi now had a steady job, and while he didn’t have much in terms of wealth, the middle-class stability of the new millennium allowed him to live comfortably. 

But with that comfort came a new pressure. Diwali wasn’t just about lighting diyas anymore—it was about impressing others. He had begun to notice the rise of consumerism in the country: the explosion of ads promising the “perfect Diwali,” with sparkling new phones, jewelry, and cars. Even his friends, who had once celebrated with small crackers, had now begun buying larger firecrackers, more expensive gifts, and grander clothes. There was a noticeable difference in the atmosphere. 

His parents, still firmly rooted in the values they had upheld all their lives, didn’t care for the extravagance. But Ravi had a job now—he was working in the city, had a group of friends with whom he shared a small flat, and felt the social pressure of fitting in. Diwali, at first, was still an intimate family celebration, but it started to feel like a competition. His colleagues boasted about the lavish parties they had attended, about the shopping sprees, and about the extravagant gifts they received. Ravi found himself wondering if he should have spent more—if he should have bought his parents the gold necklace they’d always wanted, or if he should have gone all out on crackers like the rich families did in the commercials.

The joy of Diwali began to lose its simplicity. The pressures of “keeping up” with the times had crept in, and with it came a certain hollowness. The lights, the noise, the chaos—they all felt louder now, overwhelming, as though the true meaning of Diwali was being drowned out by the expectations placed upon him. 

Diwali in the 2020s: A Festival of Excess:

Now, in his late 30s, Ravi sat in his modern apartment, which was far larger than the home he had grown up in. His wife and children had joined him in decorating the house. There were designer lamps and ornate diyas, an entire table dedicated to expensive sweets, and a balcony filled with the latest firecrackers. The house was spotless, the walls gleaming with freshly painted accents. 

Yet, Ravi couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Despite the wealth they had accumulated, the ostentatious decorations, the endless fireworks, and the gleaming shopping bags, there was a strange emptiness in the air. His children, who had every toy, every gadget, every designer outfit they could wish for, were already bored by the time the evening settled in. His wife, though happy with the abundance, looked distracted—checking social media, comparing their Diwali with those of influencers and friends. 

The constant bombardment of “perfect Diwali” images on Instagram and Facebook made Ravi question the essence of it all. Was this really what Diwali had become? A race to show off how much you could spend? The grand celebrations, the flashy fireworks, the designer clothes—all seemed like hollow symbols of success, void of meaning. 

Ravi missed the Diwali of his childhood. He missed the simplicity of lighting diyas with his parents, the shared meals with neighbors, and the quiet joy that came from just being together. The world had changed so much. The community that had once existed, where neighbors would visit each other’s homes to wish for prosperity, now seemed lost. People were too busy with their own lives, their own celebrations, to even spare a few moments for those around them.

The Realization:

He thinks about the diya lights that flickered around the house, their soft glow offering a sense of peace and belonging. There was something timeless about the rituals, the sharing of sweets, and the way everyone came together to mark the occasion. It was a night that reminded him of simpler joys—of the feeling of togetherness, of childhood memories where he had once eagerly waited for the fireworks, of the way his parents had always made the festival special.
But as an adult, Diwali had taken on a different meaning. It wasn't just about the fireworks or the sweets anymore; it was a chance to pause, to reflect, and to appreciate what he had in life. The clean, renewed energy that Diwali symbolized felt even more significant now—a fresh start, a moment of gratitude for the people who mattered, and a quiet hope for the future.