By Sam Trailerman
Ever imagined celebrating Deepavali in the late 1970s—no mobile phones, no WhatsApp forwards, not even a selfie stick in sight?
Back then, if you were lucky, you had access to the mighty telephone landline. And when it rang, it was a household sprint: kids tumbling over furniture, yelling “I’ll get it!” like Olympic sprinters chasing gold. That one call could carry a dozen Deepavali wishes, laughter, and the occasional long-distance gossip.
But the real magic? Greeting cards. Homes weren’t just decorated with oil lamps—they were wallpapered with cards. The more cards you received, the more festive your home felt.
Each card was a badge of love, a token of thoughtfulness. And if you got one with a mysterious poem signed by “Your Secret Admirer”? Brain explosion. You’d spend days decoding handwriting and suspecting every classmate with decent rhymes.
Today, those cards are considered prehistoric artefacts — stone-age emojis, if you will.
Now, Deepavali wishes arrive in bulk via social media, often duplicated, forwarded, and algorithm-approved.
No one’s surprised to receive the same glittery GIF from three different aunties or uncles. It’s efficient, yes— but where’s the fun, the chaos, the charm?
These days, Deepavali preparations include topping up your data plan. You need full bars and full bandwidth to scroll through the avalanche of well-wishes, memes, and virtual kolams. But while the medium has changed, the message remains: joy, light, and togetherness.
The oil lamps of yesteryears have given way to twinkle lights — safer, brighter, and less likely to set your curtains ablaze.
But beware: last year’s tangled fairy lights and electric wires are a universal test of patience. Like a bird’s nest woven by a pigeon that has consumed something heady, they demand gentle untangling, teamwork, and the occasional expletive – grrrrrrrrrr!
Yet once lit, they sparkle with pride, outshining even Muthu’s or Samy’s house across the street in your friendly neighbourhood.
What about murukku and sweets? In today’s hustle culture, many outsource the crunch. Online orders replace amma’s golden touch, and some younger folks wouldn’t know a murukku mould from a moon crater.
Happiness to me is homemade Deepavali murukku and cookies even though at times the finished product might look like something from the Land of the Lost.
Focusing on shared traditions, the warmth of togetherness, and the joy of creating sweet memories, that process itself is as cherished as the final sweet. Here’s the truth: happiness is homemade. Even if your cookies look like abstract art, the toil in the kitchen, laughter, flour fights, and shared stories are the real treats.
Deepavali continues to evolve—shaped by technology, time, and changing tides. Yet, its soul remains intact.
It’s not just about the gifts of money in attractive envelopes or mum’s legendary curry. It’s about connection.
For those far from home, video calls replace the warm hugs. But what if you’re staying alone? Your solo rituals carry the weight of memory and love, about those far away and near, but always close to one’s heart.
And me? I’m one of those nostalgic souls who still craves the Deepavali of old. My home may not glow with grandeur, but it glows with intention.
I light my lamps, untangle my lights, and stir my batter with hope.
So, this Deepavali, may the peace and love we kindle ripple across borders and screens. To my family, friends, and kindred spirits — may this festival of lights bring you peace, prosperity, health, and an abundance of joy.
Happy Deepavali!