By Robert Clements
A Real Diwali..!
In the evenings I love sitting under my peepul tree and watching the darkness weave itself through the leaves. There is something peaceful about that slow and graceful meeting of light and night, as if the day itself is taking a bow before leaving. The gentle rustling of the branches seems like applause for the sun that has completed its daily performance.
But in these last few days, that quiet darkness has been constantly interrupted by bursts of light. Sparklers hiss, rockets shoot upward, and the sky explodes in magnificent bursts of red, blue, and gold. For a moment, even the moon seems to watch in wonder. Then the lights fade, the echoes of the fireworks die away, and the night returns to reclaim its space.
That is the rhythm of Diwali; light battling darkness. But as I sit under my peepul tree, I find myself wondering whether our celebrations have stayed true to what the festival really means.
Diwali, after all, is not about the brief beauty of light that fades when the sky clears. It is about the triumph of good over evil, of right over wrong, of truth over deceit. It is not the kind of light that dazzles the eyes but the kind that clears the vision. As we decorate our balconies with strings of bulbs and our courtyards with rows of diyas, it is worth asking whether there are still corners within our hearts that remain unlit. The truth is that darkness does not live only in the night outside our windows. It lives quietly within us — in our fears, our prejudices, and our silences.
Light, in its truest sense, is truth. It reveals what lies hidden, it exposes what we prefer not to see. It can be harsh, uncomfortable, even painful. Yet without it, we stumble. It is only when light shines on corruption, or on injustice, or on cruelty that it fulfils its purpose.
The darkness that we must conquer today is not made of shadows, but of silence. It is that silence when we see wrong and do not speak, when we know the truth but stay quiet to avoid trouble, when we scroll past suffering because it disturbs our peace. That is the darkness which grows each time we look away.
Every small lamp we light this Diwali should remind us that light has meaning only when it pushes back against darkness. The lamps on our windowsills are lovely, but they must also illuminate our minds. The fireworks above my peepul tree fill the sky for a few moments, but true light is not about spectacle or sound. It is about persistence, a steady flame that burns even when no one is watching.
When a journalist risks her job to tell the truth, when a citizen refuses to pay a bribe, when a child stands up for a friend being bullied, these too are moments of Diwali. They are not celebrated with noise or colour, but with courage. Each of these small acts of light weakens the power of darkness in our world.
The danger, however, is that once the festival ends, we often pack away our lights and also our resolve. We return to the routine of dimmed awareness and polite silence. The lamps flicker out, and so does our determination to keep the world bright.
It is in those quiet days after Diwali that the real test begins; whether the glow continues to burn within us or whether we allow the shadows to return.
I think of my grandchildren often during this time. Whenever there is a power cut, they rush to find their small torches. They hold them up, laughing and shouting, “Look, Grandpa, we can make the dark run away!” Their laughter fills the room with a joy no electricity could ever bring. And I smile, because perhaps that is what God wants from us too, not grand gestures of light that last an evening, but small, constant flames that keep darkness running away every single day.
If each of us held even one such torch, the torch of honesty, of fairness, of compassion, we could light up this nation in a way no fireworks ever could. Imagine a Diwali where every act of kindness becomes a spark, every word of truth becomes a lamp, and every heart that forgives becomes a beacon. So tonight, as you light your diya and watch its glow, whisper a prayer. Ask that the light you see outside finds its way inside your heart. Let it stay after the crackers have quieted, after the sweets are eaten, and after the last guest has gone home. Let the light remind you that you have the power to make darkness flee, not just from your room, but from the world around you. Because the real Diwali is not about celebration. It is about conviction. It is about the decision to keep that light burning, through injustice, through fear, through indifference — until there is no corner left where darkness can hide.
And when that happens, when the glow from our diyas becomes the glow from our lives, we will not need fireworks to mark the festival. Our actions will light up the world far brighter than any sparkler ever could.
That is when Diwali will truly live up to its name — the festival of lights, not for a night, but for all time…!
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