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Only In Diwali.

by Siddhi Mathe
(Mumbai, India)

As I was walking over the hardly walkable, broken-bricked, vendor-filled footpath on the third night of Diwali, I was thinking to myself—more like questioning myself—how come a celebration of victory, a beautiful homecoming of Bhagwan Ram, to be commemorated by lighting diyas, has turned into a festival of turning your city into a gas chamber? I have to travel across the city for work, so air pollution has a special place in my nostrils. Not a single winter in the last three years has passed without me falling ill, having an icky throat, or suffering from burning eyes due to pollution. Whenever I dream of moving to Delhi for professional progression, Mumbai winters show me my place.

I was making my way through the footpath to purchase my vitamin C tablets. It wasn’t the most important pursuit; it could have waited till morning, when I could hopefully walk without having to watch out for small lavangi bombs thrown on the streets by young kids, enjoying what they believe to be a harmless activity in the absence of adult supervision.

As I was making my way to the pharmacy, in the wake of trying to avoid stepping on any vendor’s items, I bumped into a man, causing him to lose his balance and drop his cigarette on ground. I am a civilised woman or at least I believed so until this moment. I say sorry at the smallest inconvenience caused to any human being. At this point, brushing against any person inadvertently triggers a “sorry” from my mouth, like a reflex, even in Mumbai locals. Never before had I failed to say sorry to someone I accidentally bumped into. But something happened the moment I saw the cigarette on the floor, burning brightly.

My lawyer brain instantly frowned at the cigarette, smoking in a public place. Without looking at the gentleman I had bumped into, I walked past him and entered the pharmacy right ahead. “Late Mr. Murli Deora didn’t fight for nothing,” I thought to myself. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sorry for accidentally dropping a stranger’s belongings on ground. After all, he had broken the law by smoking in a public place; he deserved no sorry.

I was a bit uncomfortable about it though. It wasn’t in my character. The pharmacy was understaffed due to Diwali. As I waited for my turn at the billing counter, a sudden train of guilty thoughts started hitting me. “I walked past a stranger without saying sorry when it was my mistake his cigarette fell. What was I judging him for, when the whole world is bursting crackers?” Now I was weighing the situation, “should I say sorry?” In a comparative sense, he was doing much less environmental harm today than those burning crackers. That, if on no other day, for the sheer fact that it is Diwali night and his contribution to the health hazard is minuscule today, I should say sorry.

My turn came. After billing, I stayed inside the pharmacy for ten seconds to think and reached the conclusion, that indeed the person deserved an apology for me accidentally causing his cigarette to fall - only today, only during this festival, no other day. I made up my mind to say sorry.

As I walked out, I saw no cigarette on the floor, but one in the gentleman’s lips. In all probability, the man had picked up the cigarette and was smoking the same one. He was surrounded by two other friends. I quickly waved at him and said, “Sorry, Bhayya,” making a gesture of touching my lips with the ends of two fingers and pointing at the floor to show I was, in fact, today, sorry for causing his cigarette to fall.

He said the magical words, “It’s okay.” I was guilt-free—only for that day. No other day could make me feel that way about the same situation.

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