Deepavali is here yet again,
Back home, no one awaits me once again,
Missing them terribly is my true pain,
Getting used to my absence is their true victory, their
true gain.
Celebrating togetherness is the only dream I nourish,
But the standard of living here, they say I MUST
cherish.
To cherish, I beg these immaculate roads to take me
home, but they fail,
I beseech this clean air to turn redolent with mom's
festive spread, but no avail.
Firecrackers, flowers, fun and food, they say are
small sacrifices we make for a greater good,
But family is the wealthiest asset says every dying
man who has it all understood.
Hanging on to my Indian WhatsApp number, I peer
hopefully to not miss my family greeting,
Tech glitch, time zone, hectic schedules are their
answers sometimes to my wishful thinking.
I wish I could sue Tanishq and Cadbury ads for pushing
my emotional threshold,
But the cliché -'Distance doesn't matter' comes to my
rescue, and I somehow withhold.
Finally, dad sends a selfie - half his face in the
frame, and a full smiling mom, glowing gold with earthen diyas in her hand,
In their eyes, I search for my absence, my void, but
their mastery of disguise defends their strong stand.
A group-selfie with my newfound homies, "Happy
Diwali" I grin with our candle tea lights,
Blinking and batting my moist eyes, lining up hope for
the next 365 nights.
I send them this tear glistened picture, an evidence
to corroborate their idea of standard of living,
T o me, a memoir of everything that gradually
contributes to my fine standard of dying.
Oh yes, Happy Deepavali, once again!
