So Dusshera has come and gone, and we’re now gearing up for the annual ODI (On Diwali, Inevitably) clash between the pataka party and the anti-pollution brigade. RWAs and schools are printing circulars begging people to keep it clean, while environmentalists and animal lovers strategise hectically to protect the air, the trees and all creatures great and small, even as right-wingers get busy cooking up their annual toxic rasedaar aaloo-tamatar stew of religious fervour, performative patriotism, brutal bullying and vulgar displays of wealth.
When we were children, we made a rangoli at the front door on Diwali, wore new clothes, sucked white batasha (moulded sugar) animal figurines, performed an OJJ (Om Jai Jagdish Hare) arti at home, burnt a modest cache of fireworks and played teen patti late into the night using dry fruits as currency. It was a simple yet perfect celebration, and the only thing I would want to add from the post-1990 universe into that classic mix would be Ed Sheeran’s mid-2025 desi-collab banger, with lyrics and a beat that is perfect for Diwali:
“You’re glowing/You colour and fracture the light/You can’t help but shine/And I know that/You carry the world on your back/But look at you tonight/The lights, your face, your eyes/Exploding like fireworks in the skyyyy.... Sapphire!”
During those childhood fireworks displays, the excitement stemmed mainly from the swift beating of our heart as we waited for the fuse to spark. Lighting patakas was a risky business, requiring courage (especially since the quality of crackers was rather erratic those days). The igniting provided as much excitement as the light and sound that followed. There were always some swashbucklers (fathers, brothers, the occasional feisty aunt or didi) who did the actual lighting while the rest of the party stood around watching breathlessly, hands clasped.
It was every child’s dream to be one of those badass heroes one day. Stepping forward while the rest hung behind in fright, bending down casually to ignite a delightful explosion of light. Coolest move ever.
Apart from joyously celebrating India in all its moods and colours, Sheeran’s lyrics also suggest that fireworks don’t have to be literal, they can also be symbolic/metaphorical. Of course, beautiful women have been hailed as patakas, phuljardis and lardi bombs by generations of Bollywood writers and roadside molesters, but let’s get our head out of our knickers, shall we, because I’m talking about truth bombs. The thought-provoking, conscience-stirring, brilliantly illuminating kind which the finest quality of stand-up comedians, whistleblowers and vigilant opposition MP specialise in launching into the smoggy sky of our public discourse.
Now, these are a form of Diwali celebration I can totally get behind. Whether it is a middle-school class teacher quietly but firmly debunking fake historical narratives in her classroom, a new resident challenging the colony RWA for having segregated elevators for domestic workers and residents, journalists daring to print the words Genocide in Gaza without employing inverted commas, the lack of consistency and logic in our external affairs policy with neighbouring nations and super-powers, a statement on the blatant partisanship of our Election Commison, or even a CJI politely suggesting to petitioners that they pray, meditate and ask Lord Vishnu to intercede and fix the matter of his beheaded statue in Khajuraho himself.
These truth bombs deliver highly on adrenalin and the accelerated heart-beat factor, they are fume-free, particulate-matter free (also literally free) and fully guaranteed to draw oohs and aahs on family and colony WhatsApp groups, national news channels and in the real world.
Why not gift ourselves cleaner air and a cleaner conscience by switching to these patakas this festive season.