If there is a puja happening somewhere nearby, I can usually be found… nowhere.
But there is something about Diwali that I can't fully explain.
ChatGPT “thinks” it may have something to do with the joy of school holidays during those dark, difficult years when I was expected to be a student.
So, yes, I like Diwali.
Minus the firecrackers.
Excessive puja stuff.
And the need to illuminate every square inch of the terrace with AliExpress bargain lights.
Which sorta leaves us with… food.
Ask almost any Indian of my generation about Diwali and you will get roughly the same story. The whole neighbourhood gathered. Someone was making mathri. Someone else gujia. There was besan barfi, daal barfi, laddus, namak para, and whatnot.
And it was not three pieces arranged delicately in a box with a ribbon around them.
We are talking quantities capable of feeding a small European nation.
Of course, nostalgia is a bitch. And that world has mostly gone.
People moved away. Families got smaller. Kitchens got busier. Yada yada yada.
But that does not mean Diwali food has to become lame.
Or fluorescent. Or so sugary it would put marshmallows to shame.
I believe mithai, or any food for that matter, tastes best when made with a little less nonsense and a lot more care.
No? Well, try ours. And you will know.
Otherwise those fluorescent Jalebis ain’t going anywhere.
Back to work. It’s Diwali after all.
