Happy Diwali.

In my jungle surroundings, Diwali means butterflies and birds. Under the post-monsoon October sun, plants have begun to display buds and blooms. We don’t see many of the latter survive the day. Reason: those butterflies and birds from the first sentence destroy them. Hairy baby butterflies (cute but prickly caterpillars actually) are crazily hungry all the time. Some hundreds of them get born on a single twig and spend all their waking hours chewing up every leaf in sight. I don’t know if they ever sleep. Bald or balding trees, a farmer/ 5-star hotel gardener’s nightmare, is a lepidopterist/ entomologist’s delight. Worms of all kinds are crawling everywhere. Birds, squirrels, civet cats and other sly creatures bite into every fruit they come across, rendering them non-eatable for us humans who have slogged through the year for them to grow. One member of the GoaGardeners group was wondering how to prevent porcupines from destroying her plants. Someone should tell our government that it isn’t just the wild boars, peacocks, nilgai and monkeys that are wreaking havoc with crops: we need to kill many other creatures, too, including prowling two-legged thieves. (That the big and real rogues sit in a/c’d offices and move around in red-light-topped white cars far removed from the poverty our petty robbers live in, is another story.) All’s fair in harvest and war. A friend described a crocodile snacking on a live bat, said it sounded like someone eating potato crisps. Nature is equally unfair to every living thing. In the fast-growing slum outside my gate, a Narkasur effigy is being built. (Just asking, are there legal slums anywhere in India?) Built by those who live in the rooms raised on Communidade land. No one razes what’s raised unless the Court says so... and even then, there’s always an appeal to depend on-- a Panch gave me this gyaan once. Before the Narkasur came, there was a pandal erected for Ma’am Devi; before her Mr Ganapati had festivities devoted to him. After Tulsi-lagna, the Christmas decorations will be up. Civilization has come to our jungle, jingling all the way. The paddy-crop has been cut. One tractor, one day. Hard, laborious field work avoided and over. Viva technology. Neighbourhood homes have been painted. Gates and compound walls have got spruced up. Strings of imported fairy-lights adorn coconut-tree trunks and mango/guava branches. Kitchens are still smelling of snacks being fried and sugar bubbling into syrup. Packets of over-the-counter bought mithai have been discarded over walls into uninhabited plots. The camouflage of creepers has thinned after the rains and the rubbish is tossed around by the breeze. Around Diwali, the breeze picks up, though it isn’t as strong as around Sankranth, and the litter gets evenly distributed in our wado, not discriminating between rich/poor, caste/community, Goan/bhailey. Nature moves in non-discriminating ways. Clay diyas with oil-dipped wicks add to the annual grease marks on floors and window-sills. ‘Rexine’ footwear, plastic buckets, cars and mobile-phones have changed many of our traditions (think Chinese food and chaat at weddings). Other customs get modified, like the preferred material for the akash-kandil is now plastic. Cheaper, easy to fold and store, reusable. Any housewife will tell you its benefits. A friend who is concerned about what’s happening in the world, the country, the mines in the state, the beaches in Goa says the killings in Uri/Quetta/Mao areas should make us feel guilty about lighting lamps, buying new things and enjoying ourselves. Quote: “So many families have been plunged into permanent darkness; this is no time for celebration.” Actually, every year, there’s some reason for gloom—if not earthquake, then flood or drought, if not train accidents, then actors running over pavement-dwellers; if not female foeticide, then paedophiles/murderers getting acquitted; if not dengue, then drug-resistant tb. What to do, celebrate Diwali or not, I want to ask. But I don’t, for life is confusing as it is, for the sensitive. The jungle, unpunctuated by Diwali/Holi, has its own seasonal mazaa. Through the confident branches of teak, the coconut fronds have struggled to make their way skywards. The mango-guava-chickoo threesome is in-between fruiting, the roots enjoying the moist comfort of the homemade saaro-compost that surrounds them. Kingfishers, orioles, bee-eaters, mynas, coppersmiths, koels, tits, sunbirds, baya-weavers and other small birds dart around through the leaves. We can barely get a quick glimpse their gaudy colours. They move fast, they are small, they are lively. Dashes of crimson, emerald, sapphire, sunflower yellow, shiny purple, that’s the only indication of a bird in flight. One morning, I saw a hornbill. Then another. And one more, all in the span of a few minutes. Priceless. The pulsating glow of the fireflies at night is superior to any crackers/sparklers/wheelies money can buy. At night, too, the jungle silence is eerie, its darkness scary, and the life in it utterly fascinating. The one thing Nature can’t provide is cooked food. Like biryani. Snacks and recipes devised and perfected over the centuries. Man-made chaklyo, phenoryo, neuryo, phene, khaje, phov, narlya-vadyo, even the delicious mutton-puri and fried fish which was/is traditionally made in some communities is what, to my mind, really makes a great Diwali. No substitute for good health and great food. Same with music. You may like the sounds of the insects, the song of the birds, the moos and grunts of the mammals, the rhythmic swoosh of the sea. But the taans of a raag, intricate and tuneful, the build-up of an alaap, the cheerful, rapid-fire notes of a taraanaa are man-made. Along with people whose company you enjoy, that makes the good life. Diwali is a label given to times like these, all man-made. Festivals can be fun for some, forced fun for others and no fun at all for the grieving and the ill. I send my wishes to …our jawans, whether at the border, undergoing training or languishing with dreadful injuries… municipal workers, cops, medical teams in government hospitals, kisans, firemen, teachers, postmen, bankers, readers… Happy Diwali all. Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in.