DIWALI IN DELHI 1996

Some evenings become part of us, remembered in the flowers in our hair, the silver on the table, and the familiar faces that always found their way home. Diwali in Delhi, 1996 is a return to the rituals, homes and people we never imagined we would miss.

The silver had found its way to the table. Dinner arrived in bowls and platters that never quite matched and were never meant to. Certain dishes appeared because they always had. Mithai crowded every available surface. Malpuas were fried until their edges were crisp, with cold rabri waiting alongside.

As the night went on, the conversations travelled between rooms. Someone was laughing in the passage. Someone knew something they weren't supposed to know. Cards appeared without anyone remembering who had suggested them. Dessert was eaten long after dinner had ended.

  • I think of those Delhi evenings now as a kind of inheritance. Not the things we were told to preserve, but the things nobody imagined we might miss one day  - an open house, a favourite aunt, flowers in our hair, friends who became family, a table that had seen us at every age.
  • Diwali in Delhi, 1996 returns to that room.