a brutal collision course

a cat padding down a street

is surprised,

its senses are enveloped with

bursts of snapping crackers,

welcoming exclamations,

warm tea-lights that light up each dark corner.

every house on the street flaunts its own variety 

of fairy lights

illuminated by countless flames and 

a devotion impossible to put into words.

it’s incredible how

one flame is enough to

give birth to another five 

or more,

is enough to irradiate

joy, 

anticipation and hope,

in the form of a 

brilliant yellow light.

and when night falls, houses resonate with 

the zealous ringing of bells 

and 

a pure smell

of flowers, sweets and liquid wax

wafts all around

inviting the hidden and awaiting 

to a sumptuous, rich Indian dinner later.

families with each member’s forehead

smeared with vermillion

they serve and share love 

and food,

and they laugh,

and gift,

and plan for the years ahead.

but ever so often

someone brings up crackers

and these naïve humans give into years of tradition,

despite the choking coughs of grandparents and 

accumulating need for air-purifiers,

do we not see?

we’re one Diwali away from absolute devastation.

Ravan needn’t be burnt,

was Ravan even evil enough to be humiliated 

so relentlessly and ruthlessly

every year?

do we have enough reason to hate someone so much?

we’re leaving behind a note to the future generations,

saying,

‘Hold eternal grudges against enemies and set them on fire occasionally-- even if it kills you.’

this is hardly a way to get vendetta,

slowly pouring this evil poison

of unsolicited hate and 

unpredictable climate change

into this creation,

our very own world

where

our hearts have learnt to 

stumble out of mutations,

amble along a river, Love, 

ride the roller-coaster, Relationships

and wear a mask, Feelings. 

we’re all a part of this best-selling book

from a parallel world somewhere, 

but the author who gave us life

isn’t writing it anymore,

we are,

and readers of this book 

are starting to laugh at our shameless mistakes

they’re incredulous,

some are unhappy

because they can see,

they can see,

like the author 

who threw up hands and face-palmed enough

like some self-aware characters in the book,

they all know,

they see the foreshadowing and dismay around, 

it all says,

that

        this book is coming to an awfully sad end.