What I know about Diwali

Or what the shopkeeper’s mother told me. I was hanging around some swanky shop while Doris, the anthropologist, was haggling with the shopkeeper to get the price for a dancing Ganesha down. They were haggling in euros so I knew it wasn’t a shop for me. Anyway, the mother at her son’s behest was doing her best to get me interested in some stuff and I played along for a while (it took a really long time to reach the right price point) until it dawned on me that I had a font of information right in front of me! So I pounced.

As a huge fan of Ganesh (I don’t call him Ganesha, though that’s what they call him here) and with my rudimentary knowledge that he had something to do with the festival of lights, I asked her to tell me about Diwali. It turns out that Ganesh is not alone as the only celebrant. His pal Lakshmi, a goddess I’ve never heard of except tangentially because of the news reporter Lakshmi Singh, is pretty key in all of this. He is easy to identify, who can miss the elephant head on a slightly chubby but nonetheless appealing human form. It turns out that she’s easy to identify, too! In the hands of each of her two back arms she holds a lotus.

According to my shopkeeper’s mother, Ganesh is the protector against evil. After a little thought, she decided to put a more positive spin on it, thus he is the destroyer of obstacles. However, most of us know him simply as the god of good luck. Lakshmi’s talents are pretty straightforward. She is the goddess of wealth. The happy couple are seen everywhere these days, he more than she, but the classic ones I’ve seen have all been in temples that don’t allow photographs—or pretty much anything else. My favorite Hindu temple (so far) said that you had to check EVERYTHING—at your own risk. A sample of what was not allowed inside aside: cameras, knives, mobile phones, food (described in excruciating detail), pen, paper, books, pots, cooking utensils, etc (just to be comprehensive). Therefore, all of my photos are from makeshift shrines on the street.

But the real Diwali is about lighting hundreds of tiny oil lamps and candles and a 24 hour non-stop display of personal fireworks. I do confess to loving the enormous sparklers that everyone seems to have, though you have to be pretty strong to spell your name in sparkler over and over until all three feet of the sparkler goes out. I was absolutely delighted to discover on my trip to the National Museum (which REALLY needs a new curator if anyone is interested), a miniature oil painting from Rajasthan with a woman holding an identical sparkler—which was painted in 1660.