The Festival Of Lights-- By My Grandfather

My grandfather is a wonderful writer. He wrote this piece about Diwali over 33 years ago. He had given me a xerox of it and I decided to post it here. I have copied it word for word, so you will be able to see interesting nuances in his writing. He is almost 90 and lives in Amritsar, Punjab (also included a pic of the Golden Temple). Enjoy-- and please leave a comment!

by Pars Ram Verma, B.A. (Pb), L.C.C. London

Printed in the Motor Transport Weekly, October 1973

(The author is a distinguished prose writer since his College days and he combines himself the rare gifts of fine Art and scholarship in the ancient lore, and the modernized version of the Great Epics, the Bhagwad Gita, and the wisdom of the sages. As an Artist, though he never studied drawing during his School of College Career, he has a very apt hand in the delineation of Nature and events in their correct perspective and colour scheme. The silent strokes of his brush are more eloquent than the echoes and re-echoes of dynamic natural scenery and actual life.

(But how, out of his daily pursuits, he found time for such vast study in depth and eminence in Art with big prizes, rewards and distinction, presents a BIG QUESTION MARK. -Editor)

Diwali, the annual Festival of Lights, has now been celebrated by the Indians, over centuries. Its origin is shrouded in the mists of antiquity, and various factors and occasions have been advanced as attributable to its celebrations from time to time. According to the available earliest records it appears that a large Section of the ancient Aryan community, when they were the inhabitants of Central Asia before their exodus to India, were occupying tracts of land near the North Pole. The region remains under the blanket of a long dark night stretching over a period of six months before the turning of the dawn of the day, covering an equal span of time. The dark period, according to them, belonged to the god of Death, who, throughout this period, kept the souls (departed from the Earth) in his custody, for the purpose of allotting them future births thereafter. On the eve of the departure of the dark period, the Aryans of the region lit up the stupendous lights to propitiate Lord Yama and also to bring out the souls of their ancestors from the depths of darkness.

When, later, the Aryans moved into India, and they carried all their traditions along with them, and celebrated their festivals, in the prescribed months, modifying their technique and texture wherever necessary in the new environments. They made this country their permanent home, mingled themselves into its soils, and became a part and parcel of its atmosphere. The advanced intellectuals among them found the cool and soothing sylvan surroundings as an ideal place for the pursuit of knowledge, wisdom, arts, and sciences. Gradually developed in those forests the great Indian culture, which came to be known as “Aranya Sanskrit” or the “Civilization of the Woodlands” which brought out the rarest of truths in Nature and Man, and projected them over the entire continent and other countries. It is during this period of rapid intellectual growth with the background of the festivals like Diwali that the Thinkers and Seers of India, poured forth their innermost love for Light in their hymns, then they prayed—“From darkness, lead us unto light, from death unto Immortality”. This unquenchable search for Truth on the part of those exalted ones was also largely responsible for allotting a very befitting name made to this illustrious country. They started calling it ‘Bharat’, which, when analysed represents a country which is perpetually devoted to search after Reality (Bha) standing for Light/Truth/Reality/God, and Rat meaning devoted to or in search after. According to them there was no religion higher than Truth. In this land devoted to the search for Light, Truth, and God, therefore the unique Festival of Lights continued being celebrated all over the ages. Certain other incidents in the annals of our land, and happening to be associated somehow, with this day continued lending greater importance to this ceremony.

Then oozed out, from the great Scheme of Nature’s Way of Working, the un-paralleled epic of Ramayana with the self-same victory of good over evil, of light over darkness, celebrated the return of their beloved king, by illuminating their dwellings, streets, and other public places with whole lines of their glow worm like shimmering earthen lamps. Actually this was the outer, material expression of the experience of their inner, mental joy. With the lofty mansions, palaces, Durbar Halls, temples, gardens, lakes, tanks, private buildings, hutments, hermitages and highways, all gently but copiously lit up with rows of glimmering lights, the entire pageant assumed a peculiarly ethereal look: a repository of all that is bright, good and noble in life. The occasion so deeply embedded into the minds of the masses that it effaced from their memories all previous happenings that might have been responsible for the organization, celebration, and augmentation of the Festival. Since then it has been handed down, like a precious legacy, from father to son, for celebrating in a manner fitting into the utmost of a householder’s capacity. All rich and poor, irrespective of caste and creed, have all through this long rain-bow of centuries of chequered shades of events, felt the inner exuberance of job on this occasion.

Poets, writers, and artists in all times and climes, have had the privilege if offering the choicest of their creations at the altar of Dewali, as a dedication to the the Goddess of Light. Art and literature of our country have thus been greatly inspired and enriched by this sublime festival. This is also an occasion when the householders and business people carry out a cleanliness campaign giving a face lift to their homes, places of work and other surroundings. Business community conduct a stock taking of their transactions carried on during the outgoing year, and start their future accounts. Children feel extra hilarious while waiting and preparing for the festival and much more so during the actual celebrations. This is the season for the confectioners, toy-makers, fire-works wallas and picture-sellers to do roaring business.

In whatever way, the festival is celebrated, Light, Truth, and Joy are the keynotes of its fundamentals. The deeds of the past year have to be examined in the light of knowledge and experience gained, then a stock-taking of our achievements and failings has to be made with a view to striking a balance-sheet of our doings. That will lead us to ascertain the Truth about where we stand in the context of our duty and responsibility to our great country, and then devise ways and means to come up to the expectations of the Nation. Only that way we can work for GandhiJi’s RR, celebrate the Dewali and enjoy it purely and sincerely.

(This seems to be the correct interpretation of the significance of the Great Festival in the context of present day conditions prevailing in the country. –Editor)

Light and knowledge are saturated in our blood and have become the very marrow of our bones. Unfortunately, we have, in recent years turned our mind from the True, the Good and the Beautiful in Life. When Mother Earth gives us so much in plenty, and there is still no dearth of her resources for further development, where is the occasion for certain people to indulge in practices un-becoming of Indian blood and soil? Black-marketing, hoarding, smuggling, debauchery, storing up Nature’s gifts and starving of the less fortunate in consequence were all alien to our ways of life.

In light of our glorious traditions, these social vices should be made to burn out and fade away. Instead of allowing these unhealthy traits to continue increasingly tarnishing our character, it is time we diverted our energies to follow the path set by our noble ancestors, devote ourselves to helping the needy and lifting up the down-trodden in a practical way rather than making only ‘visible’ and loud noise about it. When the majority starts thinking of others sincerely, there will be no occasion for exploitation, and an era of peace and plenty will then again usher in over this land of milk and honey.

Such results are not at all in the nature of things un-known and un-heard by us. They are part of our way of life, but appear to have been temporarily buried under the crust of self-seeking materialism and an unscrupulous copying of the Western ways of living. When the two comparative values of life are subjected to microscopic analysis in the light of humanitarian knowledge, our country will regain its glory and prosperity, and will act as a Torch Bearer of Peace and Nobility all over the globe.

India will be the true advocate of human rights for people of all countries, and spread the wisdom, acquired by her through the ages, for the good of all without distinction and thus enrich everybody to lead Kindly Light!!!

GBFs

Every girl wants one, most girls try to steal one, and some girls have one. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about the Gay Best Friend. To be referred to as GBF, henceforth.

The other day, I was thinking about all the GBFs I have had in the recent past. (Yes, people I just got a job, so will spend less time thinking of such things). However, like every Carrie needs a good Stanford to run to for relationship advice or the usual clever gay quip that these men never fall short of, the Supreme Goddess also needs a regular GBF.

My first GBF was Billy K., a greek lanky, long-haired, eye-brow tweezing, Janet Jackson repertoire dancing, funny guy. He lived down the hall from S and I in the hall where everyone got baked at UMASS, Baker. He had a body most of us would die for and treated the institutionalized hallways as his personal catwalks. He would steal dishes from the dining hall and then return them when they were dirty because he didn't want to wash him. He was totally high maintenance. He made fun of us for being fashionably fallible (come on, we were hippies! We rarely bathed, forget fashion!) I remember that being gay was a big deal for him because he came from a very traditional family.

It wasn't until junior year of college, when our South Asian group was doing a fashion show (why are people obsessed with these in college?), a Pakistani friend introduced me to Aamie, a fashion show coordinator extraordinaire. We instantly became dancing partners, he and I had fantastic dance chemistry. We performed in many dance items together and managed to become good friends as well. Well, that was until (from intense pressure from his friends) he asked me out on a date. I was doing laundry in the center of town (at a Laundromat, of course, not in the town common) and Aamie came bearing ice cream and a sheepish look. Later on, he told me, that while he was asking, he was saying "please say no, please say no" in a silent meditative chant. Thank god my gay-dar was right-on. I suggested we remain amigos. Soon after, Aamie came out and went through a very difficult time, including a long hiatus in Pakistan. We kept in touch and solidified our friendship. When he finally landed back in the US, we were ready to hit NYC, fag n' hag style. We helped each other through break-ups and make-ups and always provided a non-objective opinion on each other's men choices.

Two thousand and four brought me to Mumbai, India. Because I wasn't allowed to become friends with my colleagues, I ventured on to the wonderful world of Friendster. As I was scrolling through people in Mumbai, I saw this guy who looked vaguely familiar. Wait, a gay guy that used to live in Somerville when I lived there! I had previously scoped him out for Aamie but the distance could have been a problem. I contacted him immediately and we decided to meet at Mocha in Bandra, he lived about 10 minutes away from me! It was Vikster (also blogging at sourapplemartini.blogspot.com)! He says the first day he saw me in a salwaar kamiz, he thought I looked like an Auntie-Ji and had re-considered my Hag status. However, when he knew I could hang at the Gay Bombay parties and score more numbers than him, I was a hag with a bag. He not only was a companion, he was witty, funny, knew Monsoon Wedding by heart, celebrates his life with his fashion criticisms of everyone, and does a mean interpretation of Auntie-Ji's.

Through Vikster, I met Abhi. He worked at a call center and approached me and a friend at a gay Bombay party. Really nice, really sweet, and had a huge heart. Abhi took me to a straight bar (after so many Gay Bombay parties, I couldn't even see straight!!) called the Hawaiian Shack. Well that little experience changed my life, because that's where I met my future hooosband A!!

I may be lucky, many women crave multiple international GBFs, and I have been fortunate to have so many. The GBF is a quick phone call (or 10.30 + EST) away. Always there for you, whether it's a snappy comment or a chiding remark about the size of one's ass, you will never be alone if a GBF is around. The moral of the story is, if you hang out with enough boys that pitch for the same team, you might just find one who pitches for yours! The GBF's satisfaction is guaranteed!

Well, not completely.

When will Hari meet Sarita?

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