I remember driving around town looking at the lights … arcs of dias sitting on split-bamboo trellises … everywhere. Hundreds and thousands of little flickering lights.
I remember refilling the oil in the dias and replacing the wicks as they went out.
I remember attending prayers, and eating good food — curry, dal, rice, roti — with my hands off banana leaves.
I found a new Indian/Pakistani grocery last week, just in time for Diwali. Diwali’s got elements of Thanksgiving (harvest feast), Christmas (lights and some present giving), and New Years (in some parts of India). Mostly, I remember it as the Festival of Lights. So, I picked up six dias at the store, and improvised with cooking oil and string (for the wicks), so my kids could have their chance to play with fire.
I think I’ll bring them into school too. Last week the middle schoolers attended a diversity conference. They didn’t seem to get too much out of it, so I’ve been trying to be a little more explicit about the subject.
