I went to the terrace today, the second day after Diwali, and suddenly everything felt too silent. There were no crackers, people were putting out their lights, and then it hit me it was over.
I looked at the sky and couldn’t see any sky rockets. I looked down at the road and couldn’t see families playing and having the time of their lives. The festival, the excitement, and the hope that had been building for over 15 days were suddenly over.
But I always knew it would end. So how come it feels so empty? Maybe because, secretly, we all hoped that even if everything didn’t go back to normal, it would at least get better. But is it?
I don’t think so. It feels more difficult than ever—restarting again, families getting separated again, everyone going back to their normal lives.
But why do all good things have an expiration date? And why can’t we see that date? But even if we knew the date, would we ever want to see it?
Festivals bring a ray of hope into our lives—a little reminder that everything will be better. They teach us that even if everything is falling apart, being with your family can heal something inside you.
But now the Monday blues are here. Tomorrow, when I wake up, I won’t think about what to wear, where my brother is, or what everyone is doing. I’ll think about my work list and my priority list.
My brother’s room will be empty again. His empty bed will always remind me of the joy he brings into our home. I’ll start counting the days until he’s back again.
Maybe we didn’t understand the true essence of festivals when we were children, but we certainly understand them now. Perhaps all these festivals have one prime motive: to bring our families together.
— Muskan
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