Aloo pathakas anyone?

boom, the cracker explodes. cotton wicks are rolled, dunked in diyas, placed in neat rows outside the door, in the hope that goddess laxmi will bestow health-`n'-wealth for the new year. tadtadis, anaars, rockets and phuljadis are stored for ignition at midnight on the terrace. home-made sweets, puris and aloo parathas covered by lacey napkins are sent by the neighbours and huge gift-packs of almond choc-o-rocks are received from "uncles" and "aunts." never actually experienced those marathon card games though i continue to hear that huge hotel ballrooms are booked for bouts of rummy, flush, whatever.lakhs are won, crores are lost. with my kind of hopeless luck, never ventured to those ikke-pe-ikka tables. time also to deliver baksheesh to the liftmen, the snail- mail-people (new postmen spring out of the shrubbery), and all the little big people who contribute towards la clockwork vita. time also to send up a silent prayer for a resuscitation of one's own dying wallet. whatever one's caste, creed or faith, it's the season to give a l'il, and receive plenty. hmmm. so since it's a stock-taking-op, permit me to flashback to at least three of the most momentous diwalis of my life, all experienced in the line of duty -- as a reporter of the times of india. at the night desk of the toi, close to diwali at midnight, i dialled that routine call to the police control room. and was informed that a trawler with a dozen fisherfolk was lost at sea. instantly rushed to the dockyard,,joined by other night reporters. while pomegranates exploded in the sky, the families of the lost fishermen, stood silently, invoking divine intervention. the tension, the suspense, the dagger-like stabs in the heart persisted for hours. news reporters packed up for the night, saddened but to a degree,also professionally stoic. tragedies, after all, know no date in the calendars. days elapsed, more routine calls, and then the clinical cop voice at the control room sounded uncharacteristically emotion-packed. the trawler had returned to a shore on the western coastline, the fishermen were safe, no casualties. "happy diwali," the control room constable whooped, so what if the exultation was over a week late. then there was a piece for the sunday times. the brief was to profile the first firecracker family, the moranis, now more closely associated with mega-movie-star concerts in the u.k, u.s. and canada. initially, the moranis huffed that the family wasn't interested in "publicity." high-profiles presumably entice higher interest from the income-tax department. on being coaxed that it would be more of a human rather than a business-interest piece, the moranis finally lit up like pathakas. i met the family's patriarch at their juhu bungalow which was busy with women of the house attempting to pin down a dozen helter-skelter kids behaving like fluttering baby butterflies. morani sr. reminisced how he sat up the cracker factory and it grew and grew, and was then looked after by his three sons, who on first glimpse looked as alike, to me, as peas in a pillauf. the ensuing article focused on the cracker baron, a legitimate don corleone reclining on a leather armchair, as the sun rays beat down upon him through the slats of venetian blinds. don't know how the juniors reacted to the printed narration of the morani story. but senior did send me phuljadis-`n'- chakris, the gift-pack somewhat incongruously highlighting a smiling santa claus with two beaming harry potter-like kids. another diwali that i can never forget was at a movie star's bandra villa many moons ago. champagne was flowing, almond barfis were flown in from a celebrated delhi confectioner. a certain wormy director had his private agenda, though, craving to rope in some of the attending star guests for his next opus. and the moment, the conniving worm opened his mouth to shop-talk, a savvy heroine did the right thing, stuffing the film-maker's big mouth with three tiers of barfis. ps: the worm nearly choked, cough-coughed, and the opus went up in smoke like a diwali rocket. this year, truly don't know what diwali will bring. but as long as there are those diyas with dancing flames, sweetmeat neighbours and lacey napkins, i'll know there are some days that will never ever change. boom.