Diwali — My Kind of Madness 🪔

Diwali just hits differently, doesn’t it? Like there’s something about it that automatically puts a smile on your face — no matter what your week’s been like. You could be tired, stressed, failing at life, but the second someone says “Diwali aa rahi hai,” your brain goes into hyper-festive mode. Suddenly, you want to clean everything, light everything, decorate everything, and basically act like you’ve had your shit together all year.

The preparations start way before Diwali actually does. It’s not just a festival; it’s a full-time project. Cleaning, organizing, washing bedsheets that haven’t seen daylight since last summer, changing the moorti ke kapde, buying new diyas, running around for gifts, mithai, and those little boxes of dry fruits that no one eats but we still gift anyway. Rangolis that look so beautiful for 3 minutes until someone steps on them or the wind decides to ruin your art.

And then there’s the moment everyone waits for — buying crackers. It’s a whole experience. The sound, the smell, the chaos. My dad pretending he’s buying “just a few” but coming home with enough to start a mini fireworks competition. The kid inside you just comes alive.

And then finally — the day.
The big, bright, loud day.

The entire house smells of agarbatti and new clothes. Someone’s yelling about being late for the puja, someone else is still trying to light diyas that keep going off, and in the middle of all this madness — there’s this warmth. That’s what I love about Diwali. It’s chaos wrapped in love.

This year though, I did something new — I wore a saree.

And listen, I LOVE sarees. Capital L-O-V-E. They’re honestly the sexiest piece of clothing ever made. So versatile, so classy, so modestly hot. Like, there’s just something about draping that fabric and looking in the mirror — it’s power. It’s grace. It’s “I can kill you with my looks but also touch your feet.” It was hot to wear, yes. I was sweating by the time the puja started, but who cares? I looked good. And more importantly, I felt good. There’s a kind of confidence that hits differently when you’re in a saree — like you’ve unlocked a whole new level of womanhood.

I stood there for the puja, feeling half divine, half like I was going to trip on the pleats. The pictures? Beautiful. The compliments? Endless. The feeling? Unmatchable. I swear, I’ve never felt that confident in my life. Sarees just do that to you.

And then the night rolled in — and the goddess turned into a crackhead. Saree off, cargo pants on, loose t-shirt, sneakers, ponytail. Because it was time. Cracker time.

There’s something about bursting crackers that turns everyone into a child again. The screams, the running, the coughing, the “run run run” followed by laughter when someone lights a bomb too soon. So many bruises, so many near-death moments, so much chaos, so much joy. We pranked each other, recorded half the moments and forgot the other half, ate, drank, ran, laughed till our stomachs hurt.

At one point I just looked up at the sky — 4:30 a.m. — and thought, this is it. This is what life should feel like. A little burnt, a little tired, but full. So full.

Diwali comes so slowly — through the cleaning, the shopping, the endless to-do lists — and then it goes in a blink. One day you’re lighting diyas and the next, you’re scrubbing burnt cracker marks off the floor. But somehow, even when it’s over, it leaves this glow behind. Like the warmth stays in your chest for a few more days.

This was my Diwali. Saree by day, sneakers by night. Pretty, chaotic, smoky, loud, and real.

And if I’m honest — I’m already waiting for next year. Because no matter how many Diwalis come and go, this madness never gets old.

BBYEEEEEEE! HAPPY DIWALI!

As Ever,

Ambika