The Casserole Seeker, a Diwali magazine story

Call it post-Diwali blues, but why haven’t a genre of Diwali stories evolved yet? With so many Diwali special numbers of major magazines, especially in Marathi, where is our counterpart of the Christmas story?

In the latter, a miserly person has a change of heart. For example, The Christmas Carol (1843), whose hero gave a new word to the language — scrooge. Or, against all odds, a miraculous turn brings back hope and joy in an otherwise bleak life. As in The Nutcracker and the Mouse King (1816) by ETA Hoffmann, which became one of the world’s most popular ballets after Tchaikovsky set it to music in 1892. Clara (Marie in the original story) enters the magic world of the Sugar Plum fairy when her crooked “nutcracker” doll turns into a Prince Charming. 

The five days from Dhanteras to Bhai Duj (Bhaubeej in Maharashtra) have so many stories associated with them –– from the return of Sri Rama to the honouring of one’s sisters. During Lakshmi Puja, the Goddess of Wealth is worshipped and welcomed into homes. Keralites remember their great, good king, Bali, while Brajbasis in Uttar Pradesh observe Goverdhan puja. On padva, we exalt the loving union between husband and wife. In Tamil Nadu, Sri Krishna’s worsting of Narakasura is feted with crackers and sparklers. In Western India, the New Year begins after Diwali. For Mythilis and Bengalis, Kali Puja is the main festival. Besides, Buddhists, Jains, and Sikhs also celebrate Diwali. Lights, festoons, rangoli, feasting, gift-giving, and visiting family and friends — all these mark Diwali festivities. 

Despite so much narrative and cultural wealth, I don’t find a Diwali genre of story-telling. Time to make a beginning?

See that couple on the beat-up motorbike? She hates Delhi, the pollution, noise, traffic, and the stench of the streets, but here, they must live. In their two-room flat in an unauthorised five-storey building. Her husband is  a salesman in an appliance company. What he peddles, unfortunately, is of no domestic use; she can’t even benefit from a freebie. Now, she wraps her dupatta around her face against the dust and smog as they ride to the nearby mall.

They are on a mission. Over the last three-four days, they have gone to the big department store so many times. First it was to get soan papdi and tumblers, both of which were on sale. Then, they discovered the special on utensils, bed sheets and cosmetics. They have many relatives and didn’t want to miss anyone. Then their cash ran out. So another expedition became necessary.

How she hates these trips. There are too many desperate shoppers about. The market is so crowded that there is no room even to walk. And the local ladies, unlike the village she came from, are not only hatta-katta, tall and hefty, but aggressive and pushy. She often wonders what would happen if there is a stampede. They would make it to the headlines: “Shopping Centre Mein Durghatna.” She drives such unlucky thoughts out of her head. 

Her husband is a good man, more or less. But the daily commute is killing him. He is always on the road and too tired to do much on coming home. Some days he is highly irritable. Targets, he yells at her — he is falling behind. No bonus this Diwali! It seems as if he holds her responsible. It is online sales. They are killing the business, he says. Yet, when they near the mall, she isn’t so sure. Why are all these people milling about? If they can buy everything sitting at home, why would they bother to go through this ordeal week after week? Look, she gasps, there is no place to park... 

Her husband squeezes in behind an impromptu garbage heap. Just ahead, by the wall, a man is urinating. This lane leads to another one of those makeshift jhuggi-jhopdi clusters at the edge of the city, where some of the 3,000 who flock daily to the metro find shelter. Here is another impossible traffic jam, with vehicles of all sizes, shapes, and varieties piled right into the intersection on account of the holiday rush. Luckily, no one knocks them down as they make it to the other side.

Now, they are inside the three-floor store, packed to the brim with eager shoppers surrounded by their objects of desire. She remembers their mission. They have discovered that they are only a thousand rupees short of crossing the magic mark of Rs 5,000, after which they would be eligible to a gift set for Rs 199. She has set her heart on the casseroles. She will be able to serve a piping hot meal to her husband when he comes back home each night. She decides that she wants the red, not the hideous purple set.

She has even retrieved her emergency stash in her tin trunk; her husband has promised the rest. Her head reels. So many things to buy but…where is the money, or for that matter, the space? At last, they have their purchases and queue to pay up. The lady in chiffon just ahead has bought stuff worth Rs 15,000. In cash. Three trolleys full, with a servant and a driver to help. She will be eligible for the microwave for just Rs 999. The rich already have so much, but keep getting more. Not fair! Now they have to go back, stand in another line to have their Diwali card updated, so that the purchase shows… another long wait, with jostling customers. Why can’t they open another counter? At last, it is her turn. Her heart pounds. She points to the casserole carton on the counter: “I want that; red, please.” The man said, “Of course, madam.”

After what seems forever, he comes out empty-handed, “Sorry, we’re all out… would you like something else?” She feels rage and despair rising inside her. “Madam, madam, please come tomorrow, or better still the day after….” The assistant pleads. “No! After Diwali?! Impossible…” she yells so loudly that she herself is startled, “You can’t do this to us!”

Just then, the Goddess of Good Fortune smiles on her—at least partially. The Manager is passing by. Seeing her crestfallen, he tells the assistant: “Give her the sample set — make sure it’s in good condition.” Her face breaks into a smile as the assistant opens the box to check the contents… but … oh no, it’s not the red one!