O Come, (Shop) All Ye Faithful...

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

(a revisit of something I had posted a couple of years ago, posted Diwali 2025)

Those annual, unsolicited WhatsCrapp forwards have started appearing right after Vijayadashami in my feeds - emoji laden, cliché-ridden, corporate-like greetings and memes. Reminding me to "maximum forward" the posts, and do my duty, fulfill my obligations, reaffirm my faith, etc. by doing Diwali shopping "Only at places that worship Lakshmi."

Dang! No wonder my childhood Diwali memories are more traumatic than dramatic. Come to think of it, all places where monetary transactions happen for goods and/or services do worship the Moolah, and by proxy, the Devi. Technicality aside, we didn't really follow such... sage advice in those days. I blame the absence of WhatsCrapp U on our heathen behavior. 

Let's see... my leaky mind isn't the best recalling all the details now, but a few do still linger. Here goes...

We started for the big puja shopping with a list. The List. Besides the usual idols of Ganesh & Lakshmi, the required puja samagri for the evening puja, etc. there were some little kuhliya chukiya (clay pots & plates) to be decorated by our sisters and later filled with fresh puffed corn, rice, oats, topped with red and white batasha (sugar candy) in cute shapes, etc. None of which were of my concern nor on my or Babul’s Diwali shopping lists... .

First, we usually got new clothes around Diwali. Stitched at a tailor shop called Khan Darjee Dukan. Picture the main Khan brother, an elderly man with impressive chin hair that commanded respect from his apprentices and his customers. His half-moon glasses dangling from a string around his neck, a measuring tape snaking around various parts of my body, chalk smeared fingers flying all over,  gesturing furiously,  talking to my parents in a non-stop chatter, not waiting for response, assuring them that at about 8 years old, bas, yé to ladka ab jawan ho gaya! He never actually put his glasses on so I am not sure of the measurements. He shouted vague numbers to a sullen apprentice who muttered his equally vague responses and scribbled something down in a tattered potha. The clothes we got were never stylish and didn't fit well. Parents firmly believed in getting larger sizes stitched because... "he will grow into it, of course." By the time I "grew into them," they were threadbare from our normal play routine where skinned elbows and knees and scuffed/ripped clothes were a daily given part of fun. Add to this the beatings that the clothes received in those days long before washing machines by  determined and resentful household help tasked with washing off the dirt and grime that blended with the fabric. And now I know that all the grief of sartorial nature happened because of our inappropriate Diwali shopping preferences. 

The patakha's, tumris, phuljhari, rockets, azgars, etc. quite high priority items on my list were procured from this thin, bearded Usman kaka who appreciated Lakshmi a lot but did not worship in the sense that the WhatsCrapp forward implies... Babul and I agonized for what seemed like hours at his stall, trying to get the most from the few rupees (not even double digits).  No wonder half his stuff fizzled, not sizzled... sputtered rather than soared into the night. Not enough bang for the buck in the end. We never did make the optimum choices with our paltry funds or with the shop, apparently. 

My worst memory is saving a few paisa's at a time until I had enough money to buy the little metallic shooter with a shiny barrel and black metallic handle from the stall owned by a very large gentleman with an elaborate mustache that covered most of his lower face (a person whose name I don't recall but he spoke a mix of Hindi/Urdu/Pashto) right outside Durga Bari. You know what I am talking about, the one with revolving red charkhi with those little black dots that one loaded inside the said shooter. It went BANG each time one pulled the trigger, and the next black dot was ready to go, propped up by a spring-loaded mechanism. There were three sizes. The smallest size was what I could afford with my savings. The larger ones went for like Rs 2.50 and 4:00 and were clearly out of reach. 

Tacit disapproval but not outright forbidding or denial by parents, and I was the happy owner of one shiny such contraption.  Added a couple of reels of the red black dotted charkhi ammunition to my arsenal. Then, completely ignoring any inner voices echoing Sr. Carmella and her finger wagging admonitions about "sinful pride of material possessions," while brandishing my shooter with a flourish, waving it in front of my posse of awed friends who were not in the possession of such weapons, the dang thing wiggled out of my clutches! It dropped on a hard concrete floor of the front verandah. After a couple of hard bounces, it landed on the cobbled lane next to the house and disgorged its innards. A specific pin and spring mechanism saw the sunshine that it wasn't supposed to see again. Like Humpty Dumpty, all the king's horses & all the king's men could never put that shooter together and functional again. The crowd seemed to feign concerns, but their glee was barely concealed. Kids can be downright cruel. I'm not sure now at all about that mustachioed vendor, whether he  was a worshipper, but all signs seem to point to an ominous conclusion. 

It also set me forward on the path of sincere efforts and acceptance of "good enough, not perfect" fixes as a profession... the life of becoming a MechE, prior to abandoning all hope and becoming a corporate mouse-driver, following the same principles.

All because we did not shop at the proper outlets at Diwali.

After my sisters read this piece, they sent me some feedback. Their Diwali shopping is no longer the same; the Grand Local Diwali Bazars apparently exists in my memories these days. Kids still make shopping lists, but on their cellphones. They include first-person shooter video games of the Lanka Dahan where Ravana, Kumbhakarna & Shurpanakha are the final dungeon Boss Monsters after the early rounds of assorted demons, to be slain by you in your Rama avatar using a variety of ancient sounding weapons, starting with a magical bow & arrow, progressing to missiles, bazookas and tactical nukes. The household help, sometimes tasked to get a few items locally, brandishes her own cellphone and pipes up "Yeh to Amma Jan pé sasta miléga, didi. Abhi to bahot time hai Diwali aané mé, woh deylabhari aa jayéga.". My sisters and I both appreciate and chuckle about the diplomatic usage of the term didi by a 20-something person. To me, sitting in this cultural wasteland, far away physically but pretty much in the hubbub of The Diwali Bazar of our childhood in my mind, such logic seemed quite clinical, calculated, sound but cold... devoid of those warm fuzzy feels, the aroma of puffed grains, batasha, and the anticipation of dazzling lighting and fireworks into the dark Kartik amawasya nights. Clicking on a Cart icon and Order button from a place that has a last name like Jan (Amma or not)? Seems dubious, bogus, unholy, not meeting the spirit of shopping only at the correct outlets. 

Out of sheer curiosity, I got online and sought help with "Diwali Shopping." Sundar bhai rewarded me with web pages after web pages after web pages with endless possibilities. His little company's logo at the bottom of the page sported an impossible number of 'o's' (as in Goooooooooooogle). Rising up to the challenge and at the risk of going deep down the rabbit hole, I clicked on a few... and found endless Diwali themed goods, some I never knew that existed, even a Diwali Barbie. A further look reveals that several of them, including the idols of the deities, colorful diya's, decorated kuhliya's were manufactured in... Dragonland. But very attractively priced, with coupons, sales, and discounts, guaranteed deylabhri as correctly pointed out by my sister's household help. One could bypass some of the e-stores with desi sounding names and get the gods even cheaper at Alibaba (no mention of the 40 Thieves on their site). Even desi outlets with '.in' domain carry the same exact gewgaws, goods & gods but with additional markup. Apparently, local Bazars as they exist are also flooded with the same, no matter who the owner is.  Amar da's Amrapali Mart, Akbar bhai's Aman Dukan & Br. Anthony's Ye Antique Shoppe, they all seem to tap into the same exact supply chains. 

So, my dear friends, where do you do your Diwali Shopping during these confusing times?