Practically every alternate house I glance at is shimmering like a bejeweled woman. Our house does seem a bit conspicuous  during Diwali but my Dad has decided that since his son’s demise and his daughter’s inability to give him any grandchildren ( so I’m told), we are not supposed to celebrate the festival of lights. A couple of years ago I did call a few friends over but it’s a losing battle that needs to be fought, consistently. And consistent, I am not!

There’s a myth in the Western World that the number of suicides increase during the holidays-X’mas, Thanksgiving etc. Though it’s a myth, I can see how special occasions can be terribly depressing for a number of individuals. Memories, loss, estrangement… everything seems a bit more drastic when everyone else seems be in celebratory mood. But this is not the year for the dark, raging monster and I to take our annual roller coaster ride. ” I ain’t going nowhere with you Mister!”, I’ve forewarned him. Though, I will always miss the ones who’ve left, Diwali is going to be great this year, I promise myself.

The boy who patiently waits on the sidelines, sends a parcel this year. “Diwali’s not until next week and are you trying to bribe me, so that I say yeah?”, I ask before I thank him. ”No”, he replies in his customary tone. But I’m unconvinced, so I go on and on as usual  and he just replies in monosyllables. ”The gifts are beautiful” I tell him after the nagging is over and I think I’ve made my point.

A Few Days Ago-” I want to go for the Sundar Nagar Diwali Mela plus I don’t want to be alone on Diwali, so keep yourselves free!”, I tell the Anonymous Aunty and My Night Rider Buddy. Considering my strange temperament, it takes a lot for me to say this but they are quick to comply with my wish and I’m so glad they do!

Today- ”How do we get there?” ask The Anonymous Aunty. ”It’s right after my flyover”, I reply, giving him, what I think are the best directions. ” When I die please write my name here.”, I say to my two buddies, pointing to the summit as we cross it. ” We’ll rename the flyover after you… like Aurangzeb Road has been renamed after Abdul Kalam”, laughs the Night Rider.

We spend a few hours at the fete playing like children and eating like hogs. I get dropped home and a while later, I receive this Whattsapp from The Anonymous Aunty. He is generous, like I mentioned earlier…  totally nuts but  really sweet.

“The Oberoi Flyover Girl- Faraz

She can be spotted every night driving on the Oberoi flyover. She is the Oberoi flyover girl.

Simple yet amazing. Admirable yet daring. Intellectual and a yearner still amicable. She is the Oberoi flyover girl.

She brings smiles on the faces of people but for her driving on the Oberoi flyover is bliss. She is the Oberoi flyover girl.

Framing, shooting and then hanging is her passion. Got afraid. Oops!!! it’s just photography.

Frightening at first just like her passion reflects. But with time you discover the tender coconut inside its shell.

If you ever meet her just remember…She is the Oberoi flyover girl.”

I read the message, come to the frightening part and burst into peels of laughter. This I got to keep forever, Faraz.