Diwali means sparklers, rongmoshaal, chorki, chocolate bomb, dodoma, saanp baaji. I feel bad for the generation that won’t see all of this, that won’t feel the whoosh of the rocket flying out of a overturned glass bottle.
I am happy I grew up when I did, without outrage factories, cancel culture, when food didn’t come with calorie data, and your life wasn’t recorded & screen shotted.
There is a lot this generation has I wish I had. Dating apps, the availability of the worlds collective knowledge on my phone, and their drive and focus, but I won’t trade it for the smell of burnt sulphur, and dancing over a spinning chorki.
The mic from Kali Pujo would be blaring “Hum tum picture dekh rahe ho”, we friends would go up on the terrace and pool our fireworks together. The great thing about good memories is that it’s something which can’t be taken from you, no one can dememoratize it.
Buying crackers was the big day. If you bought it at Gariahat you would get less. But if it was “cheena bajaar”you would get more for your rupee. Then bringing it out into the sun every day after buying it, making sure the shadow didn’t fall on them.
Sitting next to the crackers, touching them to feel the warmth, and the warmth as they absorbed the sunlight, stretching into your very fabric, as “Aree Arre yeh kya hua” played on the cassette player. Many of you don’t have any idea of what I am talking about.
I am not thankful for many things but one thing I am is that I grew up in the 90s. Our parents didn’t expect us to have startups fighting for our apps, as long as we didn’t join the CPM cadre they considered themselves successful.
From those times. Eating mutton without no care for calories, dressed up as SRK from Ramjaane, & champion of Kolkata’s biggest science quiz. 
Without care for calories. No double negatives, despite the Clint Eastwood thing.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
