The colony

One thing I absolutely hate is comparing old days with today. I always think that when we do that we are being unfair towards today because more often than not, we remember old days with a fondness generally reserved for one’s most cherished treasures but when today becomes yesterday we treasure this memory equally well. I think we all love to live in past.
But this Deepawali, I had gone to my parents’ place after a gap of many years. And as I sit here, I can’t but help remembering those old days. Honestly, I miss them.
I have never been a great enthusiast for crackers and could never appreciate the pointless noise resulting from thousands of crackers in a race for my-cracker-noisier-than-thou. But what I did like was that few of us (4-5 guys) would go around in the colony and try to blast the dustbin away (it anyway did not do much service, people hardly used the poor thing) or put the mightiest of all bombs under the shelter provided at the bus-stop. After few attempts, the harmless thing would give way and I have to admit, it was all part of that guilty pleasure. The rockets were fired horizontally in the drainage and were a good show. There were some crackers called “Lehsun” (english: Garlic) which would burst when you hit them hard on the ground. Then there were Seiko bombs (those innocuous little red things with white thread) which used to be lit-and-throw type. Anaar was another one of those grand things which we used to save for last. And Charkhi used to lure us to dance around in its sparks and sometimes when it would blast prematurely, we would come away with a sheepish grin saying we-knew-it-would-happen. At the end of it all, there would be a confused cloud of smoke hung in the air.
Maa-Papa would visit some of their friends and we children use to wait up for them to come back. My sisters would still ask me to go with my friends and I used to, unfairly, lap up such an offer after some fake reluctance. Friends, sweets, mischief, noise and elaborately decorated blocks – these were synonymous with Deepawali.
That was then. This time, the colony wore a deserted look. More than half the houses were dark and quiet. One by one, all my friends have gone their own way (like I have been gone for more than a decade). People have left this place and those who have replaced them don’t seem to live Deepawali the way we used to. People hardly visit each other and one ends up watching the Deepawali special of Sa-re-ga-ma-pa Little Champs.
Where have all the kids gone with their small pistols? Where was the gang with big crude bombs to challenge the foundations of that old useless dustbin?
The shelter at the bus-stop smiles as it doesn’t feel threatened by those young rascals. It’s possibly the only thing that’s happy, I guess. Maybe the dustbin too.