As the five days of Diwali come to an end, I'm left with a heart full of mixed emotions. On grief, gratitude, the traditions that ground us, and finding the courage to let our light shine again. Each day has brought tears, but also moments of genuine happiness, gratitude, laughter, and love.
This year, more than ever, as I navigate my 10th Diwali since being with my love, Adam, I've been reflecting on what it truly means to celebrate the triumph of light over darkness when life itself has felt so incredibly dark.
Growing up Indian American in a Hindu household, I was fortunate to have a devoted and faithful mother who was determined to instill in us an appreciation for our culture, heritage, and traditions. As I've grown older, I've developed an even deeper love for the meaning behind the rituals we practice. They're so much more than celebrations.
But Diwali looks very different to me today than it did growing up.
Over the years, I've lost some of the most important people in my life. I've experienced losses that changed me in ways I'm still trying to understand, and grief that has compounded long before I could begin healing from what came before it.
There was a time when Diwali meant nothing but excitement, family, beautiful clothes, delicious food, and the warmth of being surrounded by people I loved. Now, it also reminds me of everyone who is no longer here to celebrate with me.
As an intercultural couple, Diwali looked different each year. We lit diyas, watched nostalgic Bollywood movies, and did our best to preserve the traditions that brought us comfort. Meanwhile, the world around us felt increasingly uncertain, and the losses kept coming. My family, whom I had not seen for many years, was shrinking. I felt like I was starting to lose parts of myself, too.
In 2021, Adam and I celebrated Diwali by sharing a little piece of my culture with his grandparents. We brought over an assortment of Indian sweets and treats, and I remember how much joy it brought me to share something so meaningful with them. Shortly after that Diwali, Grandma Lupe passed away. What had been such a joyful memory became another reminder of how quickly life can change, and how precious even the simplest moments of togetherness can be.
I'm learning that finding my light again doesn't mean leaving the darkness, or the people I've lost, behind. By Diwali 2024, after many years of darkness online, I made a conscious decision to try to invite some light back into my life.
On that auspicious day, I officially launched A-Game Creations' website. Although I'd been self-employed since 2017, I'd never really put myself or my work out into the world as Anusha. Looking back, it's remarkable that I managed to keep my small business going all those years without actively marketing myself. I take pride in the dedication, work ethic, and value I've brought to my clients, but I'm equally grateful for the word-of-mouth referrals, trust, and encouragement of the people who believed in me and wanted to see me succeed.
Launching this website was about more than promoting my business. It was a promise to myself that I was ready to start showing up for me again. I didn't know what healing would look like, and I still don't. But I wanted to try.
As I moved through the five days of Diwali this year, I found myself reflecting on these emotions alongside the traditions I've known since childhood. Each day carried its own significance, while reminding me of the complicated relationship between holding on, letting go, and learning to live with what cannot be changed.
Day One: Dhanteras - Investing in What Truly Matters
We began our celebrations by cleaning our home, adding simple decorations with marigold garlands*, and offering prayers to Goddess Lakshmi. Dhanteras is traditionally associated with prosperity, health, and auspicious beginnings. Many families mark the occasion by purchasing gold or other precious items as symbols of good fortune. For us, every year we make a meaningful purchase and investment in our futures.
After everything life has brought our way, I've come to understand that wealth extends far beyond material possessions. Good health. Peace of mind. Meaningful relationships. The freedom to pursue what makes us happy and brings us purpose. The opportunity to build a life with someone we love. These are forms of abundance that deserve our gratitude and protection.
Day Two: Choti Diwali - Confronting the Darkness
Choti Diwali, also associated with Naraka Chaturdashi, commemorates the defeat of the demon Narakasura by Lord Krishna in traditions I grew up learning about. It's a story of the triumph of good over evil, and of liberation from darkness.
This year, I found myself thinking about the darkness we carry within us. The anger that comes with loss. The unanswered questions. The resentment toward circumstances we couldn't control. The desperate wish to change an outcome that can never be undone.
But there are things we can control. We had the privilege of sitting down with Grandpa Pete and his two siblings, one of them recently celebrating her 90th birthday, to record their memories, stories, experiences, and advice for future generations. It's something we've come to cherish deeply. Before Grandma Lupe passed away, we had the opportunity to record her stories as well, and it's something I was able to do from a distance for my brother.
I can't begin to express how precious these recordings have become. There's something incredibly powerful about being able to preserve someone's voice, laughter, wisdom, and the stories that shaped their life. To capture the little details that might otherwise fade with time, and to give future generations the opportunity to know and connect with the people who came before them.
We feel incredibly blessed to have the skills, equipment, and resources to make something like this possible; that the creative abilities I've developed over the years can serve a purpose far beyond my professional work. I feel as though this experience helped make this Diwali especially meaningful.
We cannot change the past, prevent every loss, or hold on to the people we love forever. But while we're fortunate enough to have them in our lives, we can be intentional about how we spend our time together, the memories we create, and the stories we preserve.
Life has been unkind in ways I never could have imagined, but I've been learning that acknowledging these feelings doesn't mean allowing them to consume me. There's a difference between carrying darkness and becoming lost in it. Perhaps part of finding my fire again is recognizing what has been dimming my light, giving myself permission to feel it, and slowly releasing what I no longer want to carry.
Not every burden can be put down at once. Some may stay with us forever, but I can still choose how I move forward. While I cannot bring back the voices I long to hear again, I can help preserve the voices and stories of those who are still here. In its own way, that feels like another form of keeping the light alive.
Day Three: Diwali - Lighting the Lamp Again
On Diwali, Adam and I celebrated quietly at home. For the first time in a long time, we dressed in new traditional clothing, performed a small pooja together, prepared delicious food, and even made jalebi for the first time together.
Returning to these traditions felt incredibly comforting. For a little while, our home felt warm with the sights, smells, and memories of Diwalis past.
As we lit our diyas, I thought about the origin of this tradition and the deeper significance of fire in Hindu culture. The custom began thousands of years ago when the residents of Ayodhya illuminated their city with rows of clay lamps to welcome Lord Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana home after 14 years of exile and their victory over Ravana. Beyond marking that triumphant return on a dark new moon night, fire itself symbolizes purification, transformation, and the offering of our intentions to something greater than ourselves. Lighting a diya is more than a festive celebration. It is a commitment to inner change, a moment to release what no longer serves us, and a way to make room for the light and wisdom that help us grow.
For so long, I've heard the familiar Diwali message of light triumphing over darkness, I've come to believe there's room for the dark, too. Our difficult experiences are real parts of who we are. We don't have to erase them to make room for happiness. I still light the diya, because I believe that grief and joy can exist together.
Day Four: Govardhan Puja and Annakut - Finding Abundance in Togetherness
The fourth day brought reflections on Govardhan Puja and Annakut, traditions associated with Lord Krishna, gratitude, nourishment, and the importance of caring for one another.
In the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna speaks of illuminating the heart with wisdom, dispelling the darkness born of ignorance through compassion and divine understanding. I've always found such beauty in the symbolism of light as wisdom. This year, I found myself thinking about how much wisdom can come from the experiences we never would have chosen for ourselves.
We had the opportunity to share food with loved ones, something that may seem simple but has become increasingly meaningful to me. Food has always been one of the ways love is expressed in my life. It's how we celebrate, comfort one another, preserve our cultures, and create memories.
Some of my fondest memories involve gathering around a table, sharing homemade dishes, and enjoying the company of people whose presence brings a smile to my face. There's a particular sadness acknowledging some of those seats will remain empty, but it’s accompanied with gratitude for the people who continue to fill our lives with love.
This Diwali reminded me how important it is to keep making room for connection. To share a meal. To laugh without guilt. To appreciate the people who are here, while remembering those who aren't. These moments don't replace what we've lost. They remind us that love is still present, even when it looks different than it once did.
Day Five: Bhai Dooj - A Love That Doesn't End
And then comes the fifth and final day. Bhai Dooj, which honors the bond between brothers and sisters, includes the beautiful custom of a brother sharing a meal prepared and served by his sister.
This year, that tradition carries an entirely different weight. My big brother, Adarsh, passed away earlier this year. There are still moments when writing those words doesn't feel real. I find myself moving between disbelief, sadness, anger, longing, and moments of acceptance. I think about the memories we shared, the conversations we had, and all the moments I wish we still had ahead of us. I think about how strange it is that life continues moving forward when such an important part of my world is no longer physically here.
Some days, I'm okay. Not okay with losing him or with a future that doesn't include his presence in the way I've always known it, just okay enough to know I need to make the most of my life. Other days, the absence feels overwhelming. I'm learning that I don't have to choose between those emotions. I'm allowed to remember my brother with a smile one moment and tears the next. I don't have to choose between remembering the happiness and feeling the sadness. Both come from having shared a life and memories that still mean so much to me.
Kabhie Khushi Kabhie Gham*, as the saying, and the beloved Bollywood film, goes: Sometimes happiness, sometimes sorrow. Both are part of life. Both are part of love.
I'm reminded that the bond between siblings doesn't cease to exist because one of them is no longer here. My love for my brother remains. So do the memories, the lessons, and all the ways he will continue to be part of who I am. I will carry him with me through every Diwali, every milestone, and every ordinary day in between.
This Diwali, my intention was to begin finding my spark again. To love life a little harder. To let go of what I can, make peace with what I cannot change, and make more room for the people, experiences, passions, and possibilities that make me feel alive. To rediscover my fire and allow myself to shine, even while I'm still healing from the darkest chapters of my life.
I don't know what that journey will look like, and I'm learning not to place expectations on how quickly it should happen. Grief isn't something I can simply overcome and leave behind. It's something I'm learning to live alongside. I can continue building my business, pursuing my dreams, building a beautiful intercultural life with my love, creating new memories, and finding reasons to laugh while still deeply missing the people I've lost.
The happiness doesn't diminish the love I have for them. And the sadness doesn't mean I'm failing to appreciate the life I still have. I don't have to pretend to be only happy just because it's a festival. And neither do you.
If this Diwali season felt heavy for you, for whatever reason, I hope you give yourself permission to experience it exactly as you are. You don't need an elaborate celebration, a perfectly decorated home, or a heart free of sorrow to honor the occasion.
The light can be just a small flame in a dark room, and that's enough.
As I reflect on these five days, I'm filled with gratitude for everyone who has been a little light in my life, especially through the darkest of times. To the people who have shown up, offered kindness, believed in me, shared a meal, supported my business, or simply reminded me that I wasn't alone: thank you.
You may never fully understand how much those moments have meant. If there's one thing these past several years have taught me, it's that we never truly know what someone else may be carrying. A little compassion, patience, encouragement, and love can make a greater difference than we realize. I truly, deeply hope that the light you've given to others finds its way back to you in abundance.
As these five days of Diwali come to a close, I find myself returning to the same intention I set when I launched this website two years ago. To keep showing up. To keep creating. To keep learning. To keep growing and most importantly, to keep living. Not because everything is okay. Not because I've made peace with every loss but because there is still love to give, joy to experience, and a life worth embracing, even with all its imperfections and heartaches.
I'm still learning how to smile through a difficult year. Still trying to heal. Still finding my way back to myself.
A quiet Diwali at home with my love, making room for both the light and the dark, and perhaps that's enough for now.
May the next diya you light bring you the peace, happiness, and healing you've been silently wishing for. May this Diwali bring wisdom where there is uncertainty, abundance where there is longing, love where there is loneliness, and light wherever it is needed most. May we remember that even when we cannot see the light ourselves, the smallest flame can remind us that darkness is not all there is.
Happy Diwali, with all my love and gratitude, from my family to yours.
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