“What do you mean: the sesame oil is over?” Ajjo demanded.
“How do you think we lit the diyas around the hando last night?” replied Aanma.
Kashi nodded. He had helped grandma decorate the large copper pot with flowers, arranging oil lamps all around it. “How will Ajjo bathe now?”
“With soap and water. Like everyone else.”
“How do I take a shuddhi snaan without an oil massage?”
“Then, don’t.”
Traditional tale
Ajjo was aghast. “It is Deepavali. Lord Krishna defeated Narkasura on this day. What do you think he did right after?”
“Ate and ate?” replied Kashi.
“He took an oil bath after the fierce battle…”
“… To soothe his aching limbs,” Aanma interrupted.
“The oil bath is a tradition. It removes bad luck, thoughts, and deeds. It is how you make a new beginning,” Ajjo went on.
“Let’s get you some sesame oil,” Kashi suggested.
“Have you seen the time? No shop is open this early.”
“But Mhantu’s house is.”
Aanma tucked her pallu around her waist and gave the scooter a swift kick. Ajjo clambered up, slid back and patted the seat. Kashi held on to the tiffin carrier stuffed with tukdi, chiroti and ubbati.
“Look, Narakasura’s effigy,” Ajjo exclaimed, as they chugged down the street. Made of grass and hay, it was as tall as a three-storey house.
“So eco-friendly,” Kashi marvelled.
“It’s filled with crackers,” said Aanma. “They will burst it soon.”
“Too bad your parents couldn’t make it,” greeted Mhantu.
“They didn’t get leave from the hospital,” replied Kashi, as he handed over the tiffin carrier to Cheeku.
“Wait till you taste your Mhanti’s cooking,” said his uncle, as he went to the kitchen and came back with an overflowing thaal.
“Mmm,” Kashi licked his fingers.
“I’ll pack some for you,” Mhanti smiled. She carried Aanma’s tiffin carrier to the kitchen for a goodie exchange. Cheeku bounced out sulking. “She packed everything.”
Aanma said, “We need sesame oil.”
“We only have coconut oil.”
“How did you light diyas without sesame oil?” asked Ajjo.
“We lit LED lamps,” said Mhantu sheepishly.
“No one follows tradition anymore,” said Ajjo sadly, as they zoomed to aakaa-bhaavji’s house. Aakaa was giving Chotu an oil massage.
Aanma handed over the tiffin carrier, recycling the goodies. Deepavali gifts were no different from birthday presents, thought Kashi.
A quick fix
“Try some homemade delicacies,” bhaavji offered a plate of doodh pedas that looked familiar. Ajjo winked at Kashi.
“We need sesame oil,” said Aanma.
“We only have cooking oil.”
“Do I look like a poori?” growled Ajjo.
Kashi whispered something in Aakaa’s ears. She nodded. When it was time to leave, she slipped him a paper bag.
“Back home empty-handed,” grumbled Ajjo.
“But with full tummies,” said Kashi.
“Why don’t I heat water in the hando for your bath?” teased Aanma.
“That will take hours.”
“It is tradition.”
“I know what you are doing.” Ajjo switched on the geyser. “But this is different.”
“How?”
Ajjo had no answer. Aanma sighed. “Times, traditions, and people change. When will you?”
“Okay. No oil bath today. Happy?”
Kashi brought something out of aakaa’s paper bag. “Here.”
Ajjo peered at the bottle. “Baby oil?”
Kashi grinned. “Nice of Chotu to share it.”
“Borrowing my grandson’s oil. What is the world coming to?” Ajjo grumbled but she took it all the same.
“Think of it as a new tradition,” giggled Aanma, giving Kashi a high-five.
“Oil bath is a Diwali tradition. It removes bad luck, thoughts, and deeds,” said Ajjo.
