My Father, a Little Red Bus and the Joy of Diwali
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Happy Diwali! 🪔
When I was a little boy in Kenya, one of the things I looked forward to most about Diwali was a little red bus.
There was plenty else to get excited about. There were fireworks, new clothes and Indian sweets, and we’d go to my grandparents’ home for a few days with all my uncles and aunts. And then there was the toy bus my father used to get me. I realise now, living in London, that it was a replica of a London bus.
It usually lasted only a few days. With three brothers fighting over it, what chance did it have?
What I’d give to have my father hand me that bus again and see how long I could keep it from the other two.
Perhaps you have a memory like that. A toy you haven’t seen for years, yet the moment you picture it, a whole family comes back into the room.
What the Diwali lights mean
The name Diwali comes from Deepavali, meaning “a row of lamps”. In one of the best-loved stories associated with the festival, Rama, his wife Sita and his brother Lakshmana return to Ayodhya after fourteen years in exile. Rama has defeated the demon king Ravana, and the people of Ayodhya light rows of little oil lamps, called diyas, to welcome them home.
The lamps symbolise the victory of light over darkness, good over evil and knowledge over ignorance. What moves me about the story is the welcome itself. Imagine being away for fourteen years and seeing those lights in the distance. Before you could make out a single familiar face, you’d know someone had been looking forward to your return.
As a child, I doubt I gave much thought to what it took for all of us to spend those days together. My grandparents opened their home. My uncles and aunts made the time to be there. My father remembered the bus. I simply knew it was Diwali and I was excited.
When I think about bringing more light into the world, I come back to my father and that little red bus. He knew what would delight one small boy, and all these years later it still makes me smile. It leaves me wondering whose day I could brighten simply by remembering what matters to them.
How do we keep the joy of Diwali going all year?
Years ago, I wrote about how to keep the joy of Diwali going all year. Looking back, I think some of the answer was there in my grandparents’ home. The fireworks needed a special occasion. Getting together with someone you love can happen on an ordinary Tuesday, provided one of you actually suggests it.
Here are three things I’d like to do more often between this Diwali and the next. Perhaps one will appeal to you too.
Make the invitation while the person is on your mind. “I’m going for a walk on Sunday morning. Fancy joining me?” There’s something lovely about discovering that a friend would enjoy your company on a day when there’s nothing in particular to celebrate.
Tell someone what you remember. Who else might enjoy hearing your version of a family story? You could start with, “I was thinking today about those Diwalis at our grandparents’ house. What do you remember?” I rather suspect my brother might have a different account of who broke the bus.
Give someone the pleasure of being there for you. When a friend asks how you are, it’s easy to say, “Fine, busy,” and turn the conversation back to them. Occasionally, a more honest answer might be, “There’s quite a bit on my mind, actually. Have you got time for a cup of tea?” Those are often the conversations we remember.
A question for the Gujarati New Year
Here in London, we’ll be wishing one another Saal Mubarak on Monday 9 November as we welcome the Gujarati New Year. I rather like having a new year begin while the joy of Diwali is still fresh. It prompts a question I’d love to share with you.
By the time Diwali comes round again, what would you love to be an ordinary part of your week?
For me, I’d love more of those walks in Regent’s Park with just one friend. I know how to get a hundred people together for a picnic. What I’d like to get better at is ringing someone on an ordinary Tuesday and saying, “I’m going for a walk. Are you free?”
Perhaps you’d love to be home for supper more often, and you’re wondering what would happen at work if you actually left on time. Perhaps someone you love lives close enough to visit, yet somehow another year has gone by and you’ve barely seen each other.
If you know what you’d like to make more room for, but you’re unsure what would have to change at work or at home, that’s the kind of decision I help founders and leaders think through. You’re welcome to book a private conversation with me.
And if someone came to mind while you were reading this, perhaps you could give them a ring today. “Happy Diwali. I was thinking of you” is a lovely way to begin.
Happy Diwali and Saal Mubarak to you and those you love. 🪔
