As the air turns cooler and the evenings begin to sparkle with diyas, I often find myself drifting back to the days when Diwali and New Year weren’t just festivals, they were emotions. Days filled with laughter, smells of sweets, and the kind of excitement that words can barely capture.

When I was a child, Diwali meant everything. The excitement began weeks before the festival cleaning the house, helping decorate with diyas, and eagerly waiting for that first smell of fresh sweets being fried in the kitchen.

But one of the best parts? Shopping for new clothes.

We used to wait the entire year for that one day when the whole family would go out together to buy clothes for Diwali. There was a joy in walking through crowded markets, trying on new outfits, bargaining just a little, and then coming home with carefully packed bags full of anticipation.

Wearing those new clothes on Diwali morning felt like stepping into a new version of ourselves bright, clean, and full of hope. It wasn’t about brands or price tags; it was about the togetherness, the laughter, and the feeling that something special was around the corner.

And then, of course, came the crackers.

Getting ₹500 worth of crackers used to feel like owning the sky. That was a big amount back then, and the excitement was beyond measure. Lighting them with friends, shouting in joy, and watching the night come alive that happiness was pure and simple.

Now, we spend ₹10,000 or more on crackers without thinking twice, but somehow the thrill has faded. The sparks are brighter, yet the smiles feel dimmer. Maybe because true joy isn’t in how much we spend, but in how deeply we feel it.

If Diwali was about light, New Year was about beginnings.

The excitement would start the night before. I’d carefully lay out my new clothes the ones specially bought for the occasion and go to bed early, waiting eagerly for the morning.

On New Year’s Day, everything felt fresh the sky, the air, the heart. Wearing those crisp new clothes, I’d go to meet elders, touch their feet, and receive their blessings (and a small note of money). That moment when an elder’s hand touched my head and a note slipped into my palm was priceless. It wasn’t about the amount, it was about love, warmth, and the feeling of being cherished.

Now, we buy clothes every other month online. There’s no waiting, no family shopping trips, no shared laughter over who picked what. The ease of today has quietly replaced the excitement of yesterday.

Then and Now

Times have changed, lights are brighter, gifts are bigger, and messages come faster. But somewhere, that childlike joy has taken a back seat.

I still miss those days when waiting for Diwali clothes felt like an adventure, when ₹500 worth of crackers could make the entire neighborhood light up, and when a small New Year blessing felt like the world’s biggest treasure.

Maybe festivals haven’t lost their magic maybe we just stopped pausing long enough to feel it.

This year, as diyas flicker and fireworks burst across the sky, I hope we all find a little piece of that lost wonder.

Not in how grand our celebrations are, but in how much love and laughter we share just like we used to.

“The festivals of our childhood were never about what we had — they were about who we had around us.”