Lighting that first diya on Diwali. There's something about it that warms the heart instantly. Something about that little flame that kindles hope. Hope ... in a time when it doesn't take much to despair. A cursory glance at the morning paper will do.
And hope is my theme for this Diwali. I want to hope. I want to believe that it is possible for happiness to be closer than I think; not an entire MBA degree away. Not a bigger car away.
Of late, I keep getting the feeling that the Universe is testing my willingness to hope. A series of events, carrots waved in the air, and then...nothing. Everything back to square 1. Well, maybe square 1.5, but nothing much more than that. And the more I get provoked, the more I feel I must continue to hope.
Like the flame in the diya. Even when a wind blows over it, it still wants to burn. It flickers, against all odds, sometimes reducing to a little spark that continues to burn a bright orange, long after the flame is gone. In the hope that it will regain its lost glory... and be a flame once again.