There was a long queue outside the small mithai shop. The date was October 25, the time around 12 noon. People had been queuing up since morning to buy sweets and savouries for Diwali. Nothing unusual, you'd say. After all, people all over India go to great lengths to celebrate this auspicious day. But then, this is not India I'm talking about. It's just a part of Singapore, known as Little India! As I joined the ever-lengthening queue, I had no thought of nostalgia or homesickness. For, all around me, was India, at its frenziest best. Traffic was out of gear (cabbies had been warning us for days that we should avoid this part of the city), people were nudging and jostling to get to their destinations, no one stopped for the lights to change before crossing the roads... It reminded me of the Durga Puja madness in Calcutta. I bought my share of badam barfis and headed towards the mela. Yes, there was a mela on in the neighbouring lane. Diyas, sparklers, flowers, plants, clothes, jewellery, even mobile phone accessories (a gentle reminder of the world outside Little India) were on sale. Mehndiwallis were in attendance (but we'll ignore them since mehndi is no longer just an Indian tradition, it is more of an international fashion-statement!), bargaining was de rigueur, music from the latest Tamil blockbusters were blaring away. I perked up my ears in the hope of catching the strains from a Mohabbatein or Mission Kashmir -- but no such luck! A few foreign tourists, who had perhaps strayed here or were lured to be part of a semi-mystical experience, went berserk taking photographs and/or getting themselves henna-tattooed. The non-Indian Singaporean population, though, looked as if they were used to this -- and they probably are. Some even joined in the ritual of buying. Diwali day, a national holiday in Singapore, shone bright and beautiful. And rather festive. As is the case on any holiday, people were out, thronging the malls, eateries, parks and theatres. But what came as a pleasant surprise was the way almost everyone -- the taxi-drivers, the saleswoman at a departmental store, the security guards at our building -- greeted us with a warm smile and a warmer 'Happy Deepavali.' The evening was like any other Diwali back home in India, minus the noise, though I believe firecrackers were burst in some parts of the city. Diyas and phuljharis, friends, more phuljharis, a Diwali dinner -- did I miss anything? I don't think so. My first Diwali abroad turned out to be one of the best in my life. Perhaps that's because I wasn't expecting it to be so traditional. Much before the lights and the banners were being put up in Little India, I had thought that this Diwali, I would do something different, like making a statement about my Indianness. But I am glad I didn't do that -- because here, you don't need to. You are accepted as and respected for being an Indian. It is closer to India, not just geographically, but in so many more ways than I'd imagined it would be. I don't know about you, but I am looking forward to the next Diwali! I just read my ex-colleague and friend P Rajendran's diary and couldn't help comparing his situation with mine. I don't miss any of the things he has mentioned: the heat, the crowds or even friends. All that is very much a part of my life here. It's just that the streets are a lot cleaner, the people are more disciplined and things work smoothly. And I sure don't mind any of that. I guess I'm plain lucky. Swapna Mitter, usually a calm person, is plenty mad at us for delaying this article -- our sincere apologies to her. Tell us what you think of this diary
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