Exchanging tokens of goodwill has long been a cherished Diwali tradition. There’s something about gifts that carries more weight than what is wrapped inside. This is not about extravagance or perfection. When a gift is handed over randomly, out of convenience, without intention or presence, it leaves me unsettled. Not because of what is or is not given, but because giving, I believe, is a language of the heart.
My fondest childhood memories during Diwali are of those evenings when we as a family would pile into the car with boxes of sweets and snacks, visiting friends, relatives, and neighbours to share the festive joy.
After shifting residence, during my first Diwali in a new locality, I, with the same spirit of neighbourly warmth, shared around beautifully packed trays of dry fruits, thoughtfully selected and with heartfelt intentions. My neighbours responded warmly, or so I thought. In return, someone handed me cereals coated heavily with red chilli powder. I don’t know who wronged them, but apparently, I was paying the price for it. I dumped the masala-coated cereals in the garden, curious to see if the squirrels would enjoy the spicy surprise. Another neighbour gifted me a packet of nuts, covered in fungus, a full-blown science experiment in festive wrapping. I smiled, said thank you, and quietly threw it away. I brushed it off as a one-time oversight.
Still hopeful, I tried again the next Diwali with fancier gifts. This time, I received a box of stale nuts that smelled like they had spent the last Diwali in someone’s store, reminiscing about better days. That was my breaking point. No more guessing what is inside the box and whether it comes with a health risk. Last year, one of the trays I had gifted, complete with a tiny nick I recognised, came right back to me. I half expected it to come with a note saying, “Missed you. Yours forever.”
{{/usCountry}}Still hopeful, I tried again the next Diwali with fancier gifts. This time, I received a box of stale nuts that smelled like they had spent the last Diwali in someone’s store, reminiscing about better days. That was my breaking point. No more guessing what is inside the box and whether it comes with a health risk. Last year, one of the trays I had gifted, complete with a tiny nick I recognised, came right back to me. I half expected it to come with a note saying, “Missed you. Yours forever.”
{{/usCountry}}I understand the pressure to give something – anything – during the festive season. But these exchanges, when done without thought, turn a heartfelt gesture into a hollow routine. Often, they leave behind more than just clutter. They carry a strange emotional weight of guilt and awkwardness. That goes against what Diwali truly means – a time of renewal of friendship, authenticity and genuine connection.
This year, I’m waving the white flag. No more gifting or receiving. I’ve realised I often end up carrying the quiet burden of things I didn’t want or need. It’s an emotional load, even if it’s small. Diwali, after all, is about light, not baggage. So, this Diwali, please don’t get me a gift. Not even a token. And if you must pass something on, pass on joy, not a dry-fruit tray that has seen more homes than a travelling salesman.
gehnavaishnavi@gmail.com
The writer is a Panchkula-based freelance contributor