Following last week’s announcement of Culture Week’s creative writing winner (Jaiden P – Y7), we are excited to share the runner-up essay below, written by Nihal S (Y10). Well done Nihal!
Congratulations again to both Nihal and Jaiden, and a huge thank you to all students who took part, showcasing their creativity and originality.
Diwali
Laughing. Crying. Begging. These were some of the many sounds that could be heard of the children in the fireworks market the morning of Diwali. An abundance of crimson, tall tents with flashing lights and vibrant posters were scattered around the market. The smell of gunpowder dust surged through the air as a cluster of fireworks toppled over because a group of men got agitated haggling over the price of it. Determined, a small boy was standing on his tip-toes with a curious look in his eye as he tried to glance at the commotion that was going on between the men, whilst also trying to get a glimpse at the array of products in front of him. On the other side of the market, children were persistently begging their parents to allow them to light the sparklers on the spot; the child’s request was denied no matter how many times he asked. There was always only one reply. “Wait until the evening.” At the time, waiting felt unbearable. Why did something so bright have to be delayed?
Dejected, the children would be returning from the firework market towards the evening and to their surprise, roads were lit up with sparkling diyas in front of every household, beautiful rangoli drawn in front of all of the houses in a plethora of designs beyond imagination. Gathered around the rangoli, men stood with dhotis and women in salwar kameezzes – all vibrant colours, gazing at other houses and admiring their variation of designs. It was all too much to take in for the children. Instead, they would stare aimlessly at one tiny diya flame. The flame did not flicker or sparkle; it simply lasted. Even in the breeze it bent but refused to disappear. Inspired by the decorative display of Diwali, they longed to be home and celebrate it themselves as well.
Leaping from their seat in the car, the children would climb eagerly up the stairs of their house, and this would lead to the rooftop. As soon as they reached the top, fireworks would streak across the sky before suddenly exploding and flickers of an abundance of colours would light up the night sky. Their hearts pounded harder with every explosion; they were terrified of the rockets but could not close their eyes as they watched them tear through the sky. While comet fireworks would whizz through the sky, all of the children would press their palms firmly against their ears, sealing out the deafening roar but the children – whose faces were illuminated – stare at each other and burst into laughter.
As the parents called their children back down, the children would race down the stairs to get the best sparklers before they all ran out. After multiple squabbles and quarrels with their friends and adults solving it, the lighting would finally commence. Twinkling eyes, the children would use the sparklers to write their names in the air along with their cousins and friends while the adults would take pictures and light more dangerous fireworks. Every now and then, there would be a sudden silence between the explosions where no one spoke but just reflected on what was happening and all the fun they were having. Another explosion. They would continue enjoying themselves. Flinching and screaming, the younger ones – with widened eyes – would be frightened by the rockets and would turn pale when their parents urged them to light one of them, but they did not want it to stop. In fact, they just wished the evening would last forever. I was one of those children. The fireworks vanished into smoke but the diyas at each doorstep were still burning brightly.
Nihal S – Y10