Being in Australia, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to explain Diwali to my non-Indian friends and colleagues. “Oh, it’s like Indian Christmas, right?” they’d say, trying to find a familiar reference point. I’d smile, I’d nod, I’d cringe.
In all fairness people use analogies and reference points all the time to explain something. However, when you live your life watering yourself down and explaining away your culture to survive, the miscomparison of Diwali and Christmas adds to the long list of ways you hate yourself for becoming more palatable to the world around you. Sooner or later, you may actually start to believe that the two celebrations are the same.
What is the real meaning of Diwali?
Diwali, also known as the Festival of Lights, is a celebration of the triumph of good over evil, light over darkness, and knowledge over ignorance. It’s a time when millions of Hindus, Jains and Sikhs (who also celebrate Bandi Chhor Divas) across the world come together to light diyas (small oil lamps), burst firecrackers, and share sweets with loved ones. The festival typically lasts five days, with the main celebration falling on the third day.
The diaspora dilemma
Growing up, Diwali was a time of joy, family, and celebration. My father would regale us with stories from the Ramayana year after year. What started as a simple tale of good triumphing over evil gradually evolved into a more complex narrative, complete with political intrigue and moral ambiguity. It was our tradition, our story to tell and retell.
But here in Australia, Diwali feels different. It’s not just the absence of dhols (Indian drums) and dancing on the street or the struggle to find the right kind of mitthai (sweets). It’s the constant need to explain, to translate, to make palatable a festival that defies simple categorisation.
I remember the first time I asked for time off work for Diwali at an old job. My manager looked confused and asked, “Is that like your Christmas?” I found myself fumbling for words, trying to explain the significance without sounding too “foreign”.
There’s the awkward dance of requesting time off, the well-meaning but slightly tone-deaf corporate e-card wishing me a “Merry Diwali” (yes that’s an actual email I’ve received). It’s progress I suppose, that they’re acknowledging the holiday at all.
The problem with comparing Diwali to Christmas isn’t just that it’s inaccurate. It’s that it strips away the layers of meaning, the cultural context, the spiritual significance. It’s like trying to explain a symphony by comparing it to a pop song. Sure, they’re both music, but the complexity and depth are lost in the comparison. That was no shade to Christmas BTW, I take bon bons very seriously.
There’s a weird pressure that comes with being part of the diaspora. On one hand, I want to share my culture proudly. On the other, I’m constantly aware of how I’m being perceived. Am I being too foreign? Not foreign enough? Am I performing my culture for the benefit of others, rather than truly celebrating it?
Indian Christmas: A self fulfilling prophecy
Obviously it doesn’t help that I’m a chronic over thinker, but this pressure really does extend to Diwali celebrations. As we try to hold on to our culture as immigrants, there’s a temptation to make everything bigger, brighter, more Instagram-worthy. But in doing so, are we losing the essence of what Diwali is about?
The comparison of Diwali to “Indian Christmas” is more than just a linguistic shortcut; it’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy. As Western consumerism has seeped into every corner of global culture, Diwali has found itself caught in the crosshairs of commercialisation. Much like how Christmas morphed into a marketing bonanza in the Western world with its shopping frenzies and the obsession of doing things and better, seriously the way I’m obsessed with the Kardashian holiday party is my toxic trait, Diwali seems to be following a similar trajectory.
In recent years, we’ve witnessed an explosion of Diwali-themed marketing campaigns. From luxury brands like Christian Louboutin right down to everyday consumer brands like Tesco, everyone seems to have a Diwali edit or discount at this point.
On the surface, this boom in Diwali-related commerce might seem like a positive development. It’s a sign of the growing recognition and acceptance of Indian culture in Australia. But as I watch the Festival Of Lights transform into a festival of consumption, I can’t help but feel a twinge of unease.
As a member of the Indian diaspora, I find myself torn. Part of me appreciates the visibility and mainstream acceptance that comes with this commercialization. It’s gratifying to see Diwali acknowledged in shop windows and corporate calendars. Yet, another part of me mourns the potential loss of the festival’s deeper meaning.
The Ramayana, the epic that forms the backbone of Diwali celebrations, is a tale of struggle, sacrifice, and ultimately, spiritual victory. It’s about Rama’s journey through exile and his triumphant return home. But in our modern, materialistic interpretation, are we not imposing a different kind of exile on ourselves? Are we not distancing ourselves from the true spirit of the festival in our rush to make it marketable and mainstream?
I don’t think this is entirely exclusive to the diaspora experience, but this commercialisation reflects a broader struggle within the Indian-Australian identity. We want to be seen, to be accepted, to be part of the mainstream. But in doing so, we risk diluting the very essence of what makes our culture unique. We’re caught between the desire to share our traditions and the fear of seeing them transformed into something unrecognisable.
Diwali is more than just lights and sweets. It’s a deeply spiritual time, a moment to reflect on our inner light and how we can spread that light to others. It’s about new beginnings, forgiveness, and the eternal hope that good will always prevail. As we watch genocide happen through our phones, hurricanes rip through homes and so many around us losing their jobs and losing their rights, this year’s Diwali is more important than ever.
Reclaiming Diwali
In all seriousness, how do we celebrate Diwali authentically in a foreign land? How do we honour our traditions without turning them into a spectacle?
For me, it starts with remembering why we celebrate. My grandma used to say when you light a diya you should reflect on the light within yourself and the light you want to bring to those around you. Who am I to against that sage wisdom?
This Diwali, I challenge myself and others in the diaspora to celebrate in a way that honours the festival’s true spirit, whatever that means to you — not what you think it might mean to other (read: white) people.
Let’s aim to resist the urge to translate everything. Some things are meant to be experienced, not explained. Diwali is one of them.
So this year, when someone asks me about Diwali, I might just smile and say, “It’s beautiful. You should experience it sometime.”
After all, Diwali isn’t Indian Christmas. It’s Diwali. And that’s more than enough.
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