The Burning Question

Walking into our Natter office, the Diwali decorations have miraculously disappeared and the rangoli is nowhere to be seen. Everything is back to normal, the festive days have come to an end. We reminisce about the celebratory season, waiting for the earth to rotate on its axis, bringing about the next one.

The symphony of festivities begins in August, a rakhi tied with love, followed by Ganesh Chaturthi, a celebration of vibrant hues. Subsequent months unfold Navratri, Durga Pooja, and Dusshera, where good perpetually triumphs over evil. And then, the grand crescendo of the festival opus — Diwali, a kaleidoscope of lights and joy that defies articulation. The atmosphere is not just alive; it's pulsating with an indescribable energy.

Yet, as the echoes of festivity fade, reality sets in. The once adorned rakhi is removed, and the remnants of idols, diyas, and rangoli find their way to disposal. Flowers and firecrackers, once the vibrant soul of celebration, are relegated to the status of waste.

Life is all about fleeting moments and living them to the fullest. Yet in our fast-paced world, how often do we pause and ponder: Where does all this waste go?

The answer is stark; it circles back to us.

It's more than just the AQI index. Floral waste, constituting 16% of the country's river pollution, infiltrates our waterways. Diyas, idols, and material waste gradually release toxic chemicals, poisoning biodiversity and the food chain. Half of the country's waterways breach health standards set by experts.

Noise pollution, surpassing standard decibel limits from firecrackers, music, and urbanisation, impacts toddlers, animals, and children. This seemingly harmless thing is a major contributor to public health issues like hypertension, sleep disturbances, and hearing loss.

Pollution isn't confined to the air.

Not that it matters.

Every year, headlines before Diwali scream alarming statistics — '50 cigarettes a day,' 'Delhi ranks world's most polluted city' — and the blame shifts to industrialists or capitalists. Yet, even after IIT Kanpur orchestrated artificial rains, pulling the AQI from an air emergency, subsequent Diwali days witnessed people, across socioeconomic backgrounds, engaging in excessive firework bursting, squandering 13 crore of government funds (cue cough, taxpayer money). Rainstorms during pollution bring acid rain, corroding our cars, and homes, and scarring our skin.

Amidst this, myriad solutions exist — eco-friendly firecrackers, composting floral waste, clay idols, diyas made out of kitchen staples, toxin-free rangoli, paper plates, boycotting high carbon footprint brands, and more. Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

Yet, where is the concern for future generations unable to revel in festivals with the same joy we do?

That brings us to the question: Where do we draw the line between enjoyment and excess? While upholding tradition, how do we compromise in an attempt to keep the earth turning for our legacies?

We at Natter will be using this year's lights and decorations, again next year.

For Natter by Ishani Mathur