Diwali, the Festival of Lights, is celebrated by millions around the world. But for each family, it has its own special meaning. For Pallavi Dasgupta and Pritom Dutta, it’s about bringing together the traditions they grew up with in India and their life now in Melbourne. For Saleha Singh, Diwali is about nurturing friendships and strengthening family bonds through a warm, home-focused celebration.
Patterns of Home: A family’s living tradition
Growing up in the vibrant city of Ahmedabad, Pallavi Dasgupta’s learnt early that Diwali was about more than lights and sweets. During Diwali, she mastered the intricate art of rangoli—transforming floors into vibrant canvases using coloured rice flour, sand, and flower petals. This ancient practice was more than decoration; it was a welcome for Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, and a vivid expression of a household’s happiness and vitality.
Now in Melbourne, the ritual provides a profound connection to her heritage. Each Diwali, her home is a reflection of the past. “I make different rangolis,” Pallavi says, with pride. “My favourite activity is decorating the house, putting up the lights.” In a new country, the familiar patterns underfoot connect her to home, luck, and the enduring light of tradition.
Her husband, Pritom Dutta, plays a different role in their celebrations. “Pritom is colour-blind, so he cannot help with the rangoli, but he fixes the lights and takes photos of my work, it’s a shared responsibility,” she says with a laugh.
For Pritom, the essence of Diwali in his Kolkata childhood was painted in sound and light. “We had a specific place from which we fired up our crackers,” he recalls, the memory still bringing a thrill. He fondly remembers the firecrackers such as the thunderous chocolate bombs, the hypnotic whirl of ground spinners (chakri), the fiery shower of fountains (anar), and curl of snake tablets. Each one a burst of pure, unadulterated joy.
For Bengalis, Diwali comes a day after Kali Puja, dedicated to the goddess Kali. “Back in India, it had a different vibe,” Pritom says. “We celebrate Kali Puja the day before Diwali, and it’s a slightly different celebration.”
Their Diwali tradition involves prayers at the local temple, followed by an open house for their friends and family. “The evening is all about food, laughter, and games like tambola—with real money,” Pritom adds, clearly enjoying the tradition.
Pritom shares a unique culinary tradition. “The goat meat or mutton is a speciality on this day,” he adds, pointing to a dish known as niramesh mangsho—meat cooked without garlic or onion. “In Bengali tradition, onion and garlic are considered non-vegetarian,” he explains. Since the goat is an offering to the goddess Kali, it is prepared as a pure, “sacred” dish, allowing its true flavour to stand as an ambrosial tribute.
This Diwali, Pritom concludes his memories with a fond, funny tale. “We used to put all our crackers in the sun to dry, but one year our rockets wouldn’t launch. We later discovered our grandfather, who had been hurt by one, had secretly poured water on them as our punishment,” he shares.
For Pallavi, the most touching moment will be their first Diwali in Melbourne celebrated with their daughter, Priyanshi. “It was when we truly felt like a complete family,” she reflects. The four-year-old, observing her socially active parents, has even coined her own term for their gatherings. She calls them “Namo Namo parties,” linking the festive fun to the sacred phrase “Namah Namah” uttered in prayers.
Completing 14 years in Australia, the Dasguptas’ journey is about enlightenment—brightening their own lives and, through tradition and community, the lives of those around them.
Full Hearts, full Stomachs, full House
While many experience Diwali as a grand festival, for long-time Melbourne resident Saleha Singh, the festival has always glowed with a more intimate light.
Her connection to Diwali began in childhood through family. “My mum worked at an Arya Samaj school in West Bengal, India, so we were always invited to her colleagues’ homes for Diwali,” she recalls.
This foundation was later enriched by a beautiful family tradition started by her father-in-law. “He’d get my elder daughter to light the first diya. That moment has stayed with me.” Today, that ritual has been lovingly passed down, with her daughters—and now her little grandson—taking up the honour.
When her family moved to Melbourne 21 years ago, hosting Diwali dinners became their anchor. “It became a way to meet people and build friendships,” she says. “Over time, our guest list grew to 60–70 people—and mountains of home-made kebabs! These days, it’s a slightly smaller crowd—30 or so friends—because honestly, clean-up after 70 people is no joke!”
Saleha has noticed a generational difference in cross-cultural participation. “I’ve invited colleagues and non-Indian friends a few times, and while they were curious and happy to join in, I could sense they felt a little out of place,” she says. “But kids always know how to just fit in and enjoy themselves.”
Though she doesn’t often attend large public Diwali events, her own home has become a vibrant hub. When asked about her favourite aspect of the festival, she reflects, “For me, Diwali is the festival of light, warmth, and connection.
“I love having our home filled with friends and family—the glow of diyas, the sound of laughter, music in the background, the aroma of food, and everyone just enjoying themselves. I know our friends look forward to it each year, and that makes me happy. The night always ends with full hearts, full stomachs, and beautiful memories to carry forward.”
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