Bangs and fumes, this is a festival?
The city burns in a toxic frenzy.
I'm on a small roof facing the sky.
Rowdy, silken gentry, all around me,
Determined to end oxygen, freshness,
And sanity, as they totter between whisky
And fireworks, not a moment passes
Without explosion, dazzle, and smoke.
Teenyboppers and ladies cheer and titter,
Comparing sprays of coloured flame, sent
To the heavens-turned-hell, scattered
By obedient and unending rockets.
My nose tingles in sulphurous scorn, but
Outside I am sweetness and light.
"Police!" cries everyone in sequence.
Two floors below, a servant of the state
Is calling to uphold the law. But law
Is dim tonight. "I managed him" says
A jubilant celebrant proudly. A quick
note and pack of cigarettes stopped
Law's ascent to this nether region!
Instead, a young film star appears,
Beauteous wife and new-born babe
In tow, to breathe the festive gas.
One and a half hours have passed.
I tear my daughter away from her
Friends. "Stay, stay," they cry,
But we don't. I cast a passing glance
At the vast ammunition still gathered,
A self-help buffet table beside the stairs.
Last year's party burnt out at 3
In the morning, my daughter tells me.
Earth will burn out a few years hence
After every excuse for incineration is
Excused. Who cares? It's our right
To celebrate The Festival of Lights
In our very own benighted way,
Below the far gas-masked stars,
Hidden from awe and view.
Sanjib Basu 