Silent Echoes of Diwali
Lost in Lights, Trapped in Shadows
Today, I am going to share a story about a person living in the busy city of Mumbai, India—Ramesh Verma, an IT support executive. Ramesh Verma was sitting at his office desk with fingers frozen above the computer keyboard, lost in thought.
Outside, the city pulsed with the joyous din of Diwali—firecrackers popping in the sky, laughter pouring out of thrumming streets, the golden throbs of diyas dancing against the velvet night. Yet inside the glass-walled office, the atmosphere was unnervingly frozen.
A tiny motion caught his attention. A cockroach crawled across his mouse pad, coming to a halt as if considering its next move. This, a sensation of strange curiosity, began to fill his mind. How did it get here? What was it searching for? Did it even know where it was headed? For a moment, he envied its willfulness and unquestioned perseverance.
He sighed and turned back to his screen. He had not sent the email to his manager. “Dear Sir and Respected Mentor,” he’d typed, but the words rang false. How many similar emails had he sent in the past, praying for a reply that never materialised?
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, bathing the immaculate white desks in an unyielding, sterile glow. The little cockroach crawled across the mouse pad, darting between coffee stains and crumpled sticky notes.
It paused from time to time, its little legs quaking, as though it, too, was exhausted from a life of endless wandering without any real purpose—lost, frail, and unseen.
Next door, Rajan, the office janitor, wiped glass partitions at loud, rhythmic intervals, singing an old Bollywood song.
Ramesh lowered his coffee mug and sighed, gazing at the ceiling pockmarked with air vents and LED lights. It was a sterile air of forgotten dreams that filled the office, closing the walls around him.
“What else can I put down to wow him?” he said with a mumble, rubbing his weary eyes. His heart shattered for himself and that wretched cockroach once more, doomed to roam this forsaken office indefinitely, searching for crumbs of hope in a world that never noticed.
Bored and restless, Ramesh wandered into the pantry. Rajan had completed cleaning and was standing next to the big glass window, looking outside.
“They’re lighting the diyas,” Rajan whispered, his eyes wide with a childlike gleam..
Ramesh perched by the window and listened. From the street, the sounds of Diwali faintly wafted in — temple bells ringing, peals of laughter, the distant crackle of firecrackers, the happy chatter of families.
The air was scented with sweets, incense and fresh paint.
“Look at those people,” Ramesh sighed, staring at the shadows of passers scramble past the glowing streetlights. “Everyone is celebrating, and I’m stuck in this gloomy office year after year.”
Rajan shrugged. “You didn’t have to cover Ravi’s shift. You did it for a bit more money. It’s not duty; it’s choice.”
“Choice?” Ramesh scoffed. “It’s not choice. It’s the EMI, it’s the rent, the bills. A few extra bucks to keep a roof over my head.
But it would be nice to be out a little, with friends, celebrating, eating sweets, sharing smiles. Instead, I am sitting here, mired in endless emails and unresolved tickets.”
Rajan chuckled softly. “Maybe someday you’ll have your own cabin, Ramesh bhai, and someone like me will bring you coffee.”
“Ha! Not in this life,” said Ramesh. “People like me don’t rise. No big titles, no glitzy name plates. No “It was all a dream,” just the same cubicle and the same petty salary.
He collapsed back into his desk, the Diwali lights shining outside, making the office feel frigid.” It made his loneliness more jarring: the sound of celebration. His heart longed for something beyond money—warmth, love, and belonging.
His mind strayed to Meera, the thin, dark girl with the kind eyes in the finance department. Their eyes had crossed once or twice over coffee breaks and damp screens, and in that brief exchange, he felt a warmth he never knew.
Her eyes spoke silently to his heart, soft and timid yet undeniably vivid. He meant to talk to her, to admit the feelings that blossomed like tender sprouts in the dry, cracked earth of his heart.
But when he finally mustered the courage, a senior manager spoke over him and pulled him into a long, dull meeting that buried his tasks and will.
Then Meera changed firms, and Ramesh never heard of her again, her silence sucking out every ounce of hope from his life.
“Should I just quit?” he wondered. But leaving wouldn’t really make a difference. His small rented apartment was bleaker than the office.
So what if he burnt Diwali outside, what will come next? The same unchanging routine, the same despondency.
The computer clock hit midnight. The screen saver flickered. The cockroach remained, crawling around aimlessly. It faltered, fighting to find solid footing, as though it too were reflecting Ramesh’s confusion, trapped between glowing displays and dim sparks of optimism
Suddenly, Ramesh slapped his palm on the table, crushing and killing the small cockroach.
“What did you ever do wrong, huh? ” he muttered bitterly, gazing at the dead bug.
He stared at the dead body of the cockroach, scanned its tiny, damaged shell, and felt an odd wave of contemplation. “The cockroach didn’t have a choice,” he thought. “It’s just a solitary creature, following its basic instincts, without guidance, dreams, or hope. But I… I have choices.”
Abruptly, amidst the office’s silence, Ramesh sensed a response akin to a dead cockroach whose quiet voice resonated more powerfully than any other.
“Yes, Ramesh,” his mind intoned, envisioning the cockroach’s voice, “I had no option but to scuttle where crumbs took me, to live day by day with no grander ambition. But you… You can choose to transcend routine and seek more than survival. The common threat to my life was aimless meandering, but for you, it’s the danger of settling for less than you deserve.’
Ramesh felt a shiver run down his spine.
“If you don’t change, you’ll be like me,” the imagined voice said. “Not crushed by a hand, but crushed by your fears, doubts, and the days passing that you allow without trying.”
His eyes wandered from the desk to the city lights beyond the window. “I can search for different options. The only door completely closed to me is the one I am unwilling to knock on. I have choices.” It was a revelation akin to an ember glowing in the shadowy recesses of his soul.
Ramesh got to his feet, brushed off his shirt, and went to the window. The streets remained vibrant with lights and laughter. He inhaled the crisp night air, tinged with the aroma of fireworks and hope.
“Tomorrow might have different news,” he whispered, a slight smile creeping on his face.
For the first time in years, Ramesh sensed a pinprick of hope stir within him, as tenuous and brilliant as a Diwali diya in the dark.
