Lanterns in the Sky

Tara was late. Again. This time, it wasn't because of her epic skills at procrastination; it was the unfamiliar city traffic — Mumbai was at its festive best. And by best, she meant the roads packed with everyone and their grandparents. After all, it was Diwali, which somehow meant everyone was a lot more reckless, daring, or friendly on the road, depending on how you looked at it. As she turned another corner, dodging a street vendor expertly, she cursed herself for volunteering to pick up the decorative lanterns at the last minute. "Why did I think it was going to be easy?" she muttered, readjusting her oversized jhola teetering on one shoulder. With too many chaotic thoughts jostling around her mind, Tara didn't notice she had veered into a quieter, narrower lane, away from the hive-like buzz of the main road. It was lined with tiny makeshift stalls — curiosity mixed with annoyance when she realized she was entirely off course. A man emerged from behind a cart that proudly displayed an impossible assortment of bottle corks. "Lost, eh? Don’t see many folks wandering here, especially with Ping's Yak Spicy Noodles," he said, chortling at some private joke. Tara raised an eyebrow, "Does Ping actually exist, or is that just romantic advertising?" The man, whose name she later learned to be Zeeshan, shrugged nonchalantly, "He exists somewhere but I don't suppose you'd care. But you look like a wild soul, hunting for something more than flashy lights. Want to trade a tale while you munch?" Thinking it was better than getting stuck in traffic again, Tara nodded. Zeeshan claimed he knew a shortcut to where she needed to go, as long as she was willing to take "the long route home" through the city’s oldest part. Tara couldn’t say exactly when she started to trust him, but as they meandered through old alleys adorned in starlight sparklers, Zeeshan explained the festival traditions, sharing stories of mythical adventures and how, without realizing it, they shaped every Diwali since. At one point, they stopped by a quiet courtyard where families were lighting oil lamps. No honking cars, no flashy lights — a serenity as rare as a unicorn in this bustling city. Watching the scene, Tara felt a tiny flame kindle inside her chest. "My mom always said Diwali is about lighting up your heart so you can light up the world," she confessed, surprised at herself for sharing something so personal with a practical stranger. Zeeshan looked at her, his expression unreadable. "My mom says almost the same. Fun how moms have universal truths, ain't it?" He smiled, and they moved on. Eventually, Tara made it to the lantern shop — an hour too late. Stressed beyond belief, she caught sight of the festival-goers and the near-completion of the celebrations she cherished so much. Zeeshan’s sly grin dissolved, replaced by genuine concern. "Hey, not all's lost. Let’s brighten things up with an extra bit of drama, shall we?" He opened his satchel full of unlit diyas and started guiding Tara on how they could still create an element of surprise. That night, back at her family's bustling celebration, her mom was first startled, then delighted to see Zeeshan, who had Masterminded the lantern-diya trail spiraling toward the family's compound. Family and neighbors gathered around as he recounted the night's little adventure, concluding, "In a world of boxed lights, it's the untamed flames that warm the heart." Tara couldn't stop smiling, seeing everyone captivated, even grateful. As families dispersed into the Diwali sparkle, Tara realized that it wasn't about the quick quest of fetching lanterns but the slow journey of discovering new friends, stories, and introspection. It was the best Diwali yet — one soaked in life’s simplest, genuine magic. And in the background, Zeeshan, like a traveler on his route, vanished into the night, just as strangely as he had appeared, leaving Tara with a lasting glow and eager for her next unconventional adventure.