In every flickering flame lies a story of victory, renewal and shared joy.

In India’s rich tapestry of celebrations, the Festival of Lights takes centre‑stage. Whether as Kali Puja in Bengal or Diwali across the country, light conquering darkness has deep mythological resonance.

In Kali Puja, devotees worship Maa Kali on the new‐moon night, recalling how she vanquished the demon Raktabīja, whose drops of blood spawned endless clones of himself. Kali drank the blood, stilled his power and freed the world from fear. Meanwhile, Diwali is often associated with Rama’s return to Ayodhya after his victory over Ravana; rows of lamps symbolise that return and the triumph of good over evil.

Unfortunately, over time, the Festival of Lights has evolved far beyond lamps. Fire‑crackers have become a pervasive feature. Originally, fireworks were rare — small earthen lamps, rangoli patterns and shared sweets were sufficient. But during the 20th century, industrial production of firecrackers, combined with an aspirational consumer culture and the visual spectacle of sky-bright lights bursting, became central to Diwali celebrations.

However, the shift toward loud, smoky firecrackers has had significant ecological and social impacts. Studies show that air pollutants can spike several‐fold during Diwali fireworks—soaring to 16 times normal levels in some urban zones. The smoke contains heavy metals, sulphur oxides and nitrogen oxides — hazards to children, elders and those with lung disease.

Noise levels soar above safe decibels, disturbing schools, hospitals and wildlife. Socially, neighbourhood strain rises –those suffering asthma or the elderly often feel excluded or endangered. False urgency to burst crackers becomes a peer expectation, and neighbourhoods without access to fireworks feel left out or pressured.

On the positive note, beyond the celebration, the Festival of Lights also has a deep economic impact – especially in rural India. Retail, food processing, handicrafts, lighting goods, sweets, clothing, and services see surges. Nationally, festive-season consumer spending reaches ₹12–14 lakh crore. In rural India, farmers earn by supplying bamboo for pandals, women self-help groups make earthen or terracotta diyas, as do potters.

Micro‑enterprises in villages benefit from the spike in demand for festive wear, sweets, lighting goods and informal service tasks. For many rural microbusinesses, festival weeks may account for a large share of annual income.

Yet to truly ensure a joyous celebration for all, we must re-envision the Festival of Lights in inclusive, sustainable and respectful ways, by choosing to celebrate in ways that reaffirm heritage—lighting earthen diyas, encouraging handicrafts made by rural artisans, bursting quiet or “green” fire‑works sparingly, and sharing sweets or hospitality with neighbouring households of all identities.

When we combine mythological light, cultural joy, social inclusivity, ecological care and rural economic uplift, the Festival of Lights becomes truly light for all. The flicker of diyas then reflects not just the triumph of good, but the triumph of shared prosperity, shared purpose, and a brighter, inclusive dawn for every household—whether in a village hut or a city apartment.

Light is the only substance which increases through sharing.