And it’s morning…

I am tired — that deep, delicious kind of tired that only follows a week of light, laughter, and endless running around.

But I have to get up.

My dogs are already awake, tails thumping against the floor.

My birds wait in the balcony, chirping impatiently for their feed.

And the little handicapped monkey — my quiet guest of dawn — sits there, eyes soft, waiting for his bananas.

For them, it’s just another morning.

For me — and maybe for many like me — it’s that strange, indescribable lull after the storm of festivities.

A kind of gentle ache in the air… a whisper that says, it’s over.

How does one describe this feeling?

Of a season that just wrapped itself around your heart and is now slowly slipping away.

Days of cleaning sprees, of gifts and glitter, of running to the bazaar for diyas from vendors who had been waiting all year for this one good week.

Of laughter that spilled late into the night, fireworks that painted the sky, and that one blouse the tailor still hadn’t sent despite promising, “Abhi bhejta hoon, madam.”

And amidst it all — the joy of loved ones coming home, their voices filling the house once again — there lingers a quiet ache for those who couldn’t make it this year.

For the ones whose absence hums softly in the corners, like a familiar tune missing one note.

All of it — the chaos, the warmth, the exhaustion, the silences — has now settled into a soft stillness.

I step onto the terrace.

The birds swoop down, the baby monkey vanishes with his bananas, and the sun rises — slow and golden.

A few crackers still echo in the distance, faint reminders of last night’s sparkle.

But mostly, there’s quiet.

The kind that feels both empty and full at the same time.

It feels like Diwali is gently bidding adieu — whispering,

“I’ll be back next year. I come only to remind you that life is still beautiful, still worth celebrating.”

And in that moment, I realize — every arrival already carries its farewell within it.

Every festival, every season, every joy comes with its own goodbye date, written in invisible ink.

So I breathe…

I let the tiredness settle into gratitude.

I let the silence hum around me.

And I tell myself —

just relax, feel the feeling,

and flow with the gentle rhythm of what was,

and what will be again.

——-Suvi’s Scribble’s