Atharva held his mothers’ hands nervously. He had faint memories of last years’ Diwali, like a faint reminder of something barely recognizable anymore, and yet enough to instill fear in his young mind. He looked uncomfortable in his new shervani. His lips pursed; eyes wide open in fear of the next alarming sound of a firecracker.
And just on cue a series of crackers burst with a deafening sound. Atharva locked his ears behind his little palms, his forehead shrinking as he pressed his palms against his earlobes. He wanted to go back to bed, curl under the blanket. But his parents were not allowing him the luxury of a choice. Not on Diwali.
“Atharva,” he heard his father’s grave, commanding voice. “Come on. Let’s go out.”
He slouched out of the bed dejectedly. He was too young to have his say, and old enough to be forced into social niceties.
Just as he held his fathers’ hands, another barrage of crackers burst. Atharva’s lips curled into a silent cry as his father continued to walk, blissfully unaware of how uncomfortable his son was. He smiled as he looked at his son, confident that he would be dazzled by the visuals of an anar or a chakli.
But as they walked out, the sparkling visuals made Atharva close his eyes. The colors hurt his eyes, sending a ripple of ache into his brain. He cried timidly, losing his voice against elders talking to each other with a wide grin on their face. He tried to sneak his palm out of his fathers’ large fingers, but could not.
Petrified of the next loud sound, and the flickering, designer lights that hit his head like a rampaging hammer, Atharva vaguely noticed a familiar figure coming close to them. It was their next-door neighbor, a woman with a painfully screeching voice (or so he felt), who seemed to press against people a little too tightly when hugging them.
Atharva looked alarmed as she came towards her parents. His parents, though, did not seem to mind it. They greeted her excitedly, as Atharva tried to hide behind his parents’ towering presence. He closed his eyes as the woman’s shimmering attire blinded him for a second or two.
Just when he feels as though she would leave him unnoticed, the woman spots him behind his fathers’ trousers. She gallops at him threateningly, holding him by his sleeves with a wide grin on her face. She pulled him closer before yelling on his face, “Happy Diwali, beta!”
Atharva felt her voice hitting him like a torrential gust of wind slapping his face. He wanted to ask her to let him loose, but his mouth went dry as he tried to speak. He mumbled inaudibly, before feeling the touch of her hands loosening against his skin. A few moments of quiet, before his parents walk towards her home. Atharva, still clasping his father’s hand, is forced to follow him even as his face turns white in fear. No! his mind tries to snap into a protest but his lips remain pursed.
They walk in to find a living-room lit with multiple lights. Their power blinds Atharva, but everyone else – including that woman’s eleven-year-old son – seem to be fine with the lights. They sit, and before Atharva could whisper his protest to his parents the woman comes with a tray full of sweets.
The smell of oil kisses his nostrils, making him frown. He looks at the plate and sees gujhiya. He is reminded of how the smell of it makes him want to vomit. But he remains quiet. The woman pushes the tray towards him. His parents look at him expectantly, not in the mood to see their son creating a scene.
Atharva takes a gujhiya reluctantly. He takes a small bite of it, the smell of oil almost choking him now. He wants to vomit it out, but he keeps the mouthful inside, slowly, painfully letting it slip into his esophagus. He wants to run outside, curl back into his bed, but his parents continue to sit.
A part of him wants to run away, but he knows the firecrackers that await him there. There is no escape; no solace in an evening like this. He looks at the faces around him – happy, joyous, and all Atharva could think of was how he desperately wanted the day evening to end. That was he could think about in that moment. That was all he thought about till the last sound of a firecracker a few minutes after midnight.
For a young child who is struggling to understand the world as it exists for them, the barrage of festivals during the latter half of the year could be quite demanding, both emotionally and mentally. Children with neurodiversity are often left to feel confused, and hence vulnerable in a world that is not designed to accommodate and understand their needs.
Their twinkle-eyed fear of everything that disturbs them – everything assumed by others to be normal – finds a deeper, fiercer presence during the festive season. Little nuances that these festivals are designed around can be a major cause of concern for neurodiverse kids, impacting their experience of these festivities.
People with neurodiversity can often be very sensitive to little changes around them. As a kid, this heightened sensitivity can be confounding. Elders, who come mostly from an assumption of neurotypicality as the only truth around them, are unable to understand the little hints of discomfort that could be visible to them.
This can often result in these kids being forced into situations that only worsen their anxiety, and discomfort. Little things like the flickering bright lights, smell of a certain edible product, social interactions, and disturbingly loud firecrackers, are just a few things that neurotypicals assume to be the norm around a festival, but can be a concerning factor for neurodiverse people.
For kids, especially, the option to refuse is tougher. There is an inclination by parents (who come from a space of unawareness regarding their child’s neurodiversity) to force their kids into activities, in fear of them becoming the odd-one-out where other kids their age.
The lack of agency that a neurodiverse kid has worsens the experience of these festivals for them. So, instead of moulding things in a way that incorporates the needs of neurodiverse people, these kids are forced to not only accept, but also embrace the way these festivals are celebrated historically.
This makes for an uncomfortable, often distasteful experiences for neurodiverse people, bringing them dangerously close to a breakdown. For kids, especially, their genuine concerns are erased as pampered behaviour. This communication gap makes it tougher for a child to explain the physical, emotional, and psychological hindrances that they are facing.
Often, this means that they go through the entire drill, terrified, but unable to give words to their worries. Their experience of a festival – and in extension memories of these experiences as an adult – make the very dawn of their arrival a fearful prospect. The inability of the world around them to be more understanding of their needs, and a little flexible with their methods, isolates them in what is essentially a day of coming together as a community.
The answer lies in being a little patient, and understanding the concerns neurodiverse people have with certain elements of festivals. It is important to be attentive to their needs, and accepting of manoeuvring in a way that makes festivals inclusive for all. Little details, like non-flickering lights to comfort their visual sensory, to ask for consent before a friendly hug, and having special zones for crackers that are distanced from housing society, and allowing someone the basic luxury to say no to a food item.
As we move ahead, trying to make our festivals more inclusive, we need to start asking neurodiverse people for what they would prefer. Each individual will differ in their concerns, and each needs to be treated with the respect of that space where they can give words to their concerns.
This especially needs to be done with kids who are assumed to not know enough about themselves. To ask them what they are comfortable with, and changing the surroundings accordingly is not too tough. All it takes is to ask, to be more inclusive in our celebration of festivals; all it takes is to hear to know if a person is uncomfortable with a part of the festivals’ rituals.