The decision to go was not carefully planned. It was a late morning thought that turned into action because the children were restless and the house felt too quiet for a day. Diwali and Kali Puja come together in Kolkata. The markets change for a few days. Stalls appear where none existed week. Clay lamps cover tables. Flower garlands hang in lines. People move slowly carrying bags that look heavier than usual. I wanted the children to see it properly not from a moving car window. Diwali lights shine brightly in this city.
We left after lunch. The younger child, small enough to hold a hand without protest for long stretches walked between us at first. The older child moved a little ahead stopping whenever something bright caught his eye. The lane that leads to the market was already fuller than on ordinary days. Bikes stood in rows. A blue delivery scooter waited near a corner. Under a multicoloured umbrella a man arranged boxes. Down, red and orange flags hung from poles and a large banner showed a figure with folded hands. The air carried the smell of fresh flowers fried snacks from a distant stall and the faint dust that rises when many feet pass over the same patch of road. The market air was thick with noise.
The first proper stop was a table covered with clay diyas for Diwali. Hundreds of them small and reddish-brown were stacked in piles. Some were plain. Others had patterns pressed into the clay. A pink umbrella shaded part of the display. The kids stood close. Looked without touching at first. Then the younger child pointed. He wanted to know if we could take some home. I let both of them choose. They picked slowly turning a few lamps over in their hands comparing sizes the way children do when they are given a decision. We bought a number. The seller wrapped them in newspaper without talk. Nearby another stall had decorative pieces and packets of coloured powder but we moved on. The diyas were enough for now.
In this market the air was thick with the scent of spices and the chatter of vendors. A little further the market opened into a stretch. Vegetable sellers had claimed one side. White sacks of what looked like puffed rice or similar grains rose in stacks. Cauliflowers sat in a crate at the edge. A man in a maroon shirt sorted items behind his weighing scale while a customer in a shirt waited with a plastic bag. The children were less interested here. Food in its form rarely holds their attention for long when brighter things are visible ahead. Still they stayed close while I bought a things we actually needed. The transaction was quick. In these markets most people already know what they want and how much they are willing to pay.
The crowd thickened near the shops that sold festival items. One wooden platform held dozens of idols packed in cardboard boxes. Bright colours, gold paint, plastic wrapping that caught the light. The small idols are for Diwali. Women in saris stood examining them. A man in a checkered shirt reached across to adjust a display. Garlands of marigold and other flowers hung in lines outside a shop whose shutter was half-closed. The sign above one entrance read Janata Stores. People moved in both directions some stopping, some only glancing. My older child asked what the small figures were for. I explained, simply that many families keep them at home during these days. He. Continued looking. Explanation at this age is often received more as sound than as meaning yet the looking itself seemed to satisfy him. The kids watched with eyes.
We walked deeper. Under another umbrella. This one green, white and red with a milk brand printed on it. A man sat beside baskets of nuts or dried fruit. Red plastic baskets and cloth bags occupied the ground around him. Bicycles leaned against poles. A group of women in saris stood talking near a shopfront. One of them adjusted the drape of her sari while she spoke. Children from families passed us. Some held balloons. Others carried packets. The sound level stayed high. Never became aggressive. It was the noise of people doing festival shopping at the same time: calls, between sellers and buyers the occasional horn, laughter that rose and fell and the steady shuffle of feet. The market buzzed around us like a living drum.
At one point I stopped to take a photograph of the lane. The children waited without complaint. When I looked at the screen the frame showed the layers. People walking away from the camera a pink umbrella on the left stacked diyas, a man in a white shirt another in a checkered lungi, distant yellow and blue umbrellas and the old buildings with their balconies and hanging clothes. It was not a composed picture. It simply recorded where we were. The children wanted to see it. The children stood on either side of me. Looked at the small screen then looked up at the real scene as if confirming that both versions belonged to the same moment.
The striking sight of the day came when we reached the Kali Puja pandal. The Kali Puja pandal rose suddenly at the end of an approach. A large circular structure in deep red built with repeating rows of what looked like lamps or decorative petals. Gold and white borders ran horizontally around the Kali Puja pandal. At the top petal‑like forms opened outward. An arched entrance in the centre framed the idol inside. People stood in front some with their backs to us facing the goddess. A man in a t‑shirt and jeans stood still. Beside the man a woman in a salwar kameez with white floral patterns also faced inward. Inside the arch the figure of Kali was visible dark‑faced, adorned, with the fierce yet familiar presence that the Kali Puja pandal creates for a few days each year.
We did not go all the way inside. The children were content to stand at a distance and look. The younger child held my hand tightly here. The scale of the Kali Puja pandal was larger than anything the younger child usually sees up close. The younger child asked, in a way what the Kali Puja pandal was. I told the child it was for Kali Puja. The younger child repeated part of the phrase. The older brother watched people going in and coming out. Some people paused to take photographs. Others people simply stood for a minute. Then moved aside to let someone else have the view. The red of the Kali Puja pandal dominated the area. Against the buildings and the green of a few trees behind the Kali Puja pandal the colour felt deliberate and temporary. Built to last only for these days then to be taken down.
After some time we walked back through the market by a different route. More stalls appeared. One sold garlands. Another had decorative items spread on a checkered cloth over a cycle cart. A woman in a red sari bent over a display while a child stood nearby. Men carried bundles wrapped in cloth. The afternoon light had grown stronger. Shadows stretched across the road. An Amul umbrella provided shade for one seller. Political flags and religious banners shared the poles in places. None of it felt contradictory in the moment. The market simply contained everything at once.
The children began to tire in a way that shows first in the children’s steps. Then in the children’s questions. The children asked how longer. The children pointed at things the children had already seen. I bought the children a snack from a stall we passed. Nothing elaborate, just enough to keep the children comfortable for the remaining distance. The children ate while walking, which is never tidy. It worked.
By the time we turned toward home both children had dust on their clothes and the child’s hair was slightly damp from the heat. The children did not complain much. The outing had given the children new images to process.
At home later we placed the diyas we had bought on a part of the floor and let the children arrange them once. The children made a line then a small circle, then scattered the diyas again. The clay left marks on the children’s fingers.
Outside the sound of the neighbourhood continued. Somewhere a microphone tested itself for the evening. The Kali Puja pandal we had seen would be lit properly after dark. Families would light their lamps. For the children and for me the day had already delivered its share of the festival. Not through a perfect ritual but through the walk the choosing, the standing in front of the large red structure and the ordinary tiredness that follows when the children have been out, among many people and many colours.
Diwali and Kali Puja in this part of the city are never about what happens inside one house. Diwali and Kali Puja spread into the lanes. Diwali and Kali Puja change what is sold on the pavement for a week. Diwali and Kali Puja make strangers stand next to each other in front of the pandal. We walked the children through Diwali and Kali Puja without a plan. The process required the willingness to move at the children’s pace to stop when the children wanted to look and to answer the same question more than once.
By evening the market would grow even busier. We were already home. The diyas sat where the children had left them. Outside the city continued Diwali and Kali Puja without us for a while. That too felt like part of the day.
The photographs from the afternoon remain on the phone. One shows the lane with the diya stall under the pink umbrella. Another shows the stacks of white sacks and the vegetable seller at work. A third frames the pandal with the two people standing before the arch. None of them capture everything. Together they are enough to recall the sequence: the decision to go the slow walk, the small purchases the moment of standing still in front of something larger than the children and the return.
Festivals repeat every year. The particular afternoon with these two children, at these ages does not repeat. That part is worth writing down.
