‘I So Wish To Visit Delhi For Diwali, But Fear Of Smog Hangs Heavy’

Tripti Sharma feels torn between her desire to be home for Diwali and being exposed to the polluting haze that engulfs Delhi every festive season. Her story:

As I sit in Indianapolis, thinking about the approaching Diwali, my heart aches with a familiar pull. Every year, this festival is supposed to be a time for joy, family, and celebration. It’s the one time I wish to fly back to India, leave behind the business of life here in the US, and immerse myself in the warmth of home. But this year, that excitement is overshadowed by a growing sense of fear—the fear of breathing the air that’s slowly suffocating my hometown.

I keep reading the news about how bad the air quality is going to be around Diwali, with stubble burning already in full swing in Punjab and Haryana. Delhi, where my family lives, is predicted to be blanketed in smog. The idea of walking through the streets, the smell of crackers mixed with the smoky haze, doesn’t fill me with nostalgia anymore; it fills me with dread. What’s worse is that I don’t just worry for myself, I am concerned about my ageing parents, my little nieces and nephews. The idea of exposing them to this level of pollution weighs heavy on my mind.

It’s strange. Here in Indianapolis, as fall turns to winter, I look outside at the crisp, cold air and think about how different things are in North India. I should be packing my bags, thinking about all the sweets I’ll eat, the diyas we’ll light together, but instead, I’m glued to the air quality index, checking it like some sort of doomsday countdown.

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A part of me feels so torn. I’ve lived in the US long enough to get used to clean air and clear skies. Breathing is something I don’t have to think about here. But going back to India, to Delhi especially, around Diwali? It’s like walking into a cloud of invisible danger. The smog settles into every corner of the city, thick and suffocating. You can’t escape it, even indoors. Air purifiers can only do so much.

I feel this gnawing guilt too. Diwali is about family. My parents miss me, and I miss them. My mother’s been sending pictures of the preparations—the rangoli they’ve made, the sweets they’re preparing, her hopeful messages saying, “It’s not that bad this year.” But I know she’s just trying to reassure me, and it breaks my heart. She doesn’t want me to worry, but how can I not?

The worst part is how helpless it all feels. Stubble burning is something that happens every year, and every year, we all watch as the pollution levels spike, and people start choking on the air. It’s not like this is a new problem, but it feels like nothing ever changes. I feel angry and frustrated, knowing this could be fixed if only there were stricter regulations or better solutions for farmers. But instead, it’s the people, my family, who pay the price.

I want to go home. I want to light diyas with my family, laugh over old memories, and feel the magic of Diwali like I did when I was a kid. But now, it feels like a choice between celebrating and protecting my health. I never thought something as basic as the air we breathe would make me reconsider going home.

For now, I’m stuck in this painful limbo. Should I go and risk it? Should I stay here, safe but homesick? Every year, the decision gets harder. Diwali is supposed to be about light and hope, but right now, all I feel is a cloud of uncertainty hanging over everything.

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As told to Deepti Sharma