Diya. Duty. Drama.

Before boardrooms and corner offices came along, there were floors to sweep and rangolis to design. Business leaders and entrepreneurs reflect on how those tiny rituals, once fought over in jest, quietly left imprints far deeper than they could have imagined.

- Sonakshi Kurbah

Every family has its own version of Diwali diplomacy. Who lights the first diya? Who carries the puja thali? And who settles for scattering flowers? At the time, these lighthearted negotiations might have felt trivial, yet tucked within them were early lessons in belonging, pride, and responsibility.

SANJAY AGARWAL, MD & CEO, CENTURYPLY

“Some of my fondest Diwali memories go back to my childhood in Tinsukia, Assam. Preparations began nearly a month in advance. We'd charm our elders for 25, 40, or even 50 rupees, a fortune then for patakas (fireworks), and argue over how many diyas to light inside and outside the house.

Before the fun began, there were duties. The house had to be scrubbed, polished, and festival-ready. After school, instead of resting, we swept floors, washed walls, and even repainted patches ourselves. Placing diyas was treated like a responsibility too; we split bamboo to make neat rows, leaving no corner in darkness. These simple chores quietly taught us responsibility and shaped how we carried ourselves long after the diyas went out.

As Diwali neared, the chores eased. With money in hand, an elder took us to buy patakas, carefully stored in a locked box. On the big day, our first duty was lighting diyas. We bragged about 500 one year, 300 another, though the real count was far less.

By 4 o'clock, every task had to be done. Only then could we bathe, dress, and join the puja, already buzzing for the aatishbaazi ahead. Afterwards, we proudly carried our fireworks to our shop by the railway line, setting them off on the tracks — pure joy.

Now, that joy feels lost. Even diyas have given way to Chinese LED lights. Yet each year, we still miss those days, the