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By:

Archita Redkar

11 September 2025 at 2:30:25 pm

A Diwali to Remember: The Light of Mangeshi Temple

I still recall one of the most captivating Diwalis I’ve experienced — the one I spent in Goa fourteen years ago. That year, we chose to celebrate uniquely at the Shri Mangeshi Temple, and residing within its walls made the occasion intensely personal and unforgettable. It became a treasured family celebration. My daughter was very young then, but to this day she distinctly remembers each lamp, each prayer, and every instance of that Diwali. The temple’s tranquil atmosphere, resonant chants,...

A Diwali to Remember: The Light of Mangeshi Temple

I still recall one of the most captivating Diwalis I’ve experienced — the one I spent in Goa fourteen years ago. That year, we chose to celebrate uniquely at the Shri Mangeshi Temple, and residing within its walls made the occasion intensely personal and unforgettable. It became a treasured family celebration. My daughter was very young then, but to this day she distinctly remembers each lamp, each prayer, and every instance of that Diwali. The temple’s tranquil atmosphere, resonant chants, and the golden blaze of hundreds of diyas made the festival an experience full of soul—one that still shimmers in our hearts. Perched on a hillock at Priol in Ponda Taluka and surrounded by lush greenery, the Shri Mangeshi Temple is one of Goa’s most revered shrines to Lord Shiva. Its distinctive Goan Hindu architecture — whitewashed walls, graceful courtyards, and the towering seven-storey deepastambha (lamp tower) — exudes timeless elegance, especially during Diwali. As night falls, the temple becomes a sanctuary of light. Diyas illuminate the deepastambha, creating an almost celestial vision. The air fills with chants and the soft rhythm of bells, celebrating the triumph of light over darkness and wisdom over ignorance. The MangeshiDevasthan stands as a symbol of devotion and resilience. The original Shiva Linga, once enshrined in Kushastali, was moved across the Zuari River after the Portuguese destroyed the temple in 1561. The present structure, built in the mid-1800s on land donated by a devotee, has been lovingly preserved through generations. Today, it remains one of Goa’s most visited and spiritually significant temples — a true jewel among Konkani shrines. Goa’s Diwali traditions Goa celebrates Diwali with a unique blend of devotion and community spirit. The festivities begin on Naraka Chaturdashi, the second day of the five-day festival, with the burning of Narakasura effigies. Giant figures of the demon king, crafted from bamboo and paper, are paraded through villages before being set ablaze at dawn — a vivid symbol of good triumphing over evil. As fireworks light up the morning sky, families rejoice together. Lakshmi Puja, the third day, holds special importance. Homes and temples—especially Mangeshi, Shantadurga, and Mahalaxmi—glow with vibrant rangolis, marigolds, and flickering lamps. Families offer prayers and sweets to welcome Goddess Lakshmi, celebrating prosperity, harmony, and hope. Living within the temple premises let us experience its divine rhythm from dawn to night. From the first aarti at 4:30 a.m. to the last at 11 p.m., we joined nearly every ritual. The temple shimmered with fresh flowers, intricate patterns in the sanctum (Garbha), and endless rows of diyas, each flame whispering peace. On the first day, we performed the sacred Abhishek — offering water and flowers to the Shiva Linga. Drawing water from the ancient temple well and carrying it to the sanctum under Guruji’s guidance was humbling. Sitting there, offering prayers and prasad, I felt a deep stillness — a serenity I carry even today. On Narak Chaturdashi, we joined villagers as they set the demon effigy ablaze amid dazzling fireworks. In that radiant dawn, I prayed silently for strength, positivity, and the cleansing of negativity — a beautiful blend of energy and introspection. Lakshmi Puja brought another unforgettable day. Guruji invited us to his 200-year-old ancestral Wada behind the temple. The women prepared a traditional Goan breakfast on banana leaves, filling the courtyard with the aroma of coconut and jaggery. Children, including my daughter, built tiny clay forts (ghads) decorated with miniature warriors and diyas. Their laughter, mingled with temple bells, captured the warmth and togetherness that define a Goan Diwali. Festivity and togetherness Sweets and savouries lie at the heart of Diwali celebrations. In Goa, favourites like Fov (sweetened beaten rice with jaggery and coconut), Godshe (rice pudding with coconut milk), KelyachyoFodi (raw banana fry), KarlyacheKismur (bitter gourd with coconut and tamarind), and Nevri or Karanji (sweet dumplings filled with coconut, jaggery, poppy seeds, and cardamom) are lovingly prepared and shared with neighbours, symbolising love and unity. Evenings in Goa offer a beautiful contrast—the serene glow of temples meets the lively sparkle of beaches. Fireworks, music, and Goan feasts fill the air, blending devotion and celebration, perfectly reflecting Goa’s joyful soul. That Diwali at Mangeshi Temple was more than a festival — it was a journey inward. The echo of bells, scent of incense, soft chants, flickering lamps, and shared family moments created a peace that words can hardly capture. (The writer is a tourism professional and runs a company, Global Voyages. She could be contacted at goglobalvoyages@gmail.com. Views personal.)

Choosing Marriage, Not Chasing It

In an age rife with unsolicited advice, choosing marriage on your own terms is the quietest and boldest revolution.

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Growing up in India, one quickly learns that marriage is less a milestone than a societal mandate, especially for women. That eternal question “Shaadi kabkarnihai?” becomes a rite of passage in one’s twenties, echoing like a ticking clock. By thirty, eyebrows rise. Questions, subtle or not, begin to circle. But here is a quiet truth: marriage is not a deadline. It is a matter of readiness, not age.


And yet, despite this cultural pressure, marriage is not a deadline. Nor is it a measure of success. It is, at its best, a conscious decision made with care, maturity and clarity.


I have been fortunate in this regard. My family never tethered my worth to a calendar. Conversations about marriage did happen, but they came laced with concern, not coercion. I recall one evening over tea, when my mother gently broached the topic. “You also have to get married now,” she said. I asked her for two more years. She agreed without hesitation. Those two years came and went, and she never brought it up again.


That kind of quiet trust gave me the freedom to grow. In a world where many are pushed into marriage simply to conform, this breathing space was invaluable.


I am not opposed to marriage. I believe in it deeply. I intend to marry but only when I am ready, and when I find the right partner. I want to enter that bond with awareness, not anxiety. With choice, not compulsion.


This mindset owes much to the family I grew up in. I’ve seen both love marriages and arranged ones. My siblings made different choices with some following their hearts, while others trusting the traditional path. Each choice was accepted without judgment. That balance of autonomy and support is a rare gift in Indian households.


Much of it came from my mother, a quiet force who taught me that strength need not be loud. Life tested her repeatedly but she met it with calm, dignity and resolve. She leads not with command but with grace and patience. Watching her taught me that real leadership lies in trust, not control.


My sister, too, has been a pillar. Together, she and my mother formed a kind of buffer around me by deflecting societal noise and letting me live on my terms. They handled the questions so I didn’t have to. That unspoken solidarity gave me the confidence that no matter what others said, I knew I had my people behind me.


This is perhaps why I’ve never felt pressured to ‘settle down.’ I’ve seen too many women marry early not because they were ready, but because they were told their time was running out. Warnings about fertility. Whispers about respectability. Marriage treated not as a partnership, but a panic response.


Yes, biology plays a role. But marriage is not simply about reproduction; it is about building something lasting with someone who understands and grows with you.


And today’s women are not who they used to be. We are not our grandmothers or even our mothers. We are independent. We chase ambition. We travel alone. We rebuild ourselves after setbacks. Some of us are still figuring out who we are. And that, too, is perfectly valid.


Let us also be realistic: if early marriages fail, so do late ones. There is no formula for a successful union. It is not about when you marry, but whom you marry and why. A well-timed union with the wrong person will still unravel but a delayed one with the right partner can be life-changing. What matters is alignment.


The truth is that a good marriage begins with a good sense of self. One must know who they are before they can know who to share a life with. Marrying from a position of fear – a fear of missing out, of ageing, of judgment - is a recipe for regret.


This is no anti-marriage argument but something to ponder about. If love arrives early, embrace it. If it takes time, so be it. There is no universally ‘right’ age to marry, only the right moment when your heart and mind are in quiet agreement.


It is time we stopped treating marriage as a finish line, and started seeing it for what it can truly be: a conscious, even spiritual partnership built not out of fear or pressure, but out of clarity, trust and joy.


(The writer is a cybersecurity professional and an avid traveler.)

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