When Diwali Smells Like Nani’s Kitchen: Ruchika Lohiya on Love, Loss, and Finding Light Again

For Ruchika Lohiya, storyteller and digital creator, Diwali isn’t just about fireworks or festive reel, it’s a feeling, a memory, and lately, a gentle ache.

“I really miss my Nani a lot,” she says quietly. “Every Diwali, since I was little, was always at her place. She’d be in the kitchen, serving mithai and khana, making sure we’d eaten more than we could handle,” Ruchika laughs softly. “When I think of Diwali, I see her – smiling, feeding us, making sure everything was perfect. Now that she’s gone, it doesn’t feel the same.”

Her voice carries the warmth of nostalgia and the weight of loss – the kind that comes from knowing that the heart of a home is gone, and yet, its light remains.

“It’s Always Been About Family.”

For Ruchika, Diwali has always been a family-first festival – loud, crowded, slightly chaotic, and full of love. “It’s always been a very family thing,” she smiles. “Meeting people we don’t usually meet, eating food that only tastes that good during Diwali, burning crackers – even though I know I shouldn’t!”

It’s that familiar chaos that makes her feel at home. “Every house smells like something’s cooking, everyone’s yelling, laughing, helping, or pretending to help,” she says. “That’s what Diwali is – not perfection, but presence.”

The Nani-Shaped Silence in Celebration

Last year, Ruchika lost her Nani – and with her, a piece of her childhood Diwali. “I hadn’t really thought about this Diwali until recently,” she admits. “But it’s going to be emotional for us. Because every Diwali happened at Nani’s house, the lights, the food, the rituals, everything revolved around her. Now it won’t be the same.”

It’s a quiet kind of grief, one that seeps into even the happiest moments. “When I imagine Diwali, I imagine her handing me mithai or shouting at me for not helping enough,” she says with a half-smile. “Now, when we celebrate, I’ll still feel her everywhere just not in the way I used to.”

If Diwali Were a Poem

As a storyteller, Ruchika often finds her emotions best expressed through words. So when asked what Diwali would sound like if it were a poem, she doesn’t pause long.

“Diwali ki khushiyaan aayi, mithaiyon ki aur tasveeron se bhari yeh raat, un diyoon ke sang saj gayi,” she says softly.

The words flow effortlessly lyrical yet lived-in, like something written straight from the heart. “I think if Diwali had a rhythm,” she adds, “it would sound like laughter mixed with the clinking of plates and the smell of something sweet on the stove.”

Writing Through Memory and Emotion

For Ruchika, Diwali always brings reflection. “This time, I know it’s going to be different,” she says. “Because last year, I was still processing losing Nani. This year, I’m trying to find a new way to celebrate one that keeps her memory alive but also lets me move forward.”

She sees her writing as a way to hold onto that connection. “When I write about family or home, it’s often about her the food, the small rituals, the laughter. Writing keeps those memories alive. It’s my way of bringing her back, even if just for a moment.”

What Authentic Diwali Means

In a world filled with glossy campaigns and perfectly framed reels, Ruchika’s definition of an authentic Diwali is simple – and grounded.

“An authentic Diwali is when I’m home with my family,” she says. “When we’re playing cards, eating together, laughing, or just sitting quietly. It’s not about what you post – it’s about what you feel.”

She pauses before adding, “I think it’s about appreciation – just being grateful for what you have and who you have.”

A Message to Everyone This Diwali

When asked what she’d like her audience to remember this season, Ruchika smiles – that soft, storyteller smile that knows how to say a lot with very few words.

“Take a pause,” she says. “Call that friend. Sit with your parents. Eat that extra laddoo. I know life moves fast, and as creators, we often think we can come back to these moments later. But sometimes, later never comes.”

She takes a breath, then adds quietly, “Ads can wait. Memories can’t.”