It was supposed to be a “green” Diwali in Gurugram, the kind with NEERI-certified crackers, two-hour bursting windows, and promises of clean celebration. Instead, the Gadoli cracker market on Diwali eve told a very different story. Stalls overflowed with smoke, streets jammed with honking cars, and banned fireworks were sold openly as enforcement looked the other way.
Standing amid bursting anars and the thick smell of sulphur, it was clear that law and order had taken the night off. The air reeked not of festivity but of negligence. “Dikhane ke liye green hai, chalane ke liye asli hai,” one shopkeeper said with a grin. (They look green, but they burst like the real ones.) His stall, like many others, displayed “GREEN CRACKERS ONLY” banners while selling sutli bombs and ladis in bulk.
Police presence was largely symbolic. One officer, seated inside a godown with his cap off and a cup of tea in hand, watched casually as sparks flew nearby. When asked if any checks were underway, he replied, “Madam, yeh Diwali hai, enforcement nahi.” Traders echoed the same sentiment.
Licences, they said, arrived just two days before the festival — “too late for paperwork, just in time for business.” Improvisation became the norm. One seller had converted his living room into a storage space, while another hid cartons of banned rockets in a back alley. “Raids? On Diwali? Who will spoil their festival?” he said, laughing.
The market drew crowds from across NCR. Families from Noida, Ghaziabad, and Delhi came looking for “real” crackers — the kind long banned in their cities. A young couple from Indirapuram, carrying bags of fireworks and a baby, said, “We drove three hours. Worth it. These make real Diwali sound.” Meanwhile, boxes of certified “green crackers” remained unsold and unwanted.
By 8pm, traffic outside Gadoli cracker market froze for nearly two kilometres. Horns blared as people shopped directly from open car boots. The smoke thickened, and residents peered from balconies, coughing. “Every year, we complain. Every year, it gets worse,” said an elderly local. “Even my neighbour’s dogs stopped barking. He’s given up.”
By 9pm, the market resembled a scene of collective denial. Traders said it was their livelihood, customers said it was “just one night”, and police said they were “short-staffed”. No one felt responsible.
As fireworks lit the Gurugram skyline, the spectacle looked beautiful from afar but toxic up close. The city that often speaks of pollution awareness seemed to celebrate defiance instead. “We preach awareness, yet celebrate apathy,” I observed. “We curse the air, yet light the fire.”
In the end, Gurugram didn’t just light up the sky this Diwali — it exposed itself. The city that talks endlessly about pollution proved once again that when profits, pleasure, and pride collide, rules burn first. The night revealed a city that thrives on chaos, polishes its excuses, and calls it tradition.