Divali in Trinidad and Tobago: Are We Losing the Traditions That Once Brought Us Together?
Growing up in Couva, Divali was an experience that extended far beyond the Hindu community. It was part of the rhythm of life, something we looked forward to, participated in and celebrated together.
I grew up in a devout Catholic family, but we were raised not simply to respect the religious and cultural traditions of others. We were encouraged to understand them and, where appropriate, participate. That meant lighting deyas, enjoying the sweets, learning about the celebrations and joining in the excitement of the season.
And what excitement there was!
There was bussin' bamboo, cabeis, beautiful Indian wear, school activities, art and craft projects, and the anticipation of seeing entire communities illuminated for Divali.
I remember evenings when families would pile into their cars and drive through neighbourhoods just to admire the lights. There were so many people doing the same thing that traffic could become ridiculous. The highway approaching Divali Nagar was another story altogether. People planned their journeys around the congestion because getting caught in it could mean spending hours in traffic.
But we went anyway.
There was something wonderful about seeing streets transformed by thousands of tiny flames, homes decorated with care and people from different religious and cultural backgrounds sharing in the atmosphere.
Today, Divali remains one of Trinidad and Tobago's most beautiful and significant celebrations. Communities such as Felicity, Debe and others continue to attract visitors with their elaborate displays. Families still prepare traditional foods, perform prayers and light deyas. Divali Nagar remains an important institution in our cultural landscape.
Yet I cannot help noticing how much the experience has changed.
Some traditions have adapted. Others seem less widespread than they once were. And some of the activities that formed part of my childhood are now subjects of debate about safety, noise and their place in modern society.
It raises a question worth exploring: Are we losing our Divali traditions, or are we witnessing their evolution? And how do we ensure that future generations inherit more than just the name of the festival?
More Than a Festival of Lights
Divali, also known as Diwali or Deepavali, is one of the most significant festivals in Hinduism. It celebrates the triumph of light over darkness, good over evil and knowledge over ignorance.
Different Hindu traditions associate the festival with sacred stories, including the return of Lord Rama to Ayodhya following his victory over Ravana and the worship of Goddess Lakshmi, associated with prosperity and abundance.
The lighting of deyas, small clay lamps traditionally filled with oil or ghee, is among the most recognisable expressions of the festival. Their flames symbolise spiritual illumination and the removal of ignorance.
Divali arrived in Trinidad and Tobago with Indian indentured labourers beginning in 1845. Despite the hardships of indentureship, colonial restrictions and the challenges of establishing new lives in unfamiliar surroundings, these communities preserved their faith, customs and cultural practices.
Over generations, Divali developed a distinctive Indo-Caribbean character. The festival remained deeply rooted in Hindu religious traditions while becoming part of the wider cultural experience of Trinidad and Tobago.
And that distinction is important.
Divali is a Hindu religious festival, but its cultural presence extends beyond the Hindu community. Respecting its religious foundations does not prevent people of other faiths from appreciating its traditions, learning about its significance or participating in appropriate cultural activities.
Equally, participation should never be considered a requirement for demonstrating respect. We can appreciate another person's faith without practising it ourselves.
When Divali Was Everywhere
One of my strongest memories of Divali is how visible it was throughout our communities.
It wasn't confined to temples, organised events or predominantly Hindu neighbourhoods.
Schools participated in the celebrations. Children were encouraged to wear Indian clothing, regardless of their religious backgrounds. There were art and craft activities, cultural presentations and opportunities to learn about the traditions. For many children, those experiences introduced them to a culture they might not otherwise have encountered so closely.
Families prepared sweets such as barfi, kurma, ladoo and gulab jamun, sharing them with neighbours, friends and colleagues. Homes were cleaned and decorated, and the preparations themselves became part of the anticipation.
Then came the lights.
Deyas appeared along fences, steps, driveways and yards. Bamboo bends were transformed into elaborate illuminated designs. Some communities became so beautifully decorated that people travelled considerable distances simply to experience them.
And it wasn't only Hindu households participating. In many mixed communities, families of different faiths lit deyas as part of the celebration.
This was one of the ways cultural understanding developed naturally. Children experienced the traditions of their neighbours. Adults visited communities outside their own. Families shared food, conversations and memories.
Of course, Trinidad and Tobago was never free of racial, religious or social divisions. We should not romanticise the past as though everyone lived in perfect harmony. But these shared experiences provided opportunities for people to encounter and appreciate one another's cultures.
And those opportunities are worth preserving.
The Changing Face of the Deya
Perhaps one of the simplest examples of how Divali has evolved is the deya itself.
Traditionally, clay deyas were filled with coconut oil or ghee and fitted with cotton wicks. Preparing them was part of the ritual, and lighting them required time, care and attention. Today, many households use wax-filled deyas. Even in my own household, we've made that transition.
Wax-filled deyas are convenient, require less preparation and eliminate the risk of liquid oil spilling, although they still involve an open flame and must be handled carefully.
The tradition of lighting a deya remains, but the method has changed. And this evolution is not new.
As far back as 2009, local reporting was already documenting the growing use of electric decorative lights alongside, and sometimes instead of, traditional clay deyas. In some households, the same strings of lights used for Divali remain in place through Christmas. It's a practical approach that also reflects how different celebrations can overlap within our Caribbean cultural landscape.
But these changes raise interesting questions.
When we replace oil with wax, the experience changes slightly, but the clay lamp and the act of lighting it remain. When we replace clay deyas entirely with electric lights, we preserve the illumination but may lose some of the traditional preparation, ritual and craftsmanship.
Neither change automatically means that the festival has become less meaningful.
However, understanding what changes and what remains helps us make more conscious decisions about the traditions we preserve.
What Deya Sales Tell Us
There is also evidence that changes in Divali celebrations have been occurring for many years.
In 2019, before the COVID-19 pandemic, local reporting described families reducing the number of deyas they lit because of financial pressures. One family in Debe reported cutting its display from 240 deyas to 120.
Some households were reusing old lamps rather than purchasing new ones.
During the pandemic, restrictions on gatherings and celebrations further affected demand and production.
In 2021, one pottery business reported that customers who previously ordered thousands of deyas were purchasing substantially fewer. By 2024, local potters were still discussing changing demand, competition from imported products and concerns about whether younger generations would continue the family trade.
But the picture is not entirely one of decline. Other businesses continued reporting substantial deya sales, including growing demand for wax-filled varieties.
These accounts are not a comprehensive national sales record, and they do not establish that fewer deyas are being lit across the country every year. What they do demonstrate is that purchasing habits, household budgets and the traditional pottery industry have been changing. And those changes began long before COVID-19.
The pandemic may have accelerated some developments, but it did not create every challenge facing traditional celebrations.
There is also an economic dimension that deserves attention.
When demand for locally made clay deyas changes, the effects can extend to the potters, artisans and family businesses whose livelihoods depend on those traditions.
Preserving culture is not only about remembering the finished product. It is also about recognising the people, skills and knowledge required to create it.
Divali Nagar: From Gridlock to Questions About Its Future
For many Trinbagonians, Divali Nagar has been a central part of the celebrations for decades.
Established in 1986, the Nagar created a dedicated space for showcasing Hindu religious traditions, Indo-Caribbean culture, food, music, dance, craftsmanship and community participation. Over time, it became one of the country's major cultural attractions.
I remember when the traffic approaching Divali Nagar could be extraordinary. The congestion along the highway was so severe that people would plan their journeys to and from Port of Spain around it. Today, there is still traffic, and the Nagar continues to attract visitors. But from my experience, the atmosphere and scale of congestion are not quite what they once were.
There are several possible explanations, and it would be simplistic to assume that reduced traffic automatically means reduced interest. Changes in traffic management, access arrangements, economic conditions and people's entertainment habits can all influence attendance and congestion. The available reporting also presents a mixed picture.
The National Trust has cited attendance of approximately 150,000 visitors during the 2019 festival. Reports following the pandemic described quieter crowds, while other years continued to experience substantial traffic and strong demand for vendor spaces.
In 2026, the Nagar's 40th anniversary has also been accompanied by public controversy surrounding sponsorship, funding and the management of the event. Those debates deserve careful consideration, particularly because cultural institutions require financial sustainability, effective management and public confidence.
But beyond the immediate disagreements lies a broader question.
How do we ensure that institutions such as Divali Nagar remain relevant, accessible and meaningful to the generations that will inherit them?
A cultural institution cannot rely solely on nostalgia. It must continue offering people reasons to attend, participate, learn and feel connected. At the same time, we should recognise the considerable contribution such institutions have already made to preserving and promoting Indo-Caribbean heritage.
When Fear Changes How We Celebrate
There is another change that concerns me, although it is more difficult to measure.
When I was younger, driving through unfamiliar neighbourhoods to admire Divali lights was simply part of the experience. You got into your car, chose a direction and went exploring. Today, many people are more cautious about where they travel, particularly at night. Concerns about crime and personal safety can influence decisions about visiting unfamiliar communities, attending events and allowing children to participate in public activities.
I cannot say how much this has affected Divali celebrations nationally. That would require research specifically examining attendance, mobility and perceptions of safety. But it is a question worth asking.
If people become increasingly reluctant to visit communities outside their own, what happens to the informal cultural exchanges that once took place so naturally? What happens when children no longer experience the excitement of travelling through illuminated neighbourhoods, seeing different traditions and asking questions about what they observe?
The consequences may extend beyond a single festival.
When opportunities for meaningful interaction diminish, communities can become more isolated from one another. And in a society as culturally diverse as Trinidad and Tobago, that is something we should take seriously.
Bussin' Bamboo, Cabeis and the Sounds of Celebration
Not every Divali tradition is quiet.
For many of us growing up in Central Trinidad, bussin' bamboo was part of the excitement. The practice involves using prepared bamboo to create a loud explosive sound through combustion. It became a familiar festive activity in several communities, particularly around Divali and sometimes during the Christmas season.
It was exciting, communal and, admittedly, dangerous.
I remember people suffering burns and even losing eyebrows. Yet, as children, we often seemed more interested in the excitement than in considering what could go wrong. Looking back, those memories are both amusing and sobering.
I also remember something we called cabeis, another part of the festive experiences of my childhood. The details have faded from memory, and finding reliable documentation about the practice has proved surprisingly difficult. That itself raises an interesting issue about cultural preservation. Not every tradition is formally recorded. Some survive primarily through memories, conversations and the experiences of the communities that practised them.
When those memories are not documented, pieces of our cultural history can become increasingly difficult to recover.
Today, activities such as bamboo bursting, firecrackers and fireworks are also part of conversations about noise pollution, public safety and the wellbeing of people and animals.
These concerns are legitimate.
Sudden loud explosions can be distressing for babies, older people, individuals with sensory sensitivities and those affected by traumatic experiences. Animals may become frightened, attempt to escape or suffer significant stress.
But recognising these effects does not mean that we must dismiss the cultural memories or enjoyment associated with these activities. Nor should we confuse every festive custom with a religious requirement.
The lighting of deyas has deep religious significance within Divali. Bamboo bursting and modern fireworks are better understood as associated festive practices rather than essential Hindu rituals.
Understanding those distinctions helps us have a more informed conversation about which traditions we are discussing and what changes might mean.
Respecting Tradition and Respecting One Another
In December 2025, Trinidad and Tobago introduced new restrictions governing the discharge of fireworks.
The regulations generally require a permit, while allowing fireworks without one during specified periods, including 8 p.m. to 9 p.m. on public holidays and a limited window around midnight on New Year's Eve.
The legislation represents an attempt to balance celebration with public safety and community wellbeing. And it brings us to an important point.
Respecting a tradition does not mean ignoring its effects on others. But respecting the comfort of others does not automatically mean abandoning the tradition.
There is room between those positions.
Communities can discuss appropriate locations, predictable celebration times, advance notice, safety precautions and alternatives that preserve the enjoyment of festivities while reducing unnecessary distress. Equally, people who do not participate in a particular celebration can recognise its cultural significance and approach concerns without hostility or prejudice.
These conversations must also be consistent.
Noise pollution is not exclusive to Divali. Similar concerns arise around Carnival, Christmas, New Year's celebrations, sporting events and other community activities. If consideration is our guiding principle, it must apply across communities and celebrations.
We should also resist the temptation to assume that every adaptation represents cultural loss. The shift from oil to wax-filled deyas demonstrates that traditions can change while retaining their essential significance.
Other adaptations may be more difficult, particularly when they involve cherished childhood memories or longstanding community customs. But having those conversations is part of keeping a tradition alive, not necessarily an attempt to diminish it.
The Traditions We May Be Losing Quietly
Public debates about fireworks and noise tend to attract attention because they involve visible disagreements, but some changes happen so gradually that we barely notice them.
A family that no longer prepares traditional sweets because the older relatives who made them have passed away. A child who has never participated in a school Divali celebration. A neighbourhood where fewer households light deyas. A pottery business struggling to find someone willing to continue the family trade. A community whose elaborate displays no longer attract the visitors they once did. These are examples of what can happen when traditions are not actively maintained. They are not claims that every community is experiencing these changes.
And there are encouraging developments, too.
Young people continue to participate in cultural performances, religious activities, creative projects and community celebrations. New technologies offer opportunities to document traditions and share them with audiences far beyond Trinidad and Tobago.
The challenge is not to insist that every generation celebrate Divali in exactly the same way. It is to ensure that the meaning, knowledge and relationships behind the celebrations are not lost.
That requires more than telling young people what we used to do.
We have to explain why we did it, what it represented and how those traditions helped shape our communities. And we have to make room for younger generations to contribute their own ideas.
What Will the Next Generation Remember?
When I think about Divali during my childhood, I don't remember only the deyas or the sweets. I remember the experience of being part of something larger than my own religious upbringing.
I remember the excitement, the community participation, the preparations and the opportunities to learn about traditions that were not my own.
I remember how naturally those experiences became part of our lives. And I wonder what today's children will remember when they look back decades from now.
Will they remember travelling through neighbourhoods to admire the lights? Will they know how traditional deyas were made? Will they understand the significance of the prayers, the food, the clothing and the customs? Will they have opportunities to experience other people's traditions, rather than simply learning their names? And will they inherit a society where people still feel comfortable sharing those experiences across religious and cultural boundaries?
We cannot assume that the Trinidad and Tobago we inherited is the Trinidad and Tobago we will automatically pass on.
That does not mean we must recreate the past exactly as it was.
Some traditions will evolve. Others may need to be revived, documented or reimagined. Some practices will require thoughtful conversations about safety, accessibility and their effects on the wider community.
What matters is that we make those decisions with understanding rather than indifference.
Keeping the Light Alive
Divali has never been a completely static celebration in Trinidad and Tobago. The traditions brought by Indian indentured labourers have been preserved, adapted and enriched by generations of Indo-Caribbean families and communities.
The use of wax-filled deyas, electric lights and new forms of cultural expression are part of that continuing evolution.
But change should also encourage reflection.
What are we preserving? What are we adapting? What might we be losing without realising it? And what do we want future generations to inherit?
Perhaps the greatest legacy of Divali in Trinidad and Tobago is not simply the beauty of thousands of illuminated deyas, but the ability of a religious celebration to create opportunities for learning, participation and connection across communities.
That legacy deserves our attention.
We can honour the spiritual foundations of Divali, celebrate its distinctive Indo-Caribbean expressions, support the artisans and communities who sustain its traditions, and remain considerate of the people and animals who share our spaces.
We can appreciate the memories of earlier generations without assuming that everything was better in the past.
And we can welcome new ways of celebrating without forgetting the meaning of what came before.
Preserving a tradition does not mean refusing to let it change. It means caring enough to ensure that, as it changes, we do not lose what made it worth preserving.
This Divali, may we celebrate not only the light of the deyas, but also the history, faith, creativity and community spirit that have kept them burning across generations.
Happy Divali, Trinidad and Tobago!
Enjoyed reading this and want more from Audacious Evolution?
Discover reflections, insights and inspiration across Body, Mind, Spirit and Community.
Comments