The Night Shift Diwali

Dr. Sandeep Goyal says the message comes from the heart, for those who keep the city lights going while we light ours

by Sandeep Goyal
Published: Nov 6, 2026 9:15 AM | 4 min read

The article highlights the experiences of individuals working during Diwali night, contrasting their realities with the festive celebrations at home.
It features stories of a nurse, a delivery rider, and a policeman, each sharing their unique challenges and small joys while on duty during the holiday.
The piece emphasizes the importance of recognizing and appreciating the contributions of essential service workers who sacrifice their celebrations for the comfort of others.
It encourages readers to express gratitude to those working on Diwali, reminding them that the festivities are supported by the efforts of those in night shifts.

At 8 PM on Diwali night while you will be lighting your third diya, someone else will be lighting a tube-light in a hospital corridor.

While you will be arguing over Teen Patti — "Chacha, blind mat khelo!" — someone else will be arguing with a patient who wants to go home for Diwali.

While your house smells of ghee and gajar ka halwa, someone else's world will smell of phenyl and sanitizer, because that's what a night shift smells like in a hospital.

This is not a story about crackers. Or pollution. Or which sweet is best.

This is a story about the Diwali that happens outside our Diwali. The Night Shift Diwali.

1. The Nurse

Meet Simran. 29. GMCH Sector 32, Chandigarh. Emergency ward.

Last Diwali, she was on duty from 8 PM to 8 AM.

At 10 PM, a boy came in — 14 years old, cracker burn on his hand. Crying. Mother crying more.

Simran cleaned the wound, bandaged it, gave him a chocolate from her own bag. She had bought that chocolate for her own nephew, who was waiting at home.

She called her mother at 11:30 PM. "Mamma, diya jala diya?"

Her mother said, "Haan puttar, tere liye bhi jala diya. Ek tere naam ka."

Simran said, "Mera diya hospital mein hi jal raha hai."

She did not cry. Nurses don't cry on duty. They cry in the auto on the way home, at 8:15 AM, when the city is waking up and their Diwali is already over.

2. The Rider

Meet Ramesh. 34. From Bihar. Lives in a room in Andheria More with 3 other riders.

Diwali is his best earning day.

From 6 PM to 1 AM, he will possibly deliver 42 orders. Mithai from Brijwasi. Paneer tikka from Om Dhaba. One cake with "Happy Diwali" written wrong — "Happy Divali" and an annoyed customer.

Every house he will go to, the same routine gets repeated.

Door opens. Light floods out. Children in new clothes. Smell of food. Someone says — "Bhaiya, ek minute, tip deti hoon."

He waits. He smiles. He says — "Happy Diwali, madam."

Then he goes back to his bike. Cold. Dark. No diya on his bike.

He told me — "Sir, mujhe bura nahi lagta. Kaam hai. Par jab koi kehta hai — 'Bhaiya, andar aa jao, ek laddoo kha lo' — toh Diwali lagti hai."

Last year, one aunty in Gurgaon did that. Gave him a laddoo. And a Rs 100 note extra.

He still remembers her home and number. He still delivers there first, every Diwali.

3. The Policeman

Meet Head Constable Bappa Manjrekar 48. Versowa thana.

His Diwali is a wireless set.

"Control, all clear. Fire near Naka, one unit sent."

He has not celebrated Diwali at home for 19 years. His children are now 18 and 16. They have never seen their father light a phuljhadi with them.

His wife keeps a plate for him — matthi, laddoo, one diya — on the dining table till 2 AM. Sometimes he comes home and eats the home-made matthi. Sometimes he doesn't.

He says — "Log kehte hain police Diwali pe paisa kamati hai. Hum Diwali pe neend gawate hain."

But he also says — "Jab koi bachcha patakha jalake khush hota hai, aur area mein koi jhagda nahi hota, toh lagta hai — meri Diwali ho gayi."

4. The Printer

And meet the people you never meet.

The newspaper printer. The aeroplane pilot. The train driver. The bijli board lineman. The doodh wala who will wake up at 4 AM tomorrow, Diwali or not, to deliver milk so your morning chai is ready.

The woman who sweeps Worli Seaface at 5 AM on the morning after Diwali, picking up your burnt cracker papers, so that when you wake up, Mumbai looks clean again.

We call them "essential services."

They call it "duty."

So What Is Their Diwali?

It is not a day off.

It is a diya kept aside.

It is a phone call at 11:30 PM — "Mamma, diya jala diya?"

It is a laddoo from a stranger.

It is a Rs 100 tip that feels like a blessing.

It is a matthi at 2 AM that tastes like love.

If you are read this at home on Diwali night - warm, safe, surrounded by family — remember your Diwali is being made possible by someone else's night shift.

You don't need to do anything big.

The morning after Diwali when the Swiggy rider comes, say — "Bhaiya, andar aa jao, ek laddoo kha lo."

When you see the nurse, say — "Thank you."

When you see the policeman at the naka, don't honk. Just say — "Happy Diwali, sir."

Because for them, Diwali is not about the lights we put up.

It is about the light someone else shows them, in the middle of their long, lonely night.

Happy Diwali to those who will be working on Diwali night.

Your diya is lit.

In our homes. In our hearts.