The Sweet Box for the Neighbor Next Door

The house had been busy since morning.

Steel plates clinked in the kitchen. Fresh rangoli powder sat in bowls near the front step. A string of marigolds rested across the back of a chair, waiting for someone to hang it above the doorway.

By afternoon, the whole home looked as if it were preparing to glow.

Rhea liked festival days for many reasons.

There were new clothes, of course. There were lamps, sweets, and cousins who arrived talking all at once.

But this year she liked the boxes best.

Amma had lined up four small cardboard sweet boxes on the dining table and was filling them carefully: two laddus in each, one square of barfi, and a folded paper napkin underneath so the sweets would not slide around.

'Who are those for?' Rhea asked.

'One for your teacher,' Amma said. 'One for the watchman uncle. One for your grandparents. One for the family across the lane.'

Rhea looked at the boxes again.

Each one seemed to hold not only sweets but also a small part of the festival itself.

When evening came, the first lamps were lit near the doorway.

The marigold string went up. The rangoli brightened under the porch light. Someone in the next building began testing small drums for the prayer later that night.

Rhea carried one sweet box carefully to the shelf by the door so they would not forget it.

As she turned back, she noticed the apartment next door looked unusually dark.

Old Mr. D'Souza lived there alone.

Usually on festival evenings he sat by the open window with a small lamp and waved to children passing in the corridor. But today the window was closed, and no light showed inside.

Rhea asked, 'Did we make a box for D'Souza grandpa?'

Amma paused.

'I thought his niece might visit him this evening,' she said. 'Perhaps she still will.'

But the corridor remained quiet.

One by one, the other sweet boxes left the house in different hands.

Still, the dark apartment next door stayed dark.

Rhea thought about the extra marigold petals left on the tray. She thought about the fifth lamp they had decided not to use because four looked balanced on the step. She thought about the sweets that would taste just as good in a different box.

Then she asked, 'Can we make one more?'

Amma looked toward the closed window and understood immediately.

Together they filled another small box.

Rhea added one extra laddu because she remembered Mr. D'Souza once saying laddus were his favorite. Appa found the unused lamp and wrapped it separately in newspaper so the oil would not spill.

When Rhea knocked on the next door, the answer took a little longer than usual.

At last the door opened.

Mr. D'Souza smiled in surprise.

'For me?' he asked, just as if no one had ever brought him festival sweets before.

'For you,' Rhea said. 'And also a lamp, if you would like one.'

He looked at the box, then at the lamp, and then at the lit doorway of Rhea's home behind her.

'Come in for one minute,' he said.

Inside, the apartment was tidy but dim. Rhea placed the lamp near the window while Amma lit it. The room changed at once. Warm light touched the frame of an old family photograph, the wooden table, and the edge of a bookshelf.

Mr. D'Souza's face looked softer in the glow.

'Now it feels like a festival evening,' he said quietly.

On the walk back next door, Rhea glanced over her shoulder once.

The once-dark window now held one steady lamp.

And somehow, that single light made the whole corridor feel brighter.