Some Dark and Some Bright By Bindu Unnikrishnan

“When does the light appear the brightest?” asked Bhavna, the counselor and therapist at the Brightman Mental Health Center, to Shirin during her second session that month. November had always been a depressing month for Shirin, as if gray clouds covered her home from all sides, suffocating her. The dense clouds engulfed her apartment so completely that no light could penetrate. The air felt thin, and Shirin always found it hard to breathe. Her asthma worsened every November—it was a post-Diwali syndrome.

Shirin took a deep breath and answered, “I’m not sure. What do you mean?”

“It’s the darkness. Yes, that’s what it takes to see the light at its brightest—if you understand what I mean!”

Shirin had been a regular patient of Bhavna. Bhavna knew exactly what Shirin needed from time to time—words of assurance, measured precisely like doses of medicine.

Shirin had been diagnosed with clinical depression, mood swings, and anxiety issues. The diagnosis wasn’t new; she had suffered from anxiety in school, and it had only taken on a different form in college. Shirin’s mother had sent her to the Brightman Center, hoping it would help her heal. Even her mother couldn’t muster the courage to ask what was making Shirin so anxious. Shirin refused to take any medication prescribed by her previous therapist. The medications left her feeling worse, putting her to sleep or into a zombie-like state where she couldn’t do anything creative, let alone read a book.

Shirin hesitated as Bhavna’s words sank in. “The darkness…” she whispered, almost to herself, as if testing the weight of the idea. She wrapped her arms around herself, tracing invisible patterns on her sleeves, trying to make sense of what Bhavna had said.

“Yes, the darkness,” Bhavna repeated, her voice calm and unwavering. “Sometimes, Shirin, we need to sit with the dark moments—not fight them, not fear them. Only when we stop running can we truly see the light that has been there all along, waiting patiently.”

Shirin’s face softened, though a shadow lingered in her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m ready to stop running,” she admitted. “Every time I sit still, the thoughts... they just consume me. It’s like drowning in quicksand.”

Bhavna nodded, her gaze gentle yet intense. “I know it feels that way. But just as light appears brightest against the deepest dark, healing often begins where we feel most broken. And you’re not alone in this, Shirin. We’ll take it one step at a time. You don’t have to dive into the darkness all at once. We’ll approach it together, slowly, gently.”

The room fell into a quiet stillness, and Shirin found herself tracing the edges of Bhavna’s words as though they were lifelines, each one offering her a glimmer of something she hadn’t dared to hope for: relief, maybe even peace. She thought of the sunsets she used to watch with her father before illness had claimed him. How the sky would bleed into deep shades of purple, red, and gold, and just as darkness seemed inevitable, the horizon would ignite in one last, breathtaking blaze of color. Maybe, she thought, Bhavna was right. Maybe there was something in that dark, hollow space where her fears lay coiled, waiting for her to face them.

“Next time,” Shirin murmured, “let’s take that first step. Together.”

A gentle smile spread across Bhavna’s face. “That’s all I ask.”

The next session came sooner than Shirin had expected, on a quiet November morning that seemed gentler somehow. Bhavna welcomed her with a warm smile, offering her a cup of herbal tea before they settled into their chairs. The room was dim, lit only by a soft lamp on Bhavna’s desk, creating a space that felt like a cocoon, as if even the walls held their breath in respect for what would unfold.

“Shirin,” Bhavna began softly, “last time, we spoke about taking that first step together. I want you to close your eyes and picture that darkness you’ve described, like the thick clouds that cover your apartment.”

Shirin hesitated, then closed her eyes, her breathing slow and measured. The darkness surfaced immediately—a looming fog creeping over her thoughts, bringing with it the familiar ache curling up in her chest. Her pulse quickened, but Bhavna’s voice cut through, grounding her.

“Imagine, in that darkness, there’s a small light—a candle, perhaps. It flickers at first, but it’s there, steady and warm. Focus on that light.”

Shirin could feel it, the faint glow pushing through her inner fog. It was weak, but it was there. She could almost feel its warmth brushing her cheeks, like a memory of a forgotten kindness.

“It’s faint,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly would extinguish it.

“That’s okay. Even the smallest light can illuminate the darkest places,” Bhavna replied gently. “What do you feel when you look at that light?”

Shirin breathed in deeply. “It feels... like a promise. Like... I’m not alone.”

Bhavna nodded. “Exactly. This light, Shirin, is your resilience. It’s the part of you that’s survived everything you’ve been through. Sometimes it’s dim, hidden, but it’s always there, waiting for you to notice it.”

Shirin opened her eyes, feeling a strange mixture of vulnerability and strength. For the first time in a long while, she felt the tiniest spark of hope—a warmth within her that, though small, felt real.

“Maybe,” she started, struggling to find the words, “maybe I don’t have to run from it. Maybe if I hold onto this light... it can guide me through the darkness?”

Bhavna’s smile widened. “Yes, Shirin. That’s the beginning. This light is your own. And whenever you feel it fading, remember—you can come here, and we’ll reignite it together.”

For the rest of the session, they discussed ways Shirin could nurture her inner light—a journal, a walk, a reminder to breathe and just be, even if just for a few seconds each day. Small rituals to remind her of her own strength.

As she left, Shirin felt different. The fog of November still clung to the world around her, but something within her had shifted. She walked down the street, feeling the chill, but this time she didn’t pull her coat tighter against it. Instead, she let it in, allowing the cold to mingle with the warmth Bhavna had helped her find within.

As Shirin stepped out of the therapy center, the city was alive with the aftermath of Diwali, the “Festival of Lights.” The streets still shimmered with remnants of celebration—lanterns hanging from balconies, strings of lights framing doorways, and leftover sparklers casting soft glows on the pavement. Even in the dim grayness of November, traces of warmth lingered in the air, a reminder of the lights that had lit up the night just days before.

She thought about Diwali, a holiday she had often dismissed, especially in recent years, as it felt hollow against the weight of her own darkness. But this year, standing in the lingering glow, it felt different. Perhaps, she mused ,Diwali wasn’t only about dispelling the physical darkness but also about embracing the inner one—about seeking light within, even when it seemed impossible.

At home, she decided to create her own Diwali ritual, a quiet one, just for herself. She found a single candle in her drawer, placed it by her window, and lit it. Watching the tiny flame dance, Shirin felt a calmness settle over her, as if this small ritual was an offering,not just to tradition, but to her own journey, her own fight.

The flame flickered, its warmth reaching out to her, a gentle reminder of her own light. It was as if Diwali wasn’t over, it was ongoing, a continuous promise of light even in the dark days of November. Bhavna’s words echoed in her mind: “Even the smallest light can illuminate the darkest places.”

For the first time, Shirin understood what the festival truly meant. It wasn’t just about one night of celebration; it was about an enduring spirit. She knew now that Diwali was a promise to herself, that she would carry her light through the year, nurturing it, letting it guide her as she learned to face the darkness within.

And as she watched the candle glow against the November dusk, Shirin felt a quiet sense of peace, knowing that she, too, could be her own Diwali—her own festival of lights.

About the Author

Bindu Unnikrishnan is a dynamic writer and poet with over 50 co-authored anthologies to her name. She has been writing for several magazines, digital as well as print, on several social issues.Her debut poetry collection, ‘My Treasure Trove of Emotions’, explores the intricacies of human feelings, earning widespread acclaim. As a passionate Physics teacher at a city school in Pune, she inspires her students to think critically and creatively. A dedicated marathoner, Bindu embraces challenges with enthusiasm. In 2023, she was crowned as 'Mrs. Maharashtra 2023 (Elite), which is a state level beauty pageant by Diva Pageants. She was recognized for her intellect and charitable endeavors. A dreamer at heart, she motivates others to chase their aspirations with unwavering dedication. She can be reached at bindu13@gmail.com.