We are a multicultural family. My mother is Hindu, my father

Host: The evening sky glowed in saffron and rose, and from two opposite ends of the neighborhood came the sounds of two different prayers rising together.
One — the melodic call of the muezzin, carried gently on the breeze; the other — the soft crackle of diyas being lit on terraces across the city.
It was that rare kind of twilight that didn’t belong to one faith, one home, or one sound — but to all of them.

The courtyard smelled of cardamom and smoke, jasmine and incense.
Jack sat cross-legged near the low clay lamp, holding a sparkler awkwardly, his sleeves rolled up.
Jeeny, draped in a simple gold-bordered dupatta, knelt beside him, arranging small lamps in a circle, her fingers trembling slightly as the flame caught.
Behind them, two garlands hung side by side — crescent moons and marigolds, stars and diyas — a quiet truce of symbols glowing against the wall.

Pinned beside the doorway was a quote handwritten in soft ink, its edges singed from time:
“We are a multicultural family. My mother is Hindu, my father Muslim. We celebrate every festival, be it Diwali or Eid.” — Soha Ali Khan.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly as she lights another diya) “Soha said it beautifully, didn’t she? To celebrate everything — that’s how you make peace feel like a habit.”

Jack: (watching the flame flicker) “Yeah. The world argues over what’s sacred. Maybe the answer’s just this — light in any language.”

Jeeny: “You think peace can really live in small rituals?”

Jack: “It has to. Big gestures fail. Empires make promises, but families make coexistence.”

Jeeny: (nodding) “Families — the first nations, the first borders, the first bridges.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “And the first wars.”

Jeeny: (softly) “And the first reconciliations.”

Host: The sparklers hissed softly, their light carving brief constellations in the air. Nearby, the adhan echoed, blending perfectly with a child’s laughter and the soft pop of distant fireworks.
The city pulsed like a heart that had finally remembered it belonged to everyone.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, I thought religion was supposed to separate people. Then one winter, my best friend invited me for Eid — and his mom made me break the fast with them. It felt like… being forgiven for not knowing better.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s how festivals work. They feed more than stomachs.”

Jack: “Yeah. They feed memory. Hope. A sense that maybe the divine isn’t picky about names.”

Jeeny: (placing the last diya) “Or costumes. You see that little boy over there? He’s wearing a kurta with a Santa cap.”

Jack: (laughs) “Perfect. The United Nations of childhood.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Children always know the truth first. They don’t build walls until we hand them bricks.”

Host: A small breeze passed, and a few of the flames wavered, nearly dying, before catching again — stronger, steadier. The sound of temple bells joined the distant recitation of prayer, the harmonies overlapping like layers of shared belonging.

Jack: “You ever think about how brave that quote is? Saying you celebrate everything — in a world obsessed with choosing sides.”

Jeeny: “Bravery isn’t in fighting for your own. It’s in expanding who you call your own.”

Jack: “You sound like Gandhi and Rumi had a baby.”

Jeeny: (laughing) “Maybe they did. And maybe that baby just grew up into everyone who still believes love has no border.”

Jack: “You really believe love’s enough?”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s a good place to start when everything else fails.”

Jack: (gazing at the lights) “It’s strange — each religion trying to name the same silence.”

Jeeny: “And each festival trying to decorate it.”

Host: The camera panned slowly across the courtyard — the tiny flames reflected in metal bowls, the lanterns swaying like gentle heartbeats. Above, the first stars appeared, not caring which calendar claimed them.

Jack: “You think people forget what faith was originally for?”

Jeeny: “Faith was supposed to teach humility — that none of us has the full picture.”

Jack: “And now?”

Jeeny: “Now, we fight over whose frame it belongs in.”

Jack: (after a pause) “You think we’ll ever outgrow that?”

Jeeny: (smiling sadly) “Only if we start treating faith like language — to be shared, not owned.”

Jack: “Then festivals are the translations.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The world in celebration is the closest thing we have to universal prayer.”

Host: The air shimmered with smoke and sweetness — sandalwood, fried dough, fireworks, and the scent of something eternal.
Children ran past, holding sparklers like miniature comets, their laughter filling every gap left by doubt.

Jack: “You know what I envy about families like hers?”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “That they don’t have to choose. They get to belong twice — maybe more.”

Jeeny: “That’s not envy, Jack. That’s longing — for wholeness.”

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe. I just wish the world would stop asking people to prove where they belong.”

Jeeny: “Maybe the world’s too scared to live in harmony because harmony sounds too much like surrender.”

Jack: “But it’s not surrender, is it?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s survival.”

Host: The fireworks burst overhead, scattering color across the sky — red, gold, green — briefly uniting a city beneath the same awe.
Below, the two lights — diya and lantern — burned side by side, neither dimming the other.

Jack: (after a long pause) “You know what I think Soha’s quote really means?”

Jeeny: “Tell me.”

Jack: “That identity doesn’t have to be a choice. It can be a celebration.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly. And every time someone celebrates both, they’re teaching the world that difference isn’t danger — it’s design.”

Jack: (looking at her, softly) “You think that’s possible on a larger scale?”

Jeeny: “It already is. Just look around — the world keeps breaking apart, but people keep finding new ways to love across the cracks.”

Jack: (quietly, almost to himself) “Then maybe faith’s greatest miracle isn’t heaven — it’s coexistence.”

Host: The camera widened, revealing the city alive beneath the night sky —
temple bells still ringing, muezzins still calling, fireworks still blooming.
In the courtyard, Jack and Jeeny sat between the flames — one of faith, one of festival, both light.

Above them, Soha Ali Khan’s words shimmered softly in the reflection of the diya’s flame:

“We are a multicultural family. My mother is Hindu, my father Muslim. We celebrate every festival, be it Diwali or Eid.”

Host: And beneath that shared sky, the message felt timeless —
that peace is not found in uniformity,
but in the courage to love in every language of light —
to celebrate, not compare,
to honor every god
by seeing the divine in one another.