I used to be a phone-first person. Alarm goes off, thumb reaches for the screen before my eyes have even adjusted to the light, and within ninety seconds, I've already read three notifications I didn't need to read. It took me an embarrassingly long time to notice that this was the worst possible way to start a day; I was letting other people's urgency set the tone for mine.
The change didn't come from a productivity book or a wellness app. It came from my grandmother's pooja room, and a small brass deepam that had been sitting there, mostly unused, since we moved apartments three years ago.
A Habit I Didn't Choose, But Kept
It started almost by accident. I was staying at my parents' house for a week, and my mother still does the old routine, up before sunrise, a quick wash, and then the deepam is lit before anything else happens in the house. Not the kettle. Not the news. The lamp first.
I joined her one morning mostly out of politeness. By the third morning, I noticed something: for those two or three minutes, I wasn't thinking about my inbox. I wasn't scrolling. I was just standing there, watching a small flame settle into itself, filling a brass cup with a warm, steady light before the rest of the house had even woken up.
When I went back home, I brought a deepam with me.
Why the Ritual Works (Even If You're Not Especially Religious)
You don't need to be deeply devotional for this to make sense. The deepam isn't doing anything mystical to your brain; it's doing something much simpler. It's giving you a fixed point to start from.
A few things happen in those few minutes that are hard to get anywhere else in a modern morning:
There's no scrolling involved. You can't check notifications while you're striking a match and steadying a wick. For two minutes, your hands are doing something slow and deliberate, and your attention has nowhere else to go.
It marks a clear beginning. Most of us don't actually start our day; we just get pulled into it. The first email, the first message, the first demand on our attention becomes the de facto "start." Lighting a lamp gives you a moment that belongs only to you, before the day starts making requests of you.
It's unhurried by design. You can't rush a flame into catching. You wait, you watch, you adjust the wick if it dips. It's one of the only tasks left in a day that resists being optimized, and that's precisely its value.
The light itself does something. There's a reason deepams have been part of homes here for generations; a small, warm, flickering light in a still-dark room has a completely different quality to it than a ceiling light flicked on at full brightness. It's gentler on the eyes and, if I'm honest, gentler on the mood too.
None of this requires belief in anything specific. It just requires two minutes and a lamp.
Why Brass, Specifically
I get asked this sometimes: Why not a candle, why not a diya from the festival box that comes out once a year? Brass is different for a few practical reasons.
A well-made brass deepam is meant for daily use, not occasional use. It's heavy enough to sit steady on a shelf or table without tipping, it doesn't crack or wear out the way clay diyas can after repeated use, and it only gets better looking with time; brass deepens in colour and takes on a soft, lived-in patina the more it's handled and cleaned. A clay diya is beautiful for a festival evening. A brass one is built to be part of your everyday life for years, sometimes passed down for generations.
There's also the sound and weight of it, small things, but they matter. Picking up a solid brass deepam, feeling its weight in your palm before you light it, is a very different sensory experience than snapping open a plastic lighter or lighting a tea candle from a packet. It asks for a bit more care, and that care is really the whole point of the ritual.
At home, we use a few different styles depending on the day and the space, a simple Kuthu Vilakku for a quiet weekday morning, and a more detailed Kamatchi Deepam for when we have a little more time, or for festival days when the whole room deserves a bit more light. If you're just starting this habit, you really only need one, something modest, brass, and sized for wherever you're going to place it.
Starting Small
If you want to try this, don't overthink it. You don't need a full pooja setup or an elaborate routine. A small brass deepam, a bit of oil or ghee, a cotton wick, and two minutes before you touch your phone is enough.
Place it somewhere you'll actually see it every morning, a windowsill, a shelf near your kitchen, a corner of a table. Light it, and just stand there while it catches. That's the whole practice.
Some mornings I light it and get straight to my day after. Other mornings I sit with a cup of tea and watch it for a few extra minutes. Either way, by the time I pick up my phone, I've already had a moment that was entirely mine, unhurried, unclaimed by anyone else's agenda.
It's a small thing. But most mornings, it's the only quiet two minutes I get. And I've come to think that's worth protecting.
If you're looking to start this habit at home, Sri Durga Handicrafts has a range of handcrafted brass deepams and vilakkus, from simple, everyday pieces to more detailed designs for your pooja space. Browse the collection to find one that fits where you'll place it.
