How it all works

It's like walking into a house: the door opens, a lamp is offered, and only then do the rooms appear.

1. The page loads as one file. Sound is off, apart from the lamp's bell.
2. It asks who is lighting the lamp and waits for a tap.
3. The page lights in three beats, and the evening opens.
4. It asks, "Is this your first Diwali?" Yes opens the short way in; no carries on.
5. The guest scrolls through the festival, the family's way of celebrating, the shape of the evening, the practicals, ten questions and answers, and the reply.

Why: a guest should feel welcomed before they are asked for anything.

It's like signing the guest book at the door, where one page holds the whole family.

1. The guest taps Yes, count us in.
2. They give a name and how many are coming, up to twelve. For each person the page asks a full name and a date of birth, a phone number (needed for the first person, optional for the rest) and an optional photograph. Only the hosts see the photographs.
3. From two people up, the page asks what to call the family. Then it asks for an entry song and anything else they would like to perform.
4. The page sends the reply to the Worker.
5. The Worker finds the guest by phone number. If their family is already in the base it updates that family; if not, it makes one. A family is never counted twice.
6. The Worker files the reply in the tables, and the page answers with fireworks and a thank-you.

Why: a phone number is something every guest remembers, so it is the key. There is no account and no password.

1. The guest taps Sadly, no.
2. The page asks for three things, a phone, a name and a birth date, so they stay on the list for later gatherings.
3. The Worker files it the same way.
4. The page answers with a quiet lamp, not fireworks.

It's like asking the host to find your name in the guest book, with other people's private details covered.

1. The guest taps Find my reply and enters their phone number.
2. The Worker looks the family up and sends back its details: the members' names, the family name, the entry song and the answer. Only the guest's own phone and birth date come back; the others' are left out.
3. The guest leaves it as it is, or changes it.
4. A change goes the same road as a reply and updates the same family.

Why: anyone who knows one phone number should not learn another person's phone number or birth date.

It's like putting your name on the list of those bringing a dish, and the list is only updated once the dish is on the table.

1. The guest picks $101, $251, $501 or $1,001, or writes another amount.
2. They give a name, an optional family or business, a phone and an email.
3. They choose how to be recognised: a name as it should appear, or anonymous. A photograph is optional, and is not kept for an anonymous gift.
4. They choose how they will give, check or Zelle, and tap Pledge my gift.
5. The Worker files the pledge, and, when the giver is named and sent one, a photograph is attached to its record.
6. The page answers with a shower of light that can be replayed.
7. The hosts see the pledge on the dashboard. When the gift arrives they confirm it; only then do a name and portrait join the wall.

Why: nothing is charged on the page, so a pledge is a promise between friends, and the wall is a thank-you, not a receipt.

It's like the back office, where the lists are kept by job.

1. The hosts open the dashboard and enter a passcode.
2. The Worker checks it and hands back a token that lasts 12 hours.
3. The dashboard asks the Worker for the replies, using the token.
4. Nine tabs show them: Overview, Guests, Stage, Food, Birthdays, For Nitin (a tab made for one helper), Not coming, Co-sponsors and Needs a nudge.
5. On Co-sponsors the hosts confirm or decline a gift.

Why: the hosts need the answers sorted for the jobs they do, not one long list.

Near the middle of the evening's shape, one lamp is kept dark, and its secret is kept until the night. A guest may tap it. What follows is told only by the page itself. The closed For builders card at the end says how it is made.

Why: one surprise is worth more than a page of promises.

It's like one long scroll of paper, unrolled.

It is plain files served by Cloudflare. It runs from the lamp to the close, and keeps small things on the guest's own phone, like whether sound is on and whether the first-Diwali question was answered. One page means one link to send.

It's like being handed a lamp at the door.

The page asks Who is lighting it? then Tap to light the lamp. The tap lights the page in three beats, and the evening opens. An invitation should begin with a small act, not a wall of words.

It's like a friend walking you to the door.

It covers what to wear, the puja, the stage, the food, what to bring and what to say. One question, is this your first Diwali?, opens or skips it, and the notes can be reopened from the menu. Nobody should stay home for fear of not knowing.

It's like a storybook that stops to explain.

Diwali is told through its five days (tap one to read it) and three ages it remembers. Each strange word has a plain line under it, and a note says customs differ by region and family. A festival is easier to love once its names have been explained.

It's like a photo album that opens on its own.

The groups are the puja, the stage, the little ones, the couples, the family, the fireworks, and everyone: 33 moments in all, four of them short films. Tap a circle to open a group; tap the right to go on and the left to go back. A guest should see the people they are about to join.

It's like a radio that waits to be asked.

The sounds include a bell, a tanpura and fireworks. One switch turns them all on. A page that plays by itself in a quiet room is rude.

It's like a guest book that asks only what the hosts need to plan.

Who and how many, a family name, birth dates, an entry song and anything to perform. Performance picks are a starting point; the lineup is shaped together in the group chat closer to the day. Everything else can wait.

It's like a coat-check ticket.

The guest's phone number finds their family; only their own phone and birth date come back. There are no passwords to forget, and other people's phone numbers and birth dates stay hidden.

It's like being handed the address on a card.

Get directions offers a choice, depending on the phone: Apple Maps, Google Maps, Waze, the phone's own maps app, or copying the address. Add to calendar offers Apple, Google or Outlook calendars, or an event file for the evening. The details should travel with the guest.

It's like quietly adding your name to the list of those bringing a dish.

There are four suggested amounts, $101, $251, $501 and $1,001, and any other amount. Amounts ending in one are a Diwali tradition. Nothing is charged by the page. Asking for help works best when the answer can be quiet.

It's like names painted on a lamp-lit wall.

It shows a name and a portrait only after the hosts confirm the gift arrived, and never an amount. A guest who asks to be anonymous stays anonymous.

It's like the last present, left wrapped.

It is told only by the page itself. A surprise told in a guide is not a surprise.

It's like a doorman who checks every request and carries only what is allowed.

The nine routes are: a health check, the wall's list, a wall portrait, a dashboard photograph, the hosts' confirm-or-decline, the dashboard's data, the lookup, the reply and the gift. It checks each request and writes only to the tables it needs. The page never touches the tables itself.

It's like a filing cabinet with a drawer each.

The Worker uses five tables: People, Families, Events, Replies and Sponsors. The other two sit apart: an older sheet from the 2024 event, and a contact list for sending invitations. The page never deletes a record; test records are marked and removed by hand.

It's like the front desk's ledger, sorted by job.

The tabs are Overview, Guests, Stage, Food, Birthdays, For Nitin (a tab made for one helper), Not coming, Co-sponsors and Needs a nudge. A passcode opens it for 12 hours at a time. Each job the hosts do, from the food to the stage, gets its own sorted view.