#BingeRecommends: Finding Diwali in Disney’s Encanto, where the magic candle burns much like a diya!

Strangely, an animated American film finds a home in the spirit of Diwali where magic, memory, and light come together to teach us the true meaning of the festival! 

Every year, as Diwali approaches, that unique feeling of nostalgia and new beginnings fills up the air. And as we get into the same ritual of cleaning our homes, the festival comes and quietly turns everything shimmering golden. But beneath all that brightness,Diwali is really about one thing - light. Not just the kind you hang on your balcony, but the one that keeps burning quietly inside you, even when everything else goes dark. And according to me, it’s the light of return, renewal, and remembrance, of finding your way back home, to yourself and to each other. Well that thought couldn’t find a better spiritual connection than in the film Encanto! Now, on paper, connecting a Disney animated musical that explores Colombian representationto a deeply spiritual Indian festival might sound like a cultural reach. But if you think about it, both are stories born out of light, family and the complicated relationship we have with it. And much like how people dismiss animated films as “kids’ stuff,” this film unfolds like a quiet surprise. It’s the kind of story that sneaks up on you with its fun-musical, full of colour taste, and before you know it the metaphor of a candle acting very much like our desi diya sweeps you over!

Also Read: How Ra.One is a modern-day Ramayana in pixels and code whose Ravana delivers a special message!

Let’s find out how! 

The magical burning candle of hope 

At the centre of Encanto lies a miracle, a single burning candle that births a house filled with magic and gives the Madrigal family their powers. But it’s not a miracle that arrives easily. The candle comes alive in the aftermath of loss when Alma Madrigal loses her husband and is forced to flee with her newborn triplets, it’s the light that saves her, creating a sanctuary for her family and the village. The candle becomes their protector and their purpose. In many ways, it mirrors the spirit of Diwali, a festival that began with a homecoming after exile, when Lord Rama and Devi Sita returned to Ayodhya after years of separation. People lit diyas to guide them home, to turn darkness into direction. And just like that candle, those flickering diyas weren’t just flames, they were symbols of endurance, of faith that refuses to die out even in the toughest of times.

When light begins to fade

But what happens when that faith starts to crack? Encanto poses that question beautifully. The family’s magic, once a gift, eventually turns into their prison, not because of the magical candle, but because the people holding it forget why it burned in the first place. They begin measuring love through usefulness, worth through perfection. Each gift turns into a burden for the member of the family on whom the magic was bestowed upon. And as strength and perfection start to become pressure to crack under, healing becomes an inevitable expectation and vision becomes surveillance. That’s when Mirabel, the only one without a gift, starts seeing what no one else does - the cracks in the house are really the cracks in the family. And doesn’t that sound a bit like what Diwali reminds us of every year? That in all our cleaning, decorating, and shining up the house, we’re also supposed to notice what’s been breaking quietly underneath?

Light isn’t about hiding the flaws deep within us, it’s about revealing them, so we can heal them. Hence, Diwali’s metaphorical meaning of the victory of light over darkness, truth over ignorance of the mind finds an uncanny echo here. Because what Mirabel does isn’t magical in the usual sense. She doesn’t fix the candle or the magic it provides, she fixes what the candle stood for as she reminds her family that love, like light, is meant to be shared and not earned, and cleaning ourselves for some mental peace is as important as cleaning a house of hidden dirt! 

When the ‘casita’ comes alive again

By the time the filmreaches its pivotal end, the Madrigal house has crumbled completely. Their miracles are gone and their gifts have vanished. And yet, in that loss, something shifts. The village, the community they had long taken under their protection shows up to help them rebuild. The house is reborn, brick by brick, laughter by laughter and with acceptance of each other in a new light. And when it finally comes back to life, magic returns to it though only through togetherness, not by something divine. That moment of the house lighting up again, of the family singing and dancing, feels uncannily like Diwali. The music swells, colours burst, candles flicker, people gather. It’s festive, warm, and alive. A reminder that celebration isn’t the opposite of loss; it’s what comes after it. Much like how Diwali evenings unfold, after days of cleaning, chaos, and preparation; there’s this collective exhale when everything finally glows. You light diyas, eat sweets, laugh at family drama and for that brief moment, everything feels whole again. The same way, the Madrigals stand before their shining Casita, rediscovering joy after a long spell of darkness.

Hence what Encanto and Diwali both whisper beneath their sparkle is that renewal doesn’t come from erasing the past but from remembering it each year with a slightly different edge. You clean not to forget but to make space for what’s next. You light diyas not just to celebrate the return of light, but to honour the times you sat in the dark. In Encanto, when the candle’s flame finally returns, it’s no longer the same light that once saved them, it’s something more human. And that’s exactly what Diwali teaches too. That light, no matter how small, can rebuild what once felt broken whether that’s a house, a person, or a faith in something bigger than ourselves. So maybe this year, when you light that diya, think of Mirabel’s tiny spark in a crumbling home. Think of how sometimes, the brightest miracles come not from power, but from the quiet persistence to keep believing that even after everything falls apart, light will find its way back home.

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