Diwali is meant to be a night of joy — the skies blaze, lamps glow, laughter fills the air, and hearts lift in celebration. But ask any pet parent — whether they live with a dog, a cat, a bird, or a rabbit — and you’ll hear a very different story. They’ll tell you about the moment the first firecracker goes off and their dog vanishes under the bed, shaking uncontrollably. They’ll talk about the cat that hides for hours behind the wardrobe, refusing food. They’ll remember a bird that flutters wildly inside its cage, a guinea pig that freezes stiff, or a rabbit that injures itself trying to flee. For them, Diwali is not a festival of light — it is a night of fear.
What we call tradition, they experience as trauma. And the reason lies not in fragility or oversensitivity but in the deep biology of animals — in senses and instincts shaped by millions of years of evolution , now overwhelmed by the chaos of a modern human celebration.
The Ancestry in Their Ears
Dogs are not creatures of cities and fireworks . They descend from wolves, hunters whose survival depended on hearing the faintest sound of danger. Their hearing range is more than three times that of humans, and they can detect even the subtlest rustle of a mouse or a distant footstep. That evolutionary advantage turns into a curse during Diwali, when firecrackers can exceed 150 decibels — louder than a jet engine. What registers to us as a loud bang feels to them like a physical blow.
Their ears are designed to pinpoint the source of sound with astonishing precision — an ability that once meant survival in the wild but now ensures they cannot escape the onslaught. Each explosion feels immediate, targeted, and inescapable. Cats, with their even more acute hearing, fare no better. Birds’ sensitive ears and lightweight physiology make them panic easily, often flapping frantically in fear. Even fish, though they do not “hear” like mammals, sense vibrations through the water and become stressed and disoriented.
Fear Circuits Hijacked
It isn’t just about hearing. It’s about how their brains interpret those sounds. Deep in the mammalian brain lies the amygdala — the ancient sentinel that detects danger and triggers survival responses. Sudden, loud, unpredictable noise has always meant one thing in nature: threat. The amygdala doesn’t care whether the explosion is a predator’s roar, a tree cracking in a storm, or a Diwali firework. Its response is the same: adrenaline surges, cortisol floods the body, the heart races, and muscles tense in preparation for fight or flight. But here, there is no predator to fight and nowhere to run.
The system resets with each explosion, trapping animals in a cycle of panic. Even hours after the noise stops, their bodies remain on high alert. Cats may refuse to emerge from hiding long after the celebrations have ended. Dogs may pace, pant, or tremble into the night. Birds, exhausted from frantic flapping, can collapse or even die from shock. The physiological toll is real and lasting.
The Torture of Unpredictability
If fireworks were predictable, animals might stand a chance. Brains, whether human or animal, rely on patterns to make sense of the world. But fireworks are random — loud, sudden, and without warning. Each explosion is a new shock, each lull a false sense of safety. Humans can rationalise it: “It’s Diwali, it will end soon.” Animals cannot. They do not understand calendars or festivals. All they know is that the world has become violently unpredictable.
This unpredictability triggers anticipatory anxiety. Dogs that once cowered only during fireworks now tremble as dusk falls. Cats disappear hours before the first cracker. Rabbits freeze long before the noise begins. Their bodies have learned the pattern — and brace for trauma before it arrives.
A Symphony of Sensory Overload
The cruelty of fireworks is not just in their sound. It’s in their total sensory assault. Animals feel the deep vibrations through their paws, bodies, or cages — a primal signal of ground instability. Their noses, often tens of thousands of times more sensitive than ours, are assaulted by acrid chemicals and smoke, scents that in nature signal fire and danger. Their eyes, adapted for tracking movement in dim light, are overwhelmed by blinding bursts of light. Even the subtle changes in air pressure from repeated blasts can disorient them.
This is not discomfort — it is a complete collapse of sensory order. Imagine being trapped in a small room where explosions shake the ground, blinding lights flash unpredictably, and the air reeks of chemicals — all while having no understanding of why it’s happening or when it will end. That is Diwali for countless animals.
The Memory of Fear
The trauma doesn’t end with the festival. Once fear has been associated with fireworks, it becomes ingrained. A single traumatic Diwali can condition a dog or cat to associate evening darkness, festive smells, or even the sound of distant traffic with panic. Over time, this conditioning can lead to chronic anxiety disorders — a permanent rewriting of the animal’s emotional landscape.
Small pets like guinea pigs and rabbits, already wired for hypervigilance as prey animals, can develop heightened sensitivity to all sudden noises. Birds may become skittish and distrustful, while some cats display long-term behavioural changes — from aggression to withdrawal.
Biology Against Culture
It’s an uncomfortable irony: we celebrate the triumph of light over darkness, yet plunge our most loyal companions into fear. We call dogs family and cats our children, yet expect them to “get used to it.” But the science is clear — most animals don’t habituate to fireworks. They become more sensitive over time. Each Diwali is not just a night of fear; it’s another layer of trauma added to a growing burden.
We say Diwali is about compassion, renewal, and peace. Yet our celebrations often betray those very values when viewed from the eyes of the beings who share our homes and our world.
A Kinder Future
The good news is that change is possible. Silent fireworks can offer spectacle without suffering. Soundproof refuges, pheromone diffusers, and advance desensitisation training can ease anxiety for pets. And at a collective level, regulations that limit the timing and intensity of fireworks could transform the festival for animals everywhere. Compassion must not stop at the species line. It must include the trembling dog under the bed, the cat crouched behind the cupboard, the bird fluttering in terror, and even the fish darting frantically in its tank. Only then will our celebration mean what we say it does.
Because if joy depends on fear, it is not joy at all. And if light requires someone else’s darkness, then we have missed the point entirely.
What we call tradition, they experience as trauma. And the reason lies not in fragility or oversensitivity but in the deep biology of animals — in senses and instincts shaped by millions of years of evolution , now overwhelmed by the chaos of a modern human celebration.
The Ancestry in Their Ears
Dogs are not creatures of cities and fireworks . They descend from wolves, hunters whose survival depended on hearing the faintest sound of danger. Their hearing range is more than three times that of humans, and they can detect even the subtlest rustle of a mouse or a distant footstep. That evolutionary advantage turns into a curse during Diwali, when firecrackers can exceed 150 decibels — louder than a jet engine. What registers to us as a loud bang feels to them like a physical blow.
Their ears are designed to pinpoint the source of sound with astonishing precision — an ability that once meant survival in the wild but now ensures they cannot escape the onslaught. Each explosion feels immediate, targeted, and inescapable. Cats, with their even more acute hearing, fare no better. Birds’ sensitive ears and lightweight physiology make them panic easily, often flapping frantically in fear. Even fish, though they do not “hear” like mammals, sense vibrations through the water and become stressed and disoriented.
Fear Circuits Hijacked
It isn’t just about hearing. It’s about how their brains interpret those sounds. Deep in the mammalian brain lies the amygdala — the ancient sentinel that detects danger and triggers survival responses. Sudden, loud, unpredictable noise has always meant one thing in nature: threat. The amygdala doesn’t care whether the explosion is a predator’s roar, a tree cracking in a storm, or a Diwali firework. Its response is the same: adrenaline surges, cortisol floods the body, the heart races, and muscles tense in preparation for fight or flight. But here, there is no predator to fight and nowhere to run.
The system resets with each explosion, trapping animals in a cycle of panic. Even hours after the noise stops, their bodies remain on high alert. Cats may refuse to emerge from hiding long after the celebrations have ended. Dogs may pace, pant, or tremble into the night. Birds, exhausted from frantic flapping, can collapse or even die from shock. The physiological toll is real and lasting.
The Torture of Unpredictability
If fireworks were predictable, animals might stand a chance. Brains, whether human or animal, rely on patterns to make sense of the world. But fireworks are random — loud, sudden, and without warning. Each explosion is a new shock, each lull a false sense of safety. Humans can rationalise it: “It’s Diwali, it will end soon.” Animals cannot. They do not understand calendars or festivals. All they know is that the world has become violently unpredictable.
This unpredictability triggers anticipatory anxiety. Dogs that once cowered only during fireworks now tremble as dusk falls. Cats disappear hours before the first cracker. Rabbits freeze long before the noise begins. Their bodies have learned the pattern — and brace for trauma before it arrives.
A Symphony of Sensory Overload
The cruelty of fireworks is not just in their sound. It’s in their total sensory assault. Animals feel the deep vibrations through their paws, bodies, or cages — a primal signal of ground instability. Their noses, often tens of thousands of times more sensitive than ours, are assaulted by acrid chemicals and smoke, scents that in nature signal fire and danger. Their eyes, adapted for tracking movement in dim light, are overwhelmed by blinding bursts of light. Even the subtle changes in air pressure from repeated blasts can disorient them.
This is not discomfort — it is a complete collapse of sensory order. Imagine being trapped in a small room where explosions shake the ground, blinding lights flash unpredictably, and the air reeks of chemicals — all while having no understanding of why it’s happening or when it will end. That is Diwali for countless animals.
The Memory of Fear
The trauma doesn’t end with the festival. Once fear has been associated with fireworks, it becomes ingrained. A single traumatic Diwali can condition a dog or cat to associate evening darkness, festive smells, or even the sound of distant traffic with panic. Over time, this conditioning can lead to chronic anxiety disorders — a permanent rewriting of the animal’s emotional landscape.
Small pets like guinea pigs and rabbits, already wired for hypervigilance as prey animals, can develop heightened sensitivity to all sudden noises. Birds may become skittish and distrustful, while some cats display long-term behavioural changes — from aggression to withdrawal.
Biology Against Culture
It’s an uncomfortable irony: we celebrate the triumph of light over darkness, yet plunge our most loyal companions into fear. We call dogs family and cats our children, yet expect them to “get used to it.” But the science is clear — most animals don’t habituate to fireworks. They become more sensitive over time. Each Diwali is not just a night of fear; it’s another layer of trauma added to a growing burden.
We say Diwali is about compassion, renewal, and peace. Yet our celebrations often betray those very values when viewed from the eyes of the beings who share our homes and our world.
A Kinder Future
The good news is that change is possible. Silent fireworks can offer spectacle without suffering. Soundproof refuges, pheromone diffusers, and advance desensitisation training can ease anxiety for pets. And at a collective level, regulations that limit the timing and intensity of fireworks could transform the festival for animals everywhere. Compassion must not stop at the species line. It must include the trembling dog under the bed, the cat crouched behind the cupboard, the bird fluttering in terror, and even the fish darting frantically in its tank. Only then will our celebration mean what we say it does.
Because if joy depends on fear, it is not joy at all. And if light requires someone else’s darkness, then we have missed the point entirely.
You may also like
Kolkata Police fixes prescribed time for burning of firecrackers on Kali Puja, Chhath Puja
Freddie Flintoff makes emotional return to driving 3 years after terrifying Top Gear crash
India emerging global leader in regenerative medicine, cellular therapy innovations: Nadda
Tripura mulls supplying power to Nepal: Power Minister
Panic at major airport as new travel rules spark chaos - '2-hour long queues'
