The Street That Rewrites Itself in Light
Serangoon Road doesn’t announce Deepavali. It just starts glowing. Weeks before the festival proper, the arch installations go up one by one — steel frames wrapped in thousands of LEDs, each one depicting a scene from Hindu mythology that most passersby can’t name but everyone stops to photograph. By the time October 20 rolls around, the entire stretch from Little India MRT to Farrer Park has become something between a cathedral ceiling and a carnival midway.
The 2026 celebrations run October 20 to 22, though honestly the light-up has been going since late September. The official dates just mark when the energy tips from pretty to overwhelming.
Following Your Nose Down Campbell Lane
The Little India Deepavali Festival Bazaar spills across Campbell Lane and Hastings Road, and the first thing you notice isn’t the colors — it’s the smell. Jasmine garlands stacked in neat pyramids, sandalwood incense from every third stall, and somewhere behind all of it, the unmistakable sweetness of freshly fried murukku.
The stalls sell what you’d expect: oil lamps, saris, gold jewelry (or gold-colored jewelry, depending on your budget), bindis, rangoli powders. But the food vendors are the real draw. Laddu in bright orange and pale yellow, jalebi dripping syrup onto wax paper, and bags of savory mixture that every uncle seems to be snacking on. Prices aren’t fixed. Bargaining is expected, though the vendors have heard every tactic and you’ll probably end up paying close to what they wanted anyway.
One thing that surprises first-time visitors: the bazaar stays open late. Like, midnight late. The crowd actually peaks around 9 or 10 PM, especially on weekends. If you’re the type who fades after dinner, this might not be your scene.
The Performances Nobody Sits Through
That sounds negative, but it’s not. The open-air stages scattered through the precinct host classical Indian dance, live music, and henna demonstrations, and the audience tends to be a rotating crowd of people who stop, watch for five minutes, take a video, and drift on. It works. The performances aren’t ticketed events — they’re ambient culture, background texture for a night of wandering.
The Indian Heritage Centre on Campbell Lane is a different story. If they’re running a Deepavali-themed exhibition in 2026 (they usually do, but worth checking closer to the date), it’s genuinely worth the detour. Small museum, well-curated, and air-conditioned, which matters more than you’d think after an hour in the bazaar humidity.
What Nobody Warns You About
Singapore in October is hot. Not “warm evening” hot — properly tropical, 30°C with humidity that makes your phone screen fog up when you step out of the MRT. Wear the lightest clothes you own and accept that you will sweat through them.
The crowds around Serangoon Road on the main festival evenings are dense. Not dangerously so, but enough that moving through the bazaar takes three times longer than the distance would suggest. Weekday evenings (if Deepavali falls on one) are noticeably more manageable. Weekend evenings before the actual festival date are a decent compromise — the lights are up, the stalls are open, but the peak-day crush hasn’t arrived yet.
If you plan to visit Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple on Serangoon Road, bring something to cover your shoulders and knees. The temple enforces a dress code and it’s not negotiable. They sometimes have wraps available at the entrance but I wouldn’t count on it.
Eating Your Way Through Tekka Centre
Tekka Centre is right next to Little India MRT, ground floor, and it’s one of those hawker centres that looks like it hasn’t been renovated since 1985 — which is exactly why the food is good. The South Indian stalls do proper thali meals on banana leaves, crispy dosai with three different chutneys, and fish head curry that’s rich enough to make you reconsider dinner plans.
During Deepavali, the sweet shops in the area go into overdrive. Special festival boxes of assorted Indian sweets appear everywhere — they make decent gifts if you’re flying home soon, though honestly some of them are tooth-achingly sweet. The kaju katli (cashew fudge) tends to be the safest bet for people who aren’t sure about their sugar tolerance.
Getting There and Getting Around
Take the MRT to Little India station (NE7/DT12) — exit A drops you right onto Serangoon Road. Farrer Park station (NE8) is a five-minute walk north if you want to start from the quieter end and walk toward the action.
The best time to arrive is around 6 PM. The lights aren’t as impressive in daylight (obviously), and by 6 the sun is low enough that the installations start to look like they’re supposed to. The transition from dusk to full dark, with the lights coming on in layers, is the thing worth timing.
Singapore is compact enough that you don’t need to stay in Little India — anywhere on the MRT network puts you within 30 minutes of the festival. That said, booking accommodation early is smart. The Deepavali period attracts both tourists and Singapore’s returning diaspora visitors, and hotels in the area fill up.
For flights and hotels, Trip.com tends to have reasonable Singapore packages, especially if you’re flexible on dates by a day or two. And if you want more context than just walking around — the history of Little India, why certain temples face certain directions, that sort of thing — KLOOK has guided heritage walks that cover the precinct. Not cheap, but useful if this is your first time in the neighborhood. Agoda is worth checking too for last-minute hotel deals in the area — their Southeast Asia inventory tends to be strong.
After the Lights
Deepavali is the triumph of light over darkness, knowledge over ignorance. That’s the official line, and it’s true, but what stays with you isn’t the symbolism. It’s the sensory pile-up: jasmine and sweat and frying oil, LEDs reflecting off wet pavement after a sudden rain, the sound of a tabla being tested backstage while someone’s phone blasts a Bollywood track at full volume from a stall selling phone cases.
Walking back to the MRT around 11, my sandals were dusty and I had a bag of murukku I’d already opened. The uncle at the stall had thrown in an extra handful when I couldn’t decide between the thick and thin kind. I ate the thin ones on the train. They were better.
