Diwali is upon us – the Festival of Lights – where large candles are set out in the hallways and picture windows, lights are strung from buildings and small-calibre munitions are exploded throughout the dense metropolis. Instead of the infinite, and unending, sidewalk cricket matches sprinkled throughout the city, matches which make Test Cricket look like temporary vacations, the youth of the neighborhood cluster in an apparent attempt to catch my flat on fire.

While I do have twelve floors in elevation on them, the amount of airborne explosions is shockingly high. For the last three nights fireworks have rained throughout the neighborhood, attesting to the unending supply of explosives and enthusiasum and the need to banish evil spirits. This confirms my suspicion that India celebrates better, or at least with better endurance than other countries I have visited. Why celebrate one night when you can celebrate five nights in a row?

At least the view is pretty.

I cannot begrudge the semi-professional firework displays, since after each blast the children of the neighborhood scream and cheer with such enthusiasm, their excitement filtering through the secondary explosions. While I prefer the sharing of sweets and welcoming the grace of Lakshmi and Ganesh to my door who will hopefully shower us with both wealth and auspicious beginnings, I’ll take the sound of children cheering any day.

Happy Diwali!