An end-of-summernight’s dream

Delhi ablaze

I awake from my nap to the sounds of a city under siege. Explosions rock the house; outside, there are near-constant flashes of white light as the dogs bark and claw at the doors in fear. Is this lightning? Is this gang violence? Is this a battle? No.
This is Diwali.

Think of Christmas lights but no snow. Add the candles of Chanuka. Exchange Mishloach Manot filled with dry fruits and nuts. Play the Indian version of poker until 3am. Append the most deafening Fourth of July activities. Imagine fireworks sprouting from the backyards of every house in the city as you drive along a smoke-filled road, barely seeing what’s ahead of you. Exploded firecracker-shells litter every millimeter of ground. The environment, along with any basic notion of safety, is forgotten.
This is Diwali.

You arrive at a house whose exterior is illuminated by hundreds of candles. In the background are the sounds of little (and sometimes big) explosions. Flower petals have been used to paint symbols and stories on the floor. The night is stuffed with hot food, cool air, and intoxicating drink. This is a dream; everything is surreal, magical, unreal.

They say that for the 3 days before and after Diwali, one cannot see a single star in the sky. Who needs stars in the sky when they flicker infinitely closer?