Diwali

Diwali: the festival of lights.

If you close your eyes, you could easily make-believe you were in the midst of gunfire, with brilliant flashes of light piercing even the thin skin of your eyelids.

You find yourself up on the rooftops, surrounded by the people you've grown to love, and you allow yourself to lie backwards, head in the dirt, mesmerised by the light show above you; staring up into the sky, without being able to see your surroundings, you find yourself in a surreal place. You are no longer in India, nor are you in New Zealand; you're no-where, and anywhere you want to be.

The explosions drown out the sounds you've become accustomed to, like the persistent drone of a man bleating his call for you to come purchase his wares, the invasive chorus of a thousand horns, and the call of a mother shouting at her child because they went to pet a stray, mangy street-dog.

In all of this, you remember that the fireworks that are causing momentary blind-spots in your eye-sight are all to drive out evil spirits. And you pray. You pray that these spirits do leave, and that not just any light takes their place, but that of our heavenly father.

Diwali is the festival of lights. Our hearts cried for light to enter the hearts of others in a city that is full of darkness.

And as we hung our heads backwards over the balcony, for a moment it really did look like light was falling down to earth.