Diwali, the Festival of Lights, is an important time both in the Hindu Calendar and for those bidding to make Pyrotechnics an Olympic sport. It celebrates the return from exile in the jungle of Lord Rana (goodie) and the killing of various baddies.Lighting of all manner springs up everywhere. From simple candles adorning rangolis ( designs made from sand, see right) to sprawling electrical extravaganzas.
It is also supposed to acknowledge the existence of an 'inner' light. I was imagining that this might be a time of quiet reflection.
The 'light' theme however has expanded in the direction of fireworks. Alas fireworks are expensive so Bangers and Explosives are the order of the day. It is compulsory for any self-respecting under 19 year old to commit al least 3 days to the art of detonation and missile propulsion. As the days wore on I underwent a rather Victor Meldrewlike transformation and from there simple pursed-lipped grumpiness deteriorated into fever and splitting headaches. At BCS tradition dictates that a 'war' takes place between seniors and juniors on the 2 games pitches. My bedroom/sickroom was perfectly located between the two. I realised then how hopeless I would be in a real war zone.
Anxious to enter into the spirit of the decorative side of Diwali I adorned the threshold of my room with the spingly-spangles above. Indian shops however, despite being diminutive in size, are far from one-trick ponies and to my delight I found that the spangle shop also had an excellent selection of undergarments. As is quite clear from the photo both branding and style were from the very top drawer. Size however was confusing. The shop keeper insisting that I needed a 95cm pair while I contested that 90cm would be ample. Lengthy discussions took places with the cheery purveyor prevailing. My new 'MACHO's did prove a good fit but according to the numbers suggest that my Indian diet has added 4 inches to my waistline.
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