It’s firecracker night where I am, by which I mean it’s Diwali. Historically speaking, we South Asians are not really a firecracker culture — that would be the Chinese. Speaking of which, if you haven’t seen the documentary Sky Ladder, about Chinese artist Cai Guo-qiang who uses firecrackers to make insane art works, it’s on Netflix. Jaw-dropping stuff — but we do have an unparalleled enthusiasm for making noise. That’s the only explanation I can find for the kind of crackers Indians love bursting on Diwali, which is as much a festival of lights as it is a festival of explosions. Of all the Hindu festivals, this is the one that feels the most disjunctive to me. The city looks so pretty, festooned with fairy lights. Homes are decorated with candles, flowers and rangoli. Every window seems to glitter with happiness. Meanwhile the whole place sounds like a war zone, with bombs going off every minute and the staccato clatter of gunfire-esque pataka. Jarring doesn’t even begin to describe the contrast.
Book Lovers was such fun! I've enjoyed all the three Emily Henry rom-coms I've read so far