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It turns out that it was actually just another in our regular series of 24-hour power cuts, but nevertheless it seemed well-timed to create some magical, candle-lit scenery. At least, it would have been magical if it wasn't for the constant explosions lighting up every street in town. Diwali, it turns out, is more about bundles of firecrackers than serene candles.
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I ventured out into town for a while but eventually decided to retreat. There's nothing like a series of loud explosions to sharpen your sense of being an outsider. It's not that the fireworks were particularly impressive - but the relaxed attitude to lighting them made them scary in the same way that neglected seaside fairground rollercoasters contain much more real terror than any of Disney World's chrome dreams.
I was keenly aware that I wasn't familiar with 'the rules', or if there were any. Does everyone else know not to go down this or that pitch-black street because they've just rigged it with explosives? Speaking of not being familiar with 'the rules', I'm pretty sure nobody in Koraput has ever heard the phrase "never go back to a lit firework". As for keeping pets indoors, I was surprised by how calmly the packs of street dogs reacted to it all - but then, I suppose you don't last long as an Indian street dog with a nervous disposition.
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He asked, naturally, if we have a similar celebration in Britain. By coincidence, this year Diwali, which is decided by the lunar calendar, fell on 5th November. "Yes, tonight is Guy Fawkes night", I replied over the noise, "We mark the occasion of a terrorist getting caught trying to blow up the government. It probably would have sounded a bit like this." He looked at me like I was quite mad.
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