Late last year, I was in Bodh Gaya in the northern Indian state of Bihar, the birthplace of Buddhism, on the first night of Diwali, the Hindu festival of light. Candles and colored lights radiated a warm glow over the walls of this riverside neighborhood. I purchased a firework intriguingly labelled “The Hulk” and set it down next to an abandoned one-story house, which was being occupied as a drinking and gambling den. The twenty-odd men inside were playing a game of cards, surrounded by plastic cups and green bottles filled with a liquid that was hardly lemonade.
However, I’d accidentally left the firework upside-down, and instead of exploding upwards it exploded sideways, engulfing me in a whirlwind of brightly-glowing stars. Cries of dismay sounded from the derelict house as the cloud of sparks flooded inside, interrupting the game and burning a small hole in one man’s shirt. The local children, at least, were amused. I was given a stern look and apologized. An hour or two later, more shouts emanated from the house. One of the players, who’d apparently been caught cheating, bolted through the side door, pursued by an angry, drunken mob.
