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I have an excuse: I blame it on my stars and not on myself, dear Brutus. I’m an underling to astrology. I’m a fire sign. And a tiger by the Chinese system…burning bright, remember? Jupiter in one house and the Sun in another. These things have been ordained. What was that song again? Burning down the house?

Right, so bring on the matches. All right, I know all the politically correct stuff. Noise pollution, air pollution, danger, safety hazards — I even buy into it myself sometimes.

Chocolate bombs at 3 am —bad form, definitely. But a few blasts and sparks at 8pm? Please, it’s Diwali.

These are the fun parts: the smells of cordite, gunpowder, things burning, charcoal tablets that become snakes —what a stretch of imagination there — and thick fogs of smoke everywhere. I just don’t get people who don’t like it. I’m sound and fury signifying nothing, say my closest friends. Well, bully for them.

It’s all about good versus evil, the legend. I know all about the good. The full glorious outburst of a giant anar, the delicate peculiar fizz of a roman candle, the whizzing wonder of chakras, the slight sting on your skin when a phuljhari comes close. Evil?

All the above, I guess, to the spoilsports. I have spent Diwali after Diwali as an adult lighting all the fireworks myself, denying small children the same pleasure on the grounds of safety. This keeps their parents happy. Safety, pafety. It’s just so that I can have all the fun myself. Nothing irritates me more than inconsiderate people who think that Diwali’s all about sound, but can I please, please light up one of those lines of little fire-crackers? And some more anars that crackle? And those fancy things that zoom up and become a golden shower? And may my rockets please burst with a little bang when they stop flying?

So it’s buckets of water and tubes of Burnol handy, children at safe distances (let them cry, it’s my turn to have fun) and sissies with their fingers in their ears on the sidelines this festival. You can fry me tomorrow. It’ll be too late anyway. Besides, they tell me that the pollution from Diwali will drive the mosquitoes away. That’s one in the eye for the goodie-goodies.

As for me, what can I say? I’m a bomb.