Looking back, I remember Diwali afternoons as being a time of much hustle and bustle. Abbu, our father, would drive to Bhogal, the nearest market from our home in Nizamuddin East in Delhi. One or the other of my siblings would accompany him on this annual expedition. Abbu would return laden with all manner of Diwali treats: kandeels made from fluorescent paper, several dozens of unglazed clay diyas in assorted sizes, small beautifully painted clay temples with a tiny depression for a diya on each of the four corners, kheel-batashe (puffed rice and small, hard, coin-shaped discs of sugar), and an assortment of sugar animals shaped like deer, lion, horses, tigers. The latter would be consumed with much relish and no thought for hygiene or calories. And since this was an age as yet unaware

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