Every three minutes for the past several days our house has been rocked by Diwali explosions. We leap and twitch, we don’t finish sentences, projects, meals or dishes. Our giant puppy Kali hides in the bathroom or under the couch.
Today we made a second trip to the fireworks market, and fleshed out our artillery. We’re fighting back.
Once there, we were mobbed, like Brad and Angelina shopping for a new child: vendors insisted on photos, children shook our hands. We scored two ten foot “Standard Red Fort Fireworks” canvas banners that I’m thinking of making into curtains. We weren’t fooled, we know these are the same dealers who are arming our enemies. We dropped fifteen bucks and came home with another carload of retaliatory explosives.
Duck and cover baby, duck and cover…