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…
We found this incredible poster, advertising exploding caps for toy guns, on an afternoon run across state lines to Tamil Nadu to buy loads of cheap, volatile fireworks for Diwali. We drove back into Karnataka with a trunkload of combustible cargo that would have made Hunter S. Thompson nervous.
The fireworks shops spring up at the border this time each year, packed tightly, several deep and out into the distance as far as the eye can see. It’s truly over the top. And the merchandise itself was well beyond the pitiful stuff we see in the States. These places are fully stocked with serious Roadrunner-vs. Coyote ACME firepower.
But firepower was not what held my attention: it was the packaging. Boxes with utterly random combinations of elements: princesses, swastikas, explosions, cartoon characters, movie stars, porn starlets, Hindu gods… Hopefully we can post some samples soon. And the promotional posters were fantastic; I asked the vendors if they could spare any, and they looked at me like I was insane to want such trash. This one has now been framed and is hanging on our wall :)