Diwali Report (Loquacious version) [Lily]
I, Your Humble Narrator Jr., (I think that name fits because of the many comments saying I’ll end up like my dad, Your Humble Narrator. But I still wonder whether those are supposed to be compliments or not) will take this time to tell you readers about Diwali. (Which is pronounced Divali, by the way. It makes my parents frustrated when I pronounce it Diwali, but I actually don’t do it on purpose, but of course they don’t believe me.) Diwali is celebrated all over India. But that’s not what you want to hear, or what I want to base this post on. If it were what I wanted to write about, my posts wouldn’t be your favorite to read. (Thank you, by the way, to those of you who have commented that mine are your favorites. Mine are my favorite too, and not only because they are the only ones that I read.) What I, Your Humble Narrator Jr., would like to write about is the festivities.
Well. All of the kids buy fireworks. Except here, they call them “crackers.” (I prefer saying “fireworks” though so I don’t start think my tea time snack will explode in my mouth.) On the official Diwali, they blasted them till midnight, which I approved of because it meant I got to stay up till midnight, due to the noise. Some of them were very interesting, like the ones that spin really fast, shooting sparks everywhere, making a pschoooooookkkkkk sound, then suddenly, “BOOM!” The loudest explosion ever. Or the ones that shoot up a fountain of sparks in to the air, each of which explode in their own mini firework. I can not think of a sound to describe those. A few bottle rockets hit neighboring apartments, as well as ours, and one rocket even bounced off the apartment and landed about a meter away from my dad. When one exploded, a tiny parachute floated down from the sky, and oddly, my dad caught it perfectly without even moving.
We also walked around town and saw the pandals. The goddess in them was a shade of navy blue with a necklace of heads around her neck and her tongue sticking out, standing on a white guy. Quite attractive, right?
Well, that is all for now, because Your Humble Narrator Jr. has a Gandhi report to work on.
Well. All of the kids buy fireworks. Except here, they call them “crackers.” (I prefer saying “fireworks” though so I don’t start think my tea time snack will explode in my mouth.) On the official Diwali, they blasted them till midnight, which I approved of because it meant I got to stay up till midnight, due to the noise. Some of them were very interesting, like the ones that spin really fast, shooting sparks everywhere, making a pschoooooookkkkkk sound, then suddenly, “BOOM!” The loudest explosion ever. Or the ones that shoot up a fountain of sparks in to the air, each of which explode in their own mini firework. I can not think of a sound to describe those. A few bottle rockets hit neighboring apartments, as well as ours, and one rocket even bounced off the apartment and landed about a meter away from my dad. When one exploded, a tiny parachute floated down from the sky, and oddly, my dad caught it perfectly without even moving.
We also walked around town and saw the pandals. The goddess in them was a shade of navy blue with a necklace of heads around her neck and her tongue sticking out, standing on a white guy. Quite attractive, right?
Well, that is all for now, because Your Humble Narrator Jr. has a Gandhi report to work on.
1 Comments:
YHNJr.,
You really need to start publishing, girl! I think someday I will say that the famous author is MY granddaughter!!
Love and hugs.....Grandma
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