Our neighbours have been singing all weekend. Singing and dancing and drumming and singing some more. At night, the entire neighbourhood glows. Lit by a wuzillion candles and fairy lights. There are fireworks and sparklers. The ground, strewn with flowers. Crows are offered plates of food. Dogs run around with garlands on their necks. The cow is worshipped. Family ties, renewed. Mountains of food, consumed.

It’s Tihar. And clearly, it’s time to party.