India, Oct. 19 -- Dear Reader,

When I think of Diwali, I think of the scent of flowers, of lilies and marigolds. Of my mother's voice calling us to gather for the puja. Of the brass plate of flowers at the centre of our circle - a ritual she invented to bind our family together. Diwali means sweets - the squishy, comfort filled crumble of a kheer kodom exploding sweetened milk in your mouth, the rich chewiness of kalakand milk cake, the fudginess of a chocolate brownie. Diwali is new books, clothes, and the warm, dancing glow of diyas that set the whole house aglow.

Ours is a Westernised family with a reformist Arya Samaj streak - sceptical of rituals, impatient with priests, and unwilling to surrender our prayers to a pandit communing ...