Every November, a row of houses are lit up on my street, twinkling joyfully and confusing most of our non-Indian neighbours. “Wow, they must decorate early for Christmas!” “Hmm…Happy November?” Undoubtedly, the best part about living in the ‘Little India’ that is my suburban neighborhood is the very timely and enthusiastic deliveries of mithai (sweets) by my neighbours’ kids. This year’s kaju barfi is as good as ever.

This weekend, I walked through the row of illuminated homes, seeing colourful clothes and family dinners through living room windows, and flashing trees and bushes everywhere. While my family is Muslim, being Indian has always afforded me the pleasure of being around wonderful and deeply spiritual Hindu holidays from a young age. Friends and Amar Chitra Katha comic strips recounted to me the dramatic tale of Prince Rama defeating the evil ten-headed demon of Ravana, while the city of Ayodhya greeted their prince and his beautiful wife, Sita, with illuminated lamps.