In the dark of night, an older girl, seemingly of the age of 13, holds lit sparklers in her hands, dressed in a grey cardigan on top of her blue, long traditional Indian dress, her back to the camera. Her sleeveless, calf-length dress, made up of a layer of a blue silk material covered by a blue net on top, features a wide hunter green velvet hem with detailed red embroidery and embellished with small circular mirrors the size of a fingernail. Greenish-white smoke forms a heart shape in front of her, faded at the top and bright white at the bottom. Excess sparkler fumes float up, creating a white cloud in the center of the heart. On either side of her black hair flowing down her back, the camera captures two stray sparks frozen in the air after jumping away from the sparklers. In contrast to the pitch black night sky, the brick floor beneath her shines white form the sparklers’ glow with only one dark spot to the left of the girl where a drain is. The light not extending very far, the waist-high wall in front of the girl appears dark-brown, almost blending into the dark sky.

At my family’s annual Diwali party, when I was 13, I ran outside to my backyard with the rest of the children after dinner to play with the sparklers and other celebratory items that my father had purchased earlier that day. Out of a long purple box, I grabbed two of the rainbow striped sticks, tossing the box away from me so that the horde of eight excited children did not attack me in impatience. After lighting the ends my sparklers with a candle my mother had placed on the grey stone table next to the door, I ran out of the covered area, next to the wool, wildly flinging my sparklers, one in each hand, creating strange shapes. After forming a heart, I thought it would make a beautiful picture to put on Instagram if I had an Instagram, so I gave my phone to my friend with instructions to take the picture, so that I would at least have the image for my own happiness. I threw my now dead sparklers into a trash can and grabbed and lit another two, ready for my impromptu photo shoot. I stood next to the pool again, forming a smoke heart repeatedly while yelling over my shoulder to my friend, “Did you get it?” When the sparklers finally blew out, I turned to her in anticipation of the hopefully fabulous photos.

Lighting sparklers has always been my favorite part of Diwali. Celebrating with my family and friends, it is a time to just let loose and forget about stress. In lighting sparklers, the most stressful thing is whether or not my sparkler tricks outshine my father’s. During this night, I can let myself play with the wonders of light, dazzle myself with mini firecrackers, and be in awe of the fact that I can make an infinity sign out of the fire if I move my sparklers fast enough.