Wednesday, October 18 Fireworks

I caught up on some stuff, ate at the roadside parantha walla and then went to Hindi. I learned today that “Desi” is a Hindi word used by South Asians meaning “Someone of South Asian origin”. I thought it was hilarious to learn that it also means “Of inferior quality”. After Hindi, Erin Eve and I went to dinner at a South Indian restaurant in Kamla Nagar, which was busy with shoppers before Diwali on Saturday. The streets were teeming with fabrics and fireworks. Posters with large bright letters read “Cock Rocket”, which is the name of the popular fireworks brand. The other popular brand is “Nazi”, and probably has swastikas on the fireworks for good luck. Not only are the names hilarious, but the fireworks themselves are sketchy. For example, we bought some fireworks from the vendor down the street. We were lighting them off on our roof, and the fuses were so short that Ro almost got blinded by one. He lit it off, and immediately it ignited, burning his hair and leaving three welts centimeters from his eye. It must have been scary because he poured an entire bucket on himself and didn’t talk the rest of the night. They’re like Mexican fireworks, but sketchier. At Erin’s house, Nick and Alan were lighting off tons of fireworks, and I was standing behind the concrete wall. It’s the kind of thing that I picture black people sitting inside the house going, “Hell no I ain’t lighting a bunch of bombs on fire for fun. Only crazy white people like doing that”. The Nazi Fireworks are essentially bombs; they have no sparkles or pretty colors. Alan and Nick blew up a phonebook, which went flying 20 feet into the sky. The night culminated with the explosion of a 20-gallon water jug, of which the top and bottom blew off into the street. The neighbors were slightly pissed. But even in our house, I’ll be typing or sleeping and all of a sudden it’ll sound like a bomb has just gone off, scaring the daylights out of me.