One of the popular fireworks on the streets of Jaipur.

Editor’s note: Sydney Kornegay was one of the first Cub Reporters for The Columbia Star while she was a student at A.C. Flora High School where she graduated in 2007. She was awarded Davidson College’s top merit scholarship.

The John Montgomery Belk scholarship is one of the most prestigious undergraduate scholarships in the country and is valued at $170,000 over four years including summer stipends for travel and study. It recognizes academic prowess, integrity, passion for life and records of distinction in myriad areas of school and community life.

Diwali is a dangerous time. The Hindu festival, celebrated in late October, feels like Christmas and Fourth of July all combined into one. If the exlosives don’t kill you, the fat–laden “ladoos” (Indian sweets) will.

My host mom lights candles for Diwali. My host family and I began the festival — which commemorates the return of Lord Raama — with a round of visits to family members, friends, colleagues, and used–to–be neighbors. Each household maintained an array of snacks and drinks, and every visitor was greeted with a tray full of items and told to “Take! Take!”

Resistance to this process was futile. I often watched as my host mother shielded her plate from the oncoming host, saying “Please, please, no,” until finally, after a showy, three minute argument, she gave in and took one or two cashews. Over and over this ritual was repeated, as I learned to deny, and then take, nuts, dried fruit, baked sweets, fried sweets, spicy snacks, and fruit juices.

Lighting sparklers is a family event. After the first of such visits, Hannah, a fellow exchange student, and I decided to keep a running tally of the weekend.

Day one, we were force fed a salad, two different types of salty snacks, four sweets, and an ice cream that is best described as Lysol flavor. Eight dishes. The next day, we visited four houses for a grand total of 32 dishes before we went home for a special Diwali dinner. As we drove by the Ganesh temple, whose idol features a potbellied, elephant–head god with an affinity for sweets, I had the sickening sensation that before the end of the weekend, I would look exactly like him.

But the perils of overeating paled in comparison to the danger of our post–dinner fireworks. In the US, this would take place in an empty field, away from buildings, power lines, and flammable objects. In Jaipur, revelers prefer to endanger theirs and everyone else’s lives by lighting fireworks in the streets. The more crowded, the better. If you can place the “spark fountain” directly underneath an overhanging tree or a power line, this is ideal.

Firesafety is unheard of; the kids outside my house chased each other around with sparklers, pointed bottle rockets at their house, and threw firecrackers at the vegetable seller. Meanwhile, their mothers, dressed in flowing, bedazzled saris made of highly flammable, synthetic materials, clapped and yelled “Ahh, Accha!!” (Ohh, good!)

I myself had several near misses. The first was when I lit a “bomb.” I lit the firecracker with a sparkler, but before I could move away, it exploded, causing my ears to ring for a good four minutes. The second was when a kid lit a “shooting siren.” (A sparkler that, after a few moments delay, shoots out flames like a wand) The kid, not realizing the flame was delayed, pointed it directly at me and asked me to light it for him. I jumped out of the way just before a stream of sparks came flying in my direction.

But, despite the dangers of Diwali, it proved to be one of the most beautiful periods in Jaipur. Climbing onto my roof at night, I could see all Jaipur alight with fireworks as they exploded one after another over the city. Everywhere I looked, there were lights — in the sky, on buildings, as candles on people’s porches. Each person contributed his/ her part to the spectacle, lighting a firecracker or a candle and tossing it to the sky.