She lit the diyas, one by one, her hands steadied by her heart’s conviction.

Then turning around, she looked deep into his eyes. There she saw her Deepavali personified.

Later that evening, she wrote in her memo pad.

‘And there are nights saturated with so much light that it spills and inundates all that’s within sight. Love is just another name for it.”

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It’s the day after Diwali, and I am remembering Michelle. She must be back in California now, after an extended tour of Europe with her husband, Peter. I fondly recall the couple, retirees in their mi