SEE VIDEO: Duck for Diwali

As a youngster fire always fascinated me. I wasn’t an arsonist or anything crazy – I just liked flames. In grade 7 I was suspended from school for match dealing after one of my stupider clients tried to set the school bathroom ablaze. Some people just can’t handle their fire.
So it was only natural that the true object of my desire was fire in its finest form: fireworks. Sadly, I could only feed my firecracker fix twice a year on Canada Day and New Years’ Eve.
Then today I walked into my childhood dream: Diwali.
The Hindu holiday Diwali is held in October and is known as the celebration of the lights. Seen as a symbol of hope, Hindus believe that light indicates the victory of good over evil. Therefore, by spreading light through the lighting of candles and fireworks, the darkness will be destroyed.
Throughout the week in Suva there have been Diwali celebrations. Tonight I attended a Diwali event at a local elementary school. Upon arrival I felt as if I was entering a war zone. The place had more pyrotechnics than a KISS concert. The sky was glowing with florescent flashes, blue blasts and emerald explosions. Upon closer inspection I discovered that the impressive display wasn’t the work of trained crew of professional – it was the product of dozens of elementary school children clutching giant roman candles.
These kids were holding the fireworks while they detonated. And the parents? They were helping their little bundles of joy light the dangerous mini-rockets. Maybe if there was a little bit of order to chaos I would have felt better. But there was absolutely none. More than 100 children – some as young as four – were shooting coloured fireballs into the air in all directions.
To add to the insanity, some parents were setting off larger fireworks alongside their little ones.
Wait, a fireman just pulled up to the event. Surly he’ll put an end to this madness. But he didn’t seem to care about what was going on. My travel companion, Hart, taps him on the shoulder.
“This is a little dangerous, don’t you think?”
The fireman chuckles and just pats Hart on the back before walking away.
I later learn that it’s the fireman who is selling the firecrackers to the children.
My old addiction is rearing its ugly head and I start to wonder how I can go about getting my hands on some firepower. I am in mid-fire fantasy when a ball of heat rushes past my head. I look over to see a little girl – maybe 6 years old – holding a roman candle and looking at me with her mouth wide open. Turning to Hart, I ask him if she almost hit me.
“Man, it literally just missed your head,” he replies.
“You almost shot me in the head!” I say to the girl in a rather unpleasant tone.
The adult accompanying her bursts out laughing.
“Sorry,” she says unapologetically.
I decide the close call is a sign that I should get away from the danger. I want to go to the food area, but this means once again I have to cross though the firing range. After my close encounter, the thought of walking through the insanity is terrifying – and watching little girls calmly navigate the same path doesn’t make it any less scary.
Thankfully my love of free food is stronger than my fear of being shot with a roman candle. I figure that if I’m ever going to make it as a journalist I’ll need to learn to perform under pressure so I do a stand-up as I cross the war zone.
After safely making it to the other side I observe all the young children as they shoot their firecrackers into the sky. Some parents have to stand behind their tiny ones and steady them or else the recoil would throw their little bodies to the ground.
Looking at an overjoyed young boy double fisting giant fireworks I suddenly realize something about my childhood: I wasn’t a pyromaniac like my parents told me – I was just a little Hindu boy growing up in a Canadian boy’s body.

WATCH VIDEO HERE