We can barely squeeze through the narrow streets filled with festively dressed, colourful crowd of people. Always lively Indian shops are even more busy than usual.

“No, no. Five is not enough. It must cover the whole arm”, the owner of the shop fixes her headscarf and with an apparent expertise in a topic continues the conversation, “ The more bangles, the happier the bride. A consent in marriage will last until the last bangle breaks”.

The customer leaves the store with a bag overflowing with sparkling, colourful glass bracelets. Behind her, the merchant lady does not waste time – a new client, a new offer.

“Do you like it? Then, please, please sit down. My daughter will paint the same pattern. The quality of our henna is the best, lasts for a very long time”, without stopping to advertise her services she pulls a tiny chair from underneath a table, offering it to a shyly protesting woman, “So? What does it matter that German? Please, give me your hand and we will transform it into a real piece of art”.

Shelves of neighbouring stands are lined with rows of figurines depicting Hindu deities. From the heights of their cabinets, they follow our movements with beady eyes. In the next shop, crammed into the wooden frames, painted prophets raise their hands in a blessing gesture. Among them – a photo of Michael Jackson.

A nearby restaurant seduces with mouthwatering scents. Inside and outside crowds of people tightly fill aluminium tables. As if by magic one more table appears before us. Over-busy waiter-magician makes sure that we have enough space and presents us with a menu. Waiting for our order we are looking at the colourful pageant of celebrating people.

“Chicken curry for you sir and coconut milk for the lady”.

I greedily start to drink wonderfully refreshing, sour-sweet liquid through a straw placed in a cut end of the fruit. Andrzej is trying to resist a fantastic scent of coconut-milk curry and waits for rice to accompany the chicken.

“Rice? But it was not in order. Oh no, it is not included, you need to order it separately, sir. And I am really sorry but we do not have beers. I am pretty sure you will be able to get it on the street market, though. It is just around the corner”.

The whole street is covered with plastic chairs and tables. All around, small, portable food stalls offer snacks and deep fried, sweet cakes still glistening with cooking oil. The scent of cinnamon and cumin fills the air. Each of the stalls is surrounded by an impressive number of customers.

“Beer? Yes, of course! Which one? The most popular?” a bearded man reaches over to a styrofoam box filled with ice. From a makeshift refrigerator he fishes out a 0.5l can and for three SGD we become the proud owners of an alcoholic beverage with an intriguing name ‘Knock Out’.

From the first sight, it is obvious that this evening’s main theme is light. Everywhere we look, there are lampions of all shapes, sizes, and colours: hanging, standing, connected into long strings, formed into various shapes. Some filled with oil, some tech advanced. But their elaborate structure fades in comparison to a splendour of those adorning the main street of Little India. The massive, extraordinary gates made of lampions hover over cars driving below. Recent rain converts a street surface into a mirror. It multiplies shiny and hypnotic cacophony of the colours. We follow this magic carpet of light to the main stage. The sky explodes with thousands of colours. Accompanied by the sounds of Bollywood music starts a culmination of today’s celebration – a massive fireworks display.