If keeping up with Indian festivals year round is a mark of Indian-ness, then I’m certainly not Indian, for I find it hard to keep track of them, let alone observe them.
But then, there are many ways of being an Indian. One of them being sharing photographs of an India, less shared in the Western media: faces of urchins in grimy clothes cavorting on the streets; a temple pylon plastered with a hideously, grammatically deformed sign; a skinny rickshaw-puller trudging through a dingy alley.
This one brightens up the mood. A seller arrays massifs of powdered colors in stainless steel bowls in preparation for the festival of Holi.