There's something magical about this festival of lights. Every year, I watch for the lights to come on, as balconies come alive with twinkling fairy lights in every shade of the rainbow. I wait for the evenings to cool, the families to come together, and the women in their finery to come forth and hold everyone captivated. There's food, there's love, there's the very basis of Indian tradition. My nephew, 15, ever the rebellious teen, with his ripped jeans and headphones, and hair that makes my fingers itch for a pair of scissors, ditches rocker cool for a kurta. He'll try, and fail to be unmoved by it all before pitching in to get the lights working. My niece, the prettiest girl in the whole world, dances around in her own version of a salwar kameez, dainty and dimpled as only a girl of 5 can be.It's a wonderful time of year isn't it?