We shall begin with the history. India gained its independence (and rather proudly so) in 1947; an event that preceded her most traumatic experience: the Partition of India and Pakistan. Even today, the disputed regions of Jammu/Kashmir regularly make the headlines.

In the time I spent in the capital, it became obvious to me that the country is still settling into its status, even some sixty years on. The economic changes are evident; with its expanding size and construction industry that is seemingly always at work. Some part of the huge sprawling city is always covered in scaffolding as it prepares to host the Commonwealth Games.

The social changes are less obvious. Buildings like the Rashpati Bhavan, and the Lal Kela (the President’s House and the Red Fort) add a sense of history to the city, whereas the endless stream of market stalls and dense forest of traffic bring it into the 21st Century. The simple truth of it is that even in the capital nobody follows any traffic laws and every taxi ride feels like it could be your last.

Kolkata, my second and final stop on this whirlwind tour is everything the country’s capital isn’t. The capital during the British Empire, it is at once both relaxed and hectic, more so than Delhi ever was. Ask any resident of the city, and they’ll be fiercely loyal to the place, choosing it over the current capital. It is easy to see why. I admit that as an ex-resident I am not impartial, but to all I am sure the beauty of the city is visible above the smells of sewage and the almost blinding pollution.

As in Delhi, there is a strong legacy of the British Empire in the city, with the Victoria Memorial as a unique building; places like College Street and Calcutta Medical College are hardly a surprise in a city that has produced 5 Nobel Laureates, including Rabrindanath Tagore, who has an almost religious status in the country, and of course, Mother Teresa. The city has also been famous for being among the first to showcase and stage plays; the Bengali film industry is well known and respected within the country.

During my time there, the city’s political allegiances were also made abundantly clear. I have always known there was a strong history of a Trade Union movement (the Communist Party of India has been in power for 40 years), but during my week-long stay there was a full out bandh (strike), with a place the size of London coming to a complete standstill for a whole 24 hours, over something as simple as price rises. Even the local branches of the national banks were on strike, simply because their colleagues were being transferred to another part of the country. Try and imagine that in the current British financial climate. I for one, can’t. But it happened. Now perhaps the next time someone asks you about India you may just have more to say!

This is not the case, however, in India. Take a rickshaw through Varanasi during the Hindu lunar month of Kartiki and discover a city ablaze with golden lights, freshly whitewashed houses and spectacular fireworks. This is the holiest of cities and the streets are lined with magnificent statues of Hindu Gods, as they are carried past the temples overflowing with worshippers as they queue with offerings on the first day of the Hindu New Year. It can only mean one thing: Diwali has arrived.

Diwali, or Deepavali in Sanskrit, means a ‘cluster of lights’. In Hinduism it marks the homecoming of Lord Rama, avatar of Vishnu and ancient King of Ayodhya as he was guided home by the oil lamps of his people. The Sikh’s on the other hand, remember Guru Hargobind Singh Ji, his release from prison and rejoice in the freedom to practice one’s own religion. With Jainism, India’s most ancient religion, comes the desire to seek maksa: permanent happiness and the final liberation of the soul. Characterized by inner enlightenment and the triumph of good over evil, the trail of lights throughout India will follow wherever you go.

So, the Festival of Light has arrived with spectacular style in the City of Light 7000km away, but you, however, have not. The excitement of Freshers’ Fortnight has passed you by and the closest you get to streets lined with gold is wading through the bright fallen leaves walking across Victoria Park on an autumnal morning.

Think again. Leicester is a multicultural city, the first in the UK where to be white is to be an ethnic minority. It is also home to the biggest Diwali celebrations outside of India. Perhaps you’re bored of spending another forgettable night at the same old club, but even if you’re not, I urge you to take yourself down to Belgrave Road on the 28th October and sample a taste of India.

And what a taste it is. Push your way through the crowds gazing at sari-clad dancers on stage and get in the queue at one of the many local food shops that extends its hours on this, the first day of Diwali. Breathe in the spicy aromas of bhajis, samosas and aubergine fritters but whatever you do, don’t miss the sweet counter. There may not be room in your stomach to sample every shade of the kaleidoscopic delicacies before you, but if you’re sensible, there will surely be room in your bag.

Yet don’t restrict this hedonistic feeling to your stomach. Allow your eyes to take in the abundance of jewellery shops that line the street and the dazzling lights above as you wander down the famous Golden Mile to the Recreation Ground. Here, with my heels sinking into the well-trodden mud, I gaze skywards at the magnificent fireworks arching over the full moon, drawing me in with each burst of colour.

I stop for a short exchange of greetings and a snapshot picture with a jovial man in the street and remove my aching feet from my inappropriate choice of footwear. As I walk barefoot down the centre of the deserted flyover with the sounds of the Hare Krishna mantra echoing in my ears, it feels as if I’m back on the road again. Maybe, for one night only, I really am.

Emma Howard