Mayukh Pandey 1 Aarav stepped out of the dusty bus as the late afternoon sun poured its golden warmth over the narrow lanes of his hometown. The air itself felt different—charged with excitement, fragrant with gulal and marigolds, humming with the rhythm of dhols being tested for the upcoming celebration. Everywhere he looked, the streets had transformed into canvases of anticipation: shopkeepers arranging pyramids of powdered colors in brass bowls that shimmered like jewels, women stringing garlands of orange and yellow flowers across doorways, children chasing each other with premature splashes of water from their pichkaris. The town he had…