Within moments of arriving in Artesia, California, a town in southwest Los Angeles County, known as “Little India”, the sense of being in America began dissolving to the sounds of rustling saris, the smells of incense and the twang of sitars, as I felt myself being transported to a parallel universe. It is Diwali Day, which marks the Indian new year and a festival atmosphere pervades the air. Standing on the precipice of what promised to be a fun, exciting, enriching and mind expanding adventure, my aunt and I welcomed this opportunity to get an inside glimpse into the soul of India.

On a bright shiny November afternoon as we strolled down a side street, we stumbled upon dozens of people gathered around a traditional dhol drummer. Like an Indian pied piper, her innovative, infectious rhythms seem to have instigated an impromptu street party. The sidewalks were lined with ornate, colorful paintings and illumined by tiny earthen lamps prompted up by tables laden with Indian snacks, desserts and beverages. An effusive merchant was busily passing out brightly colored gift bags to the crowd as Miss Artesia and her illustrious court, decked out in their full regalia, made their …