- Shweta S, Mumbai-New York

A bonfire at night

Gulal on my forehead

Sweets on a platter

Warding off the evil

Start of a new season

Holi, the festival of color is amongst the few festivals that are celebrated across India in equal jest. It’s like Diwali but instead of lighting crackers, we splash color and water on each other.

Personally, I have never been a holi fan. My favorite part of holi has always been the bonfire we lit as kids back home. As the moon lit the night, the warmth of the fire would provide relief from the slight chill in the weather. I can never forget the sight of the bonfire burning endlessly through the night.

We would all gather around the bonfire to pray and offer coconut and puran poli (a special Maharashtrian sweet). Holi symbolizes the beginning of a warm season, and mythological end of evil- a demon named Holika was burnt alive in the fire. Today, Holika has come to symbolize the evil within ourselves and we burn this evil in the bonfire. I am sure I didn’t burn mine but it was fun to shout out loud to everyone to come and enjoy the lighting of bonfire.

Of this two day festival, it’s the second day that people (especially kids and youngsters) look forward to. This is the day of- dhulivandan. On this day, people throw color and colored water on each other and these days whatever fancies them not limited to eggs and mud. After tiring yourself with this, many enjoy bhang, the intoxicating drink prepared specially for this day.

I have never been an enthusiast about holi. I was always the first person to look for safety after the bonfire was lit because my friends. They believed every second of this two day splash was crucial and shouldn’t be wasted. Therefore color splashing should begin as soon as possible. So I would always have to make my way skillfully, carefully and most cases running towards my apartment at record breaking speed. When neither was possible, I would get away by promising my friend to come the next day to play and excuse myself with just a dash of gulal (pink color) rubbed over my forehead.

It was the second day which was the pain for me. I would be the last person to enter the grounds. Ok.. a bit spoilsport but I never wanted to get all colored..it’s such a pain to get rid of the color. You can’t recognize your face for next 1-2 days depending upon the intensity of your play and type of color painted upon your face. My friends would threaten to enter into our house and my mom to avoid coloring our floor would force me out. So there I was every year unsuccessfully trying hard to excuse myself from this ordeal. But past few years made me tolerant. It had something to do with the fact that my friends had realized they don’t need horrible colors that last for days to enjoy the festival. and I too started to enjoy it. Last couple of years before I came to US, we had mademy home a permanent adda (hangout)to meet after playing and to refresh. We all would careful place newspapers from the door to my balcony and to the bathrooms. People had to walk only on newspapers. It was for easy cleaning

This became a day when all my friends- school, college, friend’s friend, would come to one place and hang out together and we would all play as if we know each other forever. It was fun.

This is my 2nd year of not playing this festival and I proudly admit I miss it. I miss running in search of safety. I miss my friends’ knocking on my door threatening me dire consequence if I didn’t come out. I miss throwing water balloon on passer bys and hiding myself when it hit someone. I miss the buckets of colored water and the dash of gulal on my forehead.

Image via iindia