I am home this year for Holi. I think I am home after a long time. Holi has a special love and hate relationship with me. Hate because it would come during exam and love because we have so much to eat. And no one asking to attend the study.
Holi has been memorable during childhood when I would get to be with my grandparents. The eating session would be as early as 6 am with aloo paratha and other sweets. We would have had over 20-course meals as the day finishes.
Post breakfast entire village would be on its toe. People sedated on bhag, ganja, and alcohol would be roaming, dancing, laughing. Everyone singing phagua songs, some beating dhol, some jhaal, or others varied instruments. One day in their life, the pains would have disappeared, their fights among fellow villagers would have taken a back seat. Most of us would have been in our torn dresses as after playing Holi, that will get thrown.
We had some miscreants who would paint everyone in grease or other chemicals that would take days to clear, unlike natural colors. We would look like a rainbow or absolute dark gutter with only teeth and eyes visible.
In the afternoon, our platoon of kids would be in the nahar or boarding pump cleansing ourselves. It would take at least a week for color to disappear. By late afternoon, early evening, it would be time for Gulaal. We would bow to elders, put them abeer, get blessings and eat maalpua, dal puri, and mutton.
Thankfully, I see the tradition has been kept alive with a new generation. I am an observer now, watching them run breakfree, fight and paint their peers. It bought back all my memories.
Holi hai and Rang Barse songs are on loudspeakers all around. This time holi is different, more people, more joy and, feel like a festivity.
