Monday, March 16, 2009

Holi Moley


Pink. Why did this year’s color have to be pink? What a pathetic color. I mean, is it really necessary? Perhaps my feelings for this pointless color are remnants of my days as a tomboy when I abhorred anything girlie. However, I have to admit: there is something quite satisfying about shooting young and old, human and bovine alike, with pink dye. Holi this year was on March 11th although we began to see preparations in Delhi two days prior. I was wondering why so many people were walking around with faces covered in pink powder or shirts stained pink. My friend Nishant explained to me that this was in celebration of Holi. The origins of Holi remains a mystery to me as I’ve heard as many versions of the festival’s conception as the number of times I’ve asked. All versions seem to agree that there was a character named Holika. I’m deferring to Wikipedia until there can be some consensus. Explaining the ritual of Holi Eve, Wiki writes, “The bonfires are lit in memory of the miraculous escape that young Prahlad had when Demoness Holika, sister of Hiranyakashipu, carried him into the fire. Holika was burnt but Prahlad, a staunch devotee of Lord Vishnu, escaped without any injuries due to his unshakable devotion.”

The Brit (yes, he reemerges in the story as we wound up meeting thousands of kilometers from our first encounter, in Jaisalmer, a city surrounded by the Thar Desert on the border with Pakistan) and I had spent Holi Eve searching for munitions. We needed water guns, dye (both powder and liquid), clothes that could be worn once and thrown away, and spray bottles (for maximum carnage). The townspeople gave us pointers on the best places to go. Actually, they gave the Brit pointers. They told me I would be better off staying far far away from all the action. I would find out the next day that this was in order to avoid the opportunistic gropes of prepubescent (and sometimes very pubescent) boys. In fact, the only girls I saw out and about that morning were Westerners, most of them looking confused at what they had gotten themselves into. After a 5 minute battle with the young neighborhood kids by our guesthouse, we ventured into the fort for rowdy and somewhat violent dyeing. I had an added layer of protection (which, in retrospect, I wish were a taser): my goggles.

There are certain things I always travel with and can hardly live without. Number one on the list would be earplugs. After living a block away from Times Square for a year, I became addicted to earplugs and haven’t slept without them since. I have my primary pair as well as several spares for emergency situations. After that is, of course, my passport. Perhaps passport should be number one. Next comes my computer. I don’t always travel with it but am quite attached. How else am I going to relate my experiences to you guys in a timely fashion? Somewhere on the list are my goggles. Swimming is one of the greatest pleasures in my life. You never know where you will have the chance so I carry them around just in case. My preparedness came in handy on Wednesday as goggles were the only protection from potential hazardous materials. All the newspapers were cautioning holi-players of bad dyes, explaining how most of them were coming in through China and had been shown to be not very health friendly. That might explain the burning . Anyway, after an hour, covered from head to toe in pink and sometimes red, green, and yellow dye, I was exhausted and ready to return to the hotel where a large bucket-worth of dye, thrown from the top floor, was awaiting me. No one was spared. No one. It took me 45 minutes to shower and I was still a dark pink for the following few days. Good times.

If you are looking at the photos, you might be wondering why we were wearing camel balls in some of the photos. Ask the Brit.

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