Bura Na Maano, Holi Hai

Of all festivals in India, Holi is a special one. It took me two decades to realize this! Sad

In the part of India where I grew up, the festival had lost its true meaning. Holi meant bhang, it meant rotten eggs, it meant street gang wars, it meant mud, slime, engine oil and tar, it meant tearing clothes and it meant molesting unsuspecting girls. These adulterations had meant a fear psychosis for those who did not derive the above meanings from the festival. For instance, during my early childhood at Ranchi, I never participated or witnessed a full scale Holika dhahan.

As I type this, my hands are dabbed in turmeric yellow, my face is a canvas of green and red hues and my clothes are still damp due to jets of colored water streaking from children’s ‘pichkari’. In short, for the first time, I had a ‘civilized’ Holi.

Last night, I was amazed to see the community spirit behind constructing and torching a Holi bonfire. Kids from the building had spent the day rummaging the neighborhood scouting for anything combustible – paper, straw, fallen twigs, dry leaves, golden hay and even baked cow dung cakes. They had piled these up in the form of an imperfect cone with two or three gaps along the surface to allow feeding the torches. When the night enveloped, the elders came out with pooja thalis and took over from where the children had left. A dry, husk covered coconut is offered to the fire. The burning of the coconut is symbolic of cleansing of all ills and sins. I found this rather interesting.

I think I saw a new side of Holi today.