The manifold hues of Holi
AH, Holi! That glorious festival in which we drench our friends in colour, and our homes in the unmistakable scent of sweets, revelry and mild chaos. It’s an occasion when history, mythology and sheer mischief collide in a kaleidoscope of fun.
Holi is rooted in the eternal love story of Radha and Krishna. The ever-playful Krishna, jealous of Radha’s fair complexion, decided to level the playing field by smearing her with colours, thus beginning a tradition of people expressing love and joy with powdered hues. Then there’s the fiery tale of Holika and Prahlad. The villainous Holika, convinced that she was fireproof (a tragic miscalculation), attempted to burn her pious nephew at the stake. The flames, however, consumed her instead, leaving Prahlad unharmed. The moral? Good triumphs over evil, but also, never trust dodgy fire-resistant claims.
Thus, Holi became a festival celebrating both divine love and the ultimate cosmic smackdown of villains. But for those of us who grew up with children who revelled in its festivities, Holi was so much more — it was war.
My sons — seasoned ‘Generals’ in the battlefield of colour — knew that preparation was the key. You didn’t just wake up and throw colours around willy-nilly. No, you planned. The night before Holi was dedicated to collecting the deadliest shades of black, blue and sometimes green — colours that would stain a person’s soul, let alone the skin. Grease, oil, possibly even dye (we were never entirely sure what we were dealing with), rotting eggs, etc. were critical components of their arsenal.
Balloons filled with the vile stuff rained down on their victims. Buckets were placed strategically, rooftops became sniper towers, and unsuspecting ‘frenemies’ found themselves lured into ambushes they never saw coming. And it wasn’t uncommon for them to remain stubbornly blue for weeks, scrubbing their skin like tragic Shakespearean characters desperately trying to erase their guilt.
And the sweets — oh, the sweets! Before ‘sugar-free’ and ‘gluten-conscious’ came into vogue, my sons would consume kilos of gujiyas, laddoos and malpuas. Energy was required, after all. Attacking and defending took skill, and nothing fuelled the battle strategy like deep-fried, syrup-drenched ‘bombs’.
As I look at my little grandson, innocent and uninitiated, I long for the days when Holi was less about ‘organic colours’ and ‘environmental consciousness’ and more about full-blown tactical warfare. I wonder if he will grow up with the same joy, the same reckless abandon. Will he strategise, prepare and go to battle with colour-stained hands and a face his mother will despair over scrubbing clean? I hope so. Because in our ever-careful, proper world, Holi is one of the last great traditions where chaos is encouraged. And what is life without a little madness, a little mess and the promise that good will always triumph — even if, for a few days, you remain suspiciously blue, black and green?
