Holi, the leveller

Pristine off-white salwar kameez with a zari border that reminds one of Kerala's traditional sarees. Past its usable stage, but alright for homewear. Somehow I wanted to make it a souvenir of the day. After all, I was to play Holi after 17 whole years! And did not want to miss it where it is played the most.

My husband and I made it just in time to the Holi party in our colony quadrangle, when I was given a cold welcome -- yeah cold. The coloured water someone poured over me was really cold. Through the next couple of hours, I got drenched in two more buckets. And lots of pitchkari and water packet attacks.

Most of the people there were neighbours. Many who I did not recognise, a chunk who I did not know beyond their familiar faces. But the colour flow on each others' cheeks, hair, and dresses, was generous. Copper Sulphate blue, Green, Yellow, Red, Magenta, Purple, some colours with fragrance. And so was the dancing under make-shift showers drenching people. Upbeat Holi songs made even women hiding themselves away in their homes on other days, break into impromptu dances. For once, it did not matter which region of the country you came from, or if you even understood those Marathi song lyrics. The beats and the lilting music mattered.

My husband, who was reluctant to play Holi last year, made it a point to enjoy himself thoroughly this year. And so did neighbours, some who would never have played with colours all their lives.

If one did not know a neighbour, it wad time for introduction. If it was someone you had a fight with, it was time to forget and forgive. What makes one greet a complete stranger and even hug them during a festival like this? Is it merely the need to feel a sense of community? Or shedding of that bloated ego?

Shedding inhibitions does not come easy in these times of thirst for hate. Nor should one rely on religion to bring about that feeling of oneness. But Thank God for festivals such as this, when even religion takes a backseat in revelry.

During my college days, fellow students from the Christian Seminary Dharmaram run by Keralite priests was a favourite haunt during Onam. Why? Because the seminarians - brothers as we addressed our classmates studying for priesthood, would exhibit amazing flower rangolis during the three day gala. I have seen some of the best ever patterns made by these men in their religious service. In reality, Onam is a very Hindu festival with a legend rooted in Vishnu's dashavatara. But if adopted, it can enrich one's culture so beautifully!

I found such a fervour in Holi on Wednesday. By late evening, when my husband and I went back to the colour-floored quadrangle full of plastic litter, there were more faces we could smile at. Faces we knew no names of. Faces that smiled at us, without hesitation.
Thank God for Holi! Thank God, for those two ours of happiness. My stained salwar kameez bears testimony to it, and will, for years to come.