Holi: The 'colour festival' and India's answer to Christmas. It is celebrated on Phalgun Purnima which comes in February end or early March so my timing was pretty spot on.
The festival is a celebration of Good triumphing over Evil but, like western religions, combines itself with a seasonal mile stone, being the official start of summer and time for the harvest.
Tourists are warned that, if not invited to a Holi festival party, they do well to steer clear. Not only will they find themselves covered in paint, water and coloured powder but it is the time of year where those who are not accustomed to drinking really hit the bottle and the results can be a little disagreeable, especially for
women.
The celebrations started yesterday. Feeling fragile from my travels (and a party on Friday night) I staggered out to the shop to buy some bread. A little boy came running out of a house, gave me a big winning smile and poured a jug of water over me. Waterballoons rained down on all sides as I ran the gauntlet and I returned to the house gasping "Do NOT go out there!"
The flat was more than prepare though and the rest of the day had everyone
filling balloons with water and hurling them at people from the roof. At one point the entire street was engaged in warfare.
Today is the was the real thing though and by 10am there were children out on the
streets painted pink, green and blue. I was told that if you grease yourself up with coconut oil you could save your skin from permanent colouring but seeing as I seem to resemble that girl Violet who was turned into a blueberry in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' yes, even after a shower, I remain skeptical. Really I was just basting myself.
Kartik and I joined friends and started to 'play Holi' at about midday. By 5.00 we had visited several different houses, I'd had 3 buckets of coloured water emptied over me. "Your skin is too pale, it needs some colour!" and we'd driven around Delhi at top speed swigging whiskey, dancing to Punjabi Rap music and honestly believing ourselvesto be invincible. Better told afterwards hu?
Delhi was ablaze with colour, even the man in the motorway toll booth had a pink face and people whooped by in cars joyfully blaring horns at each other. Girls and boys peered at each other from behind their wheels flexing their muscles, fluttering their eye lashes, reaching for the umpteenth cigarette, cranking up the Bangra and careering off to the next party singing all the way.
The rest of the flat have just returned from another party rainbowed and exuberant.
My niggling exhaustion has been allowed to return to me now and I am stealing myself for my trip to Agra tomorrow evening. Sleep!