On Monday morning, the man who politely took my coffee order had finger nails stained with blue and orange.
"Is that everything, Ma'am?"
On the way over, I asked an older woman if I was correct in thinking that we were on Ambedkar Road (street signs are relatively rare). Yesterday's colours looked fresh in hair: pink and blue streaks. I looked down at my toes poking out of my sandals, and my nails were a stubborn red (even today). Luckily, I managed to get all the purple colour out of my teeth that day.
It was easy to see that morning who was celebrating Holi the day before. Also known as the festival of colour, Holi is the one day out of the year you can throw 'colour' (coloured powder or water), at your friends, and strangers and it will only lead to laughter.
I had been excited about this festival since before coming to India. Between breakfast and waiting for more friends to arrive, me and a couple of friends stood on the balcony, surveying the scene and attacking passerbys with colour. Once we started with the coloured water, many of them were inviting our attacks, jumping around below. The best was surprising the unexpecting, who were just strolling around. There is something hilarious about a serious, business looking type coloured like a fruit basket. Most entertaining was the stone faced watchman, who stood at the foot of the building, eyes watching out for tresspassers, from a face that was green and yellow.
Thinking I would have an upper hand, clearing the little ones by a couple of feet and longer legs, I didn't suspect how seriously they would prepare for the day. While my friends and I were throwing colour by hand, they were armed with water guns, linked to packs on their backs that seemingly had an endless supply.
When I first heard of Holi back home, I had read that it originated from a story about Lord Krishna. Krishna, it is said, had dark skin and was jealous of his lover, Radha's, light skin, so he decided to throw different colours at her.
Since, a friend of mine shared a story with me, which I have heard as a more common explanation, about a demon lord named Hiranyakashyap. He demanded that everyone in his kingdom praise him, but to his surprise, his own son refused, and praised another god. Outraged, his father tried to kill him many times, but the son, Prahlad, was always saved by Lord Vishnu. Knowing that his daughter, Holika, had the power to enter fire unscathed, Hiranyakashyap told her to take Prahlad into her lap and into the fire. Prahlad continued to pray to the gods and was saved for his devotion; whereas, Holika did not know that she only had the power to enter a fire unscathed when she was by herself, and died.
Holi comes from the name Holika and is a celebration of good over evil. It is also a celebration of the victory of a devotee.
It's a really beautiful festival, and just another reason that I love India.
"Is that everything, Ma'am?"
On the way over, I asked an older woman if I was correct in thinking that we were on Ambedkar Road (street signs are relatively rare). Yesterday's colours looked fresh in hair: pink and blue streaks. I looked down at my toes poking out of my sandals, and my nails were a stubborn red (even today). Luckily, I managed to get all the purple colour out of my teeth that day.
It was easy to see that morning who was celebrating Holi the day before. Also known as the festival of colour, Holi is the one day out of the year you can throw 'colour' (coloured powder or water), at your friends, and strangers and it will only lead to laughter.
I had been excited about this festival since before coming to India. Between breakfast and waiting for more friends to arrive, me and a couple of friends stood on the balcony, surveying the scene and attacking passerbys with colour. Once we started with the coloured water, many of them were inviting our attacks, jumping around below. The best was surprising the unexpecting, who were just strolling around. There is something hilarious about a serious, business looking type coloured like a fruit basket. Most entertaining was the stone faced watchman, who stood at the foot of the building, eyes watching out for tresspassers, from a face that was green and yellow.
Thinking I would have an upper hand, clearing the little ones by a couple of feet and longer legs, I didn't suspect how seriously they would prepare for the day. While my friends and I were throwing colour by hand, they were armed with water guns, linked to packs on their backs that seemingly had an endless supply.
When I first heard of Holi back home, I had read that it originated from a story about Lord Krishna. Krishna, it is said, had dark skin and was jealous of his lover, Radha's, light skin, so he decided to throw different colours at her.
Since, a friend of mine shared a story with me, which I have heard as a more common explanation, about a demon lord named Hiranyakashyap. He demanded that everyone in his kingdom praise him, but to his surprise, his own son refused, and praised another god. Outraged, his father tried to kill him many times, but the son, Prahlad, was always saved by Lord Vishnu. Knowing that his daughter, Holika, had the power to enter fire unscathed, Hiranyakashyap told her to take Prahlad into her lap and into the fire. Prahlad continued to pray to the gods and was saved for his devotion; whereas, Holika did not know that she only had the power to enter a fire unscathed when she was by herself, and died.
Holi comes from the name Holika and is a celebration of good over evil. It is also a celebration of the victory of a devotee.
It's a really beautiful festival, and just another reason that I love India.
I wonder how Canadians would react to having colours thrown at them by strangers on the street.
ReplyDeleteThat looks like so much fun! This Canadian would react nicely, haha. I especially love the photo of the two men sitting idly by, in just the most vivid colours. You write beautifully, Rudayna!
ReplyDelete