Holi-Moly!!

Holi-Moly!! Yesterday was India's festival of colours and today I'm a bright shade of pink, with blue spots. Out of context, bizarre, but no so unusual here. Luckily I'm not the only person of colour here in Pushkar. Holi, a crazy night/day filled with bonfires, water-fights and the throwing of coloured powder, marks a Hindu story where the son of the King of Demons denies his fathers wishes and worships the God Vishnu. While the Demon King makes many attempts on his life, the son remains faithful and the attempts fail. Finally he is ordered by his father into a fire. His devotion to Vishnu spares him but his unfaithful sister, demoness Holika (hence the name of the festival- Holi), perishes despite wearing a magic shall that is meant to spare her (for more info on Holi, visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi). The festivities begin the night before the festival with a large bon fire. Here in Pushkar, I gathered among a group of locals and foreigners to witness the lighting of a large pile of hay and a small tree. After various prayers were said, the pile was illuminated and we watched as the fire ate it way through the hay climbing in vicious swirls of orange and red to a height of 20 feet. The heat was intense and as the fire grew the crowds retreated in a bit of a fury. It got so hot that I felt as if my skin would burn from being near it. I was struck by how mad it all seemed. And then, as soon as the madness peaked, the hay all devoured, the fire abated and shrunk. Within a few minutes all that remained was a large, smouldering pile of ash. Men with shovels scooped up hunks of smouldering ash, red with coals and navigated their way through the narrow streets, maneuvering nimbly through the crowds. I know not to where they were headed or to what end. Perhaps to temple alters. Perhaps to their homes. To purify. To bless. As I watched the fire abate, I was struck by how what had seemed so mad a few moments ago was now so controlled. How this massive fire had been lit. Young and old, men and women had watched. So close to such a dangerous thing. And still, not one person hurt. Not one misplaced ember. Years of experience. With fire, with the village, with how much hay and towering how high. Experience that made it ok. Experience that we take for granted at times. The wisdom of elders. Of doing something one way simply because it has always been done that way.

Perhaps Holi is best known as a festival of colours. The next day is celebrated as people play with coloured powders and water in what can become a bit of a silly free for all. In the week proceeding, carts selling piles of powder in vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, blues, greens, pinks, purples and sometimes black, line the streets. The mayhem in Pushkar was wacky. Having received mixed reviews on whether or not it was worth going to the town square (or safe for women), I decided to brave the madness and plunge right in. 'Full Power. 24 Hour. No Toilet, No Shower'. Adorned in a faded black t-shirt (purchased for the event), and armed with powder, a water bottle and water gun, I, along with a group of unsuspecting tourists headed off to battle. And battle it was. What could and should be a fun sharing of colours, sadly becomes malicious as men's shirts are torn off and women are accosted from all sides. Indian women, armed with adequate knowledge and experience stay home and play with their families. Unsuspecting Western women, myself included, are met with a huge group of colourful men, some drunk (although alcohol is banned in this holy city), some stoned (on bang lassi- marijuana milkshakes), and some hepped up on the craziness and apparent lack of rules that dominate the day. It's somewhat surreal for me to say that I was accosted and attacked in various ways by purple men, blue men, pink men, yellow men, green men, and multi-coloured men. Nonetheless, I was armed and those who crossed the line were greeted first by my watergun and later by my elbows and fists. Bizarre enough to see herds of topless, colouful men, more bizarre was perhaps the trance music that played starting in early morning hours. Likely not the traditional musical choice but well suited to the madness that ensued. If there is repression in this culture, festivals such as these allow it to come out in strange ways. When I finally emerged from the crowd, myself and my companions were unrecognizable. Having spent moments in every colour of the rainbow and having stayed the course, I arrived back at my hotel tie-dyed and dead-tired. Glad to have played Holi and given my pink shade today and the obvious approval for it that I have received from Indians in the street, feeling that depite a bloody battle, I may have emerged victorious.