Holi! The festival of colors.

There is a Hindu holiday called Holi also known as the festival of colors.  It is celebrated in early March in India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and Nepal.  Holi is a holiday that celebrates the coming of spring.  People fill the streets wearing white and throw brightly colored paint at each other, singing songs and dancing through the streets.  The festival is actually only one day but like Christmas it is too much fun for only twenty four hours.  So, some people take to the streets the day before with their paint. But mostly the night before there are bonfires in the street with lots of singing and dancing.  It is a rather rambunctious celebration in the middle of a very restrained society.  So people jump at the opportunity to let their hair down, so to speak.  In the guide book my mother gave to me for Christmas it specifically states that Holi is "not for the faint of heart".  

The night before Rachel and I headed to New Market with the intention of buying white shirts.  We walked by the many street venders only to disappointed by their lack of white clothing and eventually ended up at a store similar to a Kmart.  The men's section seemed to be the most promising and so we proceeded to paw through the racks.  There is a very strange common occurrence among the Indian youth.  There are hordes of young (and sometimes not so young) men sporting shirts with famous western brands that are just slightly misspelled.  Or perhaps they just wear shirts that sport a hodge-podge images, logos and phrases associated with a specific country.  Perhaps a shirt with the union jack, polo players, the tower of London and then the phrase like "no rulz generation" or "born to worship".  Then of course there are shirts that don't actually say anything but are just a bizarre cartoon with a jumble of letters.  So, Rachel and I had a bit of work cut out for us.  These were going to be our Holi shirts, they had to be perfect.  After finding a few gems, including one that claimed that the wearer was "sofa king cool" Rachel settled on a shirt that said vintage with some scribbles and a victrola and I chose a shirt that said Aerosmit.  That's right, not Aerosmith but Aerosmit.  So now with our proper attire we were ready to party!

Cynthia, Rachel and I had decided that we would head out to breakfast the next morning at 9:00, but as I was waking up around 8:00 I was greeted by Rachel who was already splattered with color saying that we should get going, because there was so much fun to be had. Cynthia and I dressed quickly and we nervously headed out into the unknown.  

I was ecstatic to experience Holi, but much like when you are about to  get on a giant roller coaster or tube slide, nerves fill your body at the last minute and suddenly you hesitate.  I knew that I was going to be covered in paint by the end of the day but at the last moment I was seriously questioning my choice to actually wear white.  My two companions had opted for colors that seemed to present them as less of an obvious target where I felt like I was wearing a sign that said "come and get me".  

Holi played a huge part in one of the Bollywood movies I had seen.  The streets were filled with energetic adults and children alike screaming and celebrating.  I seemed to be filled with that dilemma of wanting to play but wary of the consequences, much like a water balloon fight.  But as we emerged onto the street I caught my first glimpse of the celebration. There was singing while people danced around smearing the paint all over each other and one particular shop owner sprayed people down with a hose.  We danced our way through crowd and came out mostly clean and sought out breakfast.  

We sat down at an outdoor cafe and marveled as customers breezed in and out and resembled not people but swamp zombies.  I don't think I have rushed through a breakfast that quickly since arriving here.  We walked through the streets listening for the sound of drums to find where the people were and immediately joined in the fun.  We were dancing an getting our face grabbed by many people we had never laid eyes on before, who each added another stroke to an ever evolving piece of art where our faces and bodies served as the canvas.  There was only one problem, none of us had thought to purchase paint.  We all recognized the blunder in our preparations and decided that it needed to be remedied immediately.  

Taking off in the other direction we ran towards the vendor where a spanish girl said we could purchase supplies.  And after begrudgingly dropping a good deal of rupees we were ready to go.  Cynthia had picked a rich deep purple where I chose bright sunshine yellow and Rachel opted for jungle green.  We left the stand and began to hunt for action.  

We scampered about town passing by the many shops that were understandably closed. This was by far one of the strangest mornings in Kolkata.  Except for where the party was happening, which was transient, the city was a ghost town.  We moved around in search people to play with.  Along the way we came across many street children who we generously shared our powder paint with and shenanigans ensued.  They screamed with delight, attacked and then retreated.  I love playing these types of games with children.   The stakes are always so high.  This is real life and it's life or death.  You can see it in their eyes even if you can't understand their language.  

Several times in the middle of our game of paint war reporters and photographers appeared it of nowhere and snapped photos and interviewers asked questions.  This was rather comical since it happen several times and they were different people each time.  We obliged their interviews and got our pictures taken with the locals with no mention of what publication or station they were from.  I guess that is an American thing.  

At one point when we had run out of ammunition we returned to the vendor to get more.  This time we bought regular powder and some to mix into water.  I wanted to be heavily armed this time.  After we refreshed our supplies our attention was diverted by a group of kids playing by a fountain.  We curiously wandered over eager to play and they rushed over to share their exuberance with the white girls.  We were spray and pelted with water and paint and somehow Cynthia, despite my warnings, ended up in the fountain.  The kids were screaming with mirth and delight to see this American girl floundering around this fountain in an outdoor shopping complex in a full length skirt.  It was quite a sight. When she emerged we decided to leave this unruly group.  As we turned to leave we became aware of the still growing audience that we, or rather Cynthia had attracted.

Eventually we wound our way back to Sudder street where we rejoined the main celebration.  I must say that it was quite a sight to behold.  You could easily attack someone with your paint and then realize after that it was someone that you work with.  I saw a Danish guy I volunteered with who had only recently arrived, was nearly paint free but sporting the tattered remains of what I only can imagine was his shirt.  At one point I turned around to see a giant pink monster and then recognized Sam's voice.  I danced through the crowd spraying people and children who appeared to be too clean with my purple water paint and magenta powder.  The air was filled with bright colors.  At times I felt as if I were in a psychedelic dream.   

After a while the party began to dissipate.   We sat down took look at the pictures we had taken  when a police officer showed up and told up that we needed to go back to our hostel.  We told him that we didn't have anymore paint and that we were being peaceful and minding our own business.  This only seemed to aggravate him and he became rather hostile.  I checked my phone and it said that it was 12:30 PM.  That's right, 12:30 in the afternoon.  Growing impatient with his attitude, I asked him why we had to leave when we weren't being a nuisance.  This was not and endearing statement and we were give the boot with no explanation.  I went, knowing that I would really regret my mouth if I managed to get arrested, but it was with a very sour attitude.  

So, that was it.  Three and a half hours and some of the best memories I have of being here.  Although, I will say that after the process of getting clean was extensive and I had a slightly more pinkish tint to my skin than was normal.  But I'd rather that then the people who looked like they were part smurf for the next few days. 

 Holi in short, is the best.