Holi Festival
From the far west reaches of India's Rajastan state, my next unforgettableIndian experience, quite literally, colored my trip!
Not to mention,painted, shaded, tinted and in the case of my once blonde hair, permanently dyedPINK!
“Holi”, also known as, “The Festival of Color”, is a celebration of life and harmony. A day to ignore religious and caste related separations, instead encouraging social balance and unity between all of India’s people. And what better way to portray this then with color! Smearing powdered dye’s on each other, the colorful coatings are meant to hide a person's true identity, signifying the equality between all and the breaking down of India’s long standing societal barriers.
Sounds peaceful and dignified doesn’t it? Well, it’s far from it! Holi has morphed over the years from a traditionally composed event to a full-fledged color assault. Like an Easter celebration gone mad, instead of coloring Easter eggs, people color people and instead of hunting for eggs, people hunt people.
Spending a handful of days in the city of Jaisalmer, prior to Holi, a gang of neighborhood kids had already set their sights on Clay and I. Each day taunting us with visions of the massacre they surely thought would come. Well, they were in for a surprise! Refusing to be outdone, or caught off guard, Clay and I stocked up on all the Holi necessities! First, and most obviously, we needed dye. Electric blue, canary yellow, barbie doll pink, lime green...whatever your preference, there was a bagful of colored powder waiting just for you. Or, 20 bags, in Clay and I’s case. Some Holi participants choose to use the powders in their natural form, either showering the dusty dye’s over others heads or by kindly smearing on cheeks and foreheads, but to battle our, more pugnacious adolescent opponents, we needed a more effective ammunition. |
This is where the other mandatory item for Holi comes into play. Plastic water bottles turned Super Soakers! Any old plastic 1-Liter mineral bottle will do. First, mix the powdered dyes with water and fill the bottle to the brim. Next, punch a small hole in the bottle cap before screwing it on tightly. And finally, place one finger over the hole, shake rigorously, and squeeze! Expertly designed for the most precise water emitting ability, Clay and I’s “Holi Soakers” were no joke. We were ready for war!
One, Two, Three...Go! Into the madness we flew! Speed carrying us through our enemies first line, the loose-powder battery, but as we raced onto their second artillery, a torrent of dark maroon liquid stopped us dead in our tracks. They hit us with the worst ammunition of them all, a thick, sticky, and worst of all, permanent blood-red maroon dye. Of course we didn’t realize it’s permanence until later that evening, but just its blinding effect and foul taste were enough to unnerve us. Which is another piece of advice; Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT smile! You must fight the urge to grin, smirk, or even laugh, otherwise you will receive a mouthful!! Of color, that is.
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Like a scene from Braveheart, we fought valiantly against the hundreds (ok, maybe only 20 or 30) youngsters assaulting us. Each squeeze of our Holi Soakers, spurting forth another liquid deterrent to those fighters nearest while our other free hands, continued to emit shower after shower of loose dye. But as our ammo ran low and the last of our Holi Soakers were stripped away, our defeat became evident. Each of my hands pinned down by three or four of the enemy, girls continued to pour powders over my head while boys incessantly sprayed my top, to no less, catch a glimpse of their very first Western,
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“Wet T-Shirt” contest. An issue I could easily overlook if not for the wandering hands that began finding their way north. Okay Boys, that’s enough! The battle seemed to last a lifetime, although I’m sure it only waged for 20 minutes. A valiant attempt by the Holi underdogs against the trained juveniles of Jaisalmer. But we weren’t done yet!!
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Sufficiently covered from head to toe in an array of dye’s, we decided to move towards the center of town in search of more “grown-up” opponents. Ha! The adults were worse then the kids. Bands of grown men and a few brave women allowed their inner child to possess their outer adult, ambushing friends, enemies and random passerby’s with avalanches of color. The men going particularly crazy. Flying around the town square, slathering dye on everything that moved while keeping one hand free for possible groping. Main target: female tourists. Charge! Left arm crossed over my chest with water gun (bottle) in my right, I rushed into the mob, slapping away over zealous hands and meeting them with a waterfall of color! I wasn’t going down without a fight, a fight a few of those men will not soon forget. What? I had to kick a few times too...
By the end of the festival, lasting from morning to noon, the entire town looked like a bloody battle site. Red, the most prominent of all colors, dyed almost every inch of road, shop, person, and yes, even cows! That’s right, not even cows, the “holiest” of all Hindu creatures, were safe during Holi.
Retreating back to the stark white comfort of our hotel room (well, it was white before the festival), Clay and I began the long process of de-coloring. Sloshing my hair around in bucket after bucket of cold water, not even 4 attempts at deep shampooing could rid the new look. Just call me, “Punk Reggie”. Oh well, it always makes for good conversation. “So...uh Reggie...what’s with the pink hair?”©
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