Holi Hai Bhai Holi Hai!
- navakallc
- Mar 23, 2024
- 4 min read
As spring draws nearer and the sun starts shining on the plants again, waking them up from their wintry slumber, I can’t help but reminisce in nostalgia about all the fun things that happen in India this time of year. For those who celebrate, I want to wish you all a very happy Holi!
Holi is an Indian festival celebrated each year, a festival of colors. Since Indian culture follows the Hindu calendar, the dates for this holiday fluctuate between some day in March. There are two days to this festival, with different rituals, both as important and who won’t be functional without the other. The first tradition involves a big bonfire and a history behind it. One of the mythological stories behind it goes like this.
There was once a King, Hiranyakashapu, and his son, Prahalada, living in a big palace. The king was narcissistic and wanted everyone to worship him as the king of the kingdom. Though Prahalada was a dedicated devotee to a God, Vishnu, which the King was enraged by. He did everything he could to convince his son to snap out of his worship, but he wouldn’t budge. Slowly, the king deemed all sorts of plans to kill Prahalada, but he was always saved by God Vishnu as a boon to his worship.
Soon, the king became brash and irrational, and asked his sister, Holika, for help. Holika was another demon, who due to her virtue to a God had gotten a boon, which claimed that nothing on this earth can kill you, and you will be safe in fire, as long as you don’t misuse your gift. The last part which, of course, she had conveniently forgotten. She agreed to light herself on fire and hold Prahalada, which was a plan to supposedly kill Prahalada and save her. Though the complete opposite happened because of her misuse. She was devasted and asked the Gods for forgiveness. As an act of forgiveness, they promised her that every year, there will be a bonfire lit in her name, as a form of worship. Which is how Holi came to be.
This is the mythological story I’ve grown up listening from my grandmother, curling up next to her on summer nights and listening as she iterated it to me for the thousandth time. Each year, in my neighborhood in India, they lit a bonfire and walked around it, to rid all the misfortunes and bad deeds they’ve committed over the past year. This ritual is similar to bathing in river Ganga, which can also erase all your bad deeds and make you a better person. I believe that is true, not because I’m superstitious, but the act itself is so peaceful and calm, that it unites you with nature (Earth’s elements) and gives you a sense of community. That is a significant part of Indian culture. Community. All the festivals consist of that. Another boon to this ritual is the ash you receive after the ceremony is over, which is fertile, and can be spread over agriculture fields as a way to welcome a prosperous harvest season.
The second part of the festival is much more colorful and outgoing, and, based on what I thought until I was 10 years old, much more fun. This, in my opinion is the greatest water and color fight on the planet. This is the day you put powdered color on each other’s faces and spray them with water as a colorful way to end the holiday.
My friends and I would form large groups, almost like color war gangs a week before the actual holiday, which would be our stage. We would fill water balloons and mix color in it, throwing it at other groups and claiming our victory over them. Our game was an amalgamation of capture the flag and paintball, adding our Indian twist to it. We would sit and plan our strategy, which would be the optimal way to win the war on the day of. We would get our respective money from our parents, taking it to nearby shops and buying small water guns, color packets and balloons, proud to hand the money over and buy it all by ourselves.
Now, there was one more piece of equipment crucial for the game, and that was the water gun itself. It ranged from all sizes and shapes, and my friends and I had each gotten the biggest one there was. I was proudly strutting around with the bright pink water bag attacked to my back like a backpack. While it was heavy for our tiny little structures and difficult to run in, we were determined to carry them all by ourselves, refilling them and drenching every passerby on the holiday. In the main setting, all of us would go as a big group and get sopping wet, and full of color that at some point no one could recognize each other.
Along the year, I would never throw away my old clothes because they would always be useful to wear on the day of Holi, because once covered in color and water, they were impossible to restore again. I loved hanging out with my friends, all 6 of us arm in arm as we proudly walked out of the area, proud of the mark we left.
I miss it sometimes, the thrill, the energy and most of all my friends. Though I celebrate it in Redmond too. It’s small scale sure, and without water, but the important thing is remising those times, the memories still searing hot in my mind, like a carving engraved in rock. - Navaka