Holi

Festival Location: All Areas, India

Festival Type(s): Traditional Festivals , Cultural Festivals

Festival Photos of Holi: gallery 1

An Un-Holi Mess

by © Ian Bevis 2008

Every visitor to India knows that it is one of the most colourful, noisy, chaotic, beautiful and frustrating countries there is. The festival of Holi encapsulates the intensity and contradictory nature of the country perfectly.

Many cultures have their end of winter festivals but this has to be literally the most colourful. It doesn't really happen in the south (no winter to speak of), but in the north the coming of summer is something to look forward to. It does get cooler (and indeed cold in some areas), but if these people really want to experience a grim winter they should try living on the west coast of the UK! However, just as the TV in India is cranked up to full volume and colour, winter is just too dull for them. So in celebration of the end of winter people go out into the streets or onto the roofs...and throw paint at each other. These days it's not the tasteful pastel shades of natural colours but the lurid shock of synthetic dyes often containing poisonous compounds like lead salts. The paint is in a powdered form called gulal which is sold in little bags by street vendors. Sometimes it is dissolved in water and squirted out of plastic guns sold specially for the purpose.

During Holi the normal boundaries of society are broken down. Gulal is smeared on the faces of the opposite sex which is unusual in such a conservative society. Indeed, in some villages the women get the upper hand and beat the men with sticks; quite refreshing as society can feel rather male dominated. Historical paintings show maharajas playing Holi with their courtesans very joyfully. It seems that playing Holi is important; one does not have to play if one does not want to.

Sounds great eh? Unfortunately there are negative aspects which result in many tourists avoiding the festivities as much as possible.

Many foreign tourists to India occasionally get worn down by unwanted attention. Women especially can suffer attention and disrespect from some local men. During Holi that means being especially targeted, whether one wishes to play or not. In addition to the paint being a little toxic, harmful substances are sometimes added resulting in skin damage. First hand reports that I heard included a Swedish woman who had gulal mixed with broken glass thrown over her. Another year in Bharatpur a mob gathered for two hours outside the house where she was staying, waiting for her to come out. A Scottish woman had been hit from behind so hard that her neck continued to give her pain that night. There are many reports that the celebrations are used as an excuse to grope women; the large amounts of alcohol and bhang (a cannabis derivative) consumed being contributing factors.

A newspaper article gave a list of helpful dos and don'ts that began...

Before playing, rub cream or grease into the face and hands to stop the chemicals being absorbed into the skin (ok, good tip).
Avoid putting oil on the skin as this will help the skin absorb chemicals (and the difference between oil and grease is..?)

Signs in Delhi urged people to use natural colours only. Then again, there are signs urging people to queue, drive safely and not to smoke on trains!

Our Holi experience started in Vrindivan five days before the big event. Krishna hung out there as a youngster so this is a big Hindu pilgrimage site. My wife and I were heading to a hotel in an autorickshaw but encountered huge crowds of daytrippers and the police were turning back vehicles. This meant a two kilometre walk with rucksacks through the masses. We were disturbed to see the first signs of Holi; people with bright pink hair and clothing carrying evil little bags of dayglo powder. We knew that this was going to be hassle. A group of young men (the usual culprits as it turned out) moved in waiting for their moment. "Please don't" I said in my most assertive tone, looking them squarely in the eyes. As soon as my back was turned a hand came around and my eyes and mouth were filled with pretty pink powder probably containing a plutonium salt. That young man lost his bag of gulal as I grabbed it. The next man (who grabbed my wife) lost his scarf. A third threw a handful hard into my wife's face as he sneaked by and got pushed over. The crowd was heaving and it started to feel a tad oppressive. I had to get a grip otherwise I was going to get into a fight. A cycle rickshaw driver took dreadful advantage of our plight but we were hardly going to bargain the price down. We donned hats, sunglasses and neckerchiefs so that we resembled Michael Jackson taking his kids to the zoo. Cycling along we were liberally sprinkled, but that was ok; so were the locals. It actually looked pretty we told ourselves and took comfort that some Indian women were getting angry with the groups of 'stags' ( as young men are sometimes called in India). Pestering women is called 'Eve baiting' by the way. Recently the grand nephew of the prime minister tired to prevent some men doing it on a train. They took the only reasonable course and threw him off, killing him.

We dived into the first hotel we found. The receptionist asked us if were enjoying Holi. "No!" we cried in unison. He went on to proudly tell us that although Holi wasn't for another five days it had started here, as this was the most important region in the country for the festival. "How lucky" I said, false grin plastered on my face, teeth glowing like I'd lunched on disclosing tablets.

Strangely it quietened down about after two pm. We ventured out, visited some lovely temples and ended up relaxing by the river, watching the terrapins and imagining Krishna frolicking with the milkmaids three and a half thousand years ago (he was an Eve baiter too by all accounts). Then we heard the tell tale over excited squeals and manic high pitched laughter of a group of men. Sure enough a rotund, mustachioed gent gained kudos in front of his friends by smearing paint on my wife. I grabbed his arm, he got angry and I received another faceful.

This left us fearful of going to Delhi and the Paharganj area in particular, with its crazy, hectic reputation. It was however a breeze compared to Vrindivan. There were a lot of foreigners so at least it wouldn't all be thrown at us. Indeed it was very low key until the big day, though we heard it was quite testing in Old Delhi the day before.

On the day itself we stayed in, venturing out to the balcony to see the multi coloured carnage below. I imagine that a massacre viewed under the influence of LSD would look similar. There were a few foreigners gamely taking part, but not many. At lunchtime we scuttled around the corner to a normally deserted café. It was packed to the gills with nervous looking foreigners, wincing whenever they spied the state the sporting tourists were in.

Back at the hotel we felt proceedings were drawing to a close. Outside there were just a few dazed, wasted revelers staggering home. A whale of a man was crashed out in the back of a cycle rickshaw, his belly rippling as the driver navigated the potholes. A little later shops started opening, people washed down the streets and non participants in clean clothes stepped out. And thus it ended, with a fizzle rather than a bang.

Skin remains stained for days and some poverty stricken people were destined to look psychedelic for some time. The insides of buses too were splattered and a week after the event our train bore the signs of an attack. Someone, maybe too poor to buy gulal, had heaved a huge cow turd through the window and the compartment was pebble-dashed with the stuff.

And my feelings on the festival? Disappointment at myself for not reacting in a calmer way in Vrindivan; but also a little sad. Sad that the experience there turned me off wanting to play any part in what for many is a joyful tradition. Maybe I'm a grumpy Englishman and maybe I've lost some of my sense of humor with regards India. It's just that occasionally here I feel like a monkey in a cage being prodded and pestered until I give a reaction, any reaction. I'll bet a large sum of money though that like so many other exasperated visitors to the country, I'll be itching to come back again.

by Ian Bevis

Festival Photos of Holi: gallery 1