Another Holi is over.
As
I look at the mixed colours of the flowers outside, I can almost see
three little girls, Sonal, Vanita and Gowri, sitting at the edge of the
flower bed and drying themselves in the hot sun on another lawn in
another time. They seem sad that Holi is over but are already making
plans for next year. They'll have more water and colours ready next time
to throw at Babloo, Vivian, Vernon, Bobby and Uday.
What
a happy thought - next year! Only 364 days to go! Next year they will
all be one year older - one year closer to playing the boring Holi that
Viji, Rekha, Manju and others go and play at Mamta Sinha's house,
playing the dholak and singing songs.
But
not as bad as Maiji and Babuji's Holi, all they did was walk around the
colony going to each house with the uncles and aunties, carrying dry
colour and putting only a little bit of that on each others' foreheads.
Some doors never opened on Holi.
Maiji's
plateful of ellu urundai was kept ready for visitors in the front
veranda and next to it there was a plate with packets of red and green
colour. Gupta Uncle, Uday's father, wore a starched white dhoti. Aunty,
tiny next to him, in a fluffy white saree. Uncle had the second biggest
smile - Babuji's was the biggest!
The
girls would sit there in the sun until they were called home to have
their baths and then eat. They knew that there'd be no more hot water
baths allowed after today.
No sweaters needed, either, and best of all, they could switch on the fans in the evening.
6 comments:
This stirs up so many memories of childhood that astonish me now - being chucked into the garden pond by army 'uncles,' hiding behind a curtain, bath water heated on a wood fire. I don't play Holi anymore but your evocative post brings back the nostalgia of Holis past.
Ah how come I never told you about the oh so not boring Holi on the Kakkar terrace where Bhaisaheb and other male cousins would lift us and dunk us in the water tank ? Hehe
Took me back to the time of simpler meaningful pleasures, didn't realise then we'd lose it...does this happen with all generations i wonder
I deliberately left out references to my memories of the unpleasant aspects of "grown up" holis - like the creepy senior boy from the 'outer row' of houses who would turn up to 'colour us thoroughly' and then wheel around on his cycle in the evening, grinning away, to ask us if we'd managed to wash off his colour.
Woh bhi ek time tha! Having stayed in Chennai for the last four decades, Holi has become a distant memory. Only once in this period, three young research scholars came to my cabin at the Bschool I was teaching and played sanskarik Holi - a bit of gulal on the shoes and a Tikka on my forehead!
😃
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