We Celebrated Holi
We celebrated Holi in my condominium a few days back, but I refused to participate. I preferred my pristine brown skin to remain brown and unsullied by colored powder and water. After cleaning the flat, my friends protested, but I lay in bed all day. I've paid my dues. Local hoodlums plastered me with boot polish and silver paint as a child. I had to wash with detergents for a few days before the horrible stuff left my skin. I've done six years of mud baths, and I played Holi in the snow (in Beijing). A girl ripped my shirt off one year ago but married someone else. In Barsana, Braj Bhoomi, the force of the crowd's uncontrolled movement picked me up and deposited me in a smelly gutter. But I counted myself lucky that day: no bruises, broken bones, or smashed camera body and lens. After dusting myself off, I resumed photographing the madness. The clothes were unimportant: after three days in Braj Bhoom, I was ready to discard them, anyway.
Holi in Braj Bhoomi
I shot the images in this post in Nandgaon, Braj Bhoomi. The local people of the twin villages of Nandgaon and Barsana play 'lath-maar' Holi. On the first day, the men from Nandgaon travel to Barsana, where the women smack them with lathis. On the second day, it happens the other way around.
The men consider it a privilege to be chosen for the whacking, and the women hit their shields with gusto. Villagers fatten the women for a month before Holi to ensure they are in fine fettle. Before being whacked, the men sing songs to taunt the women. It is all in the spirit of an ancient myth. When the men from Barsana travel to Nandgaon, the men of the two villages face each other and sing about the superiority of their respective villages. This ritual takes place in the temple ritual on the hill. After this, the men descend to be whacked.
All this smacking and hitting is just the enactment of an ancient drama between Radha and Krishna. Krishna grew up in Nandgaon and Radha in Barsana. There are two versions of the story. In one story, Krishna hopped across to Barsana to play Holi, but the villagers chased him off with their lathis. In another, he spied Radha and her friends bathing in the stream and stole their clothes. You know what happened after that. Choose your story.
Down the Rabbit Hole
I am not going down the rabbit hole of exploring the origins of Holi. Many versions exist. But read the following paragraph or two, and click the links.
An Old Festival
Holi is an ancient festival. No one knows the festival's origins, and many will propound theories about them. Holi is a North Indian festival that has spread throughout the country. In the old days, people called it 'Holika,' and one website tells us it started with women praying for the well-being of their families. They prayed to the full moon, called 'Raka.'
Prahlad & Holika
This legend may have been the origin of the festival. I don't know when and why the legend of 'Holika' arose. According to this legend, Prahlad, the son of a king, Hiranyakashipu, loved Vishnu to distraction. The king hated Prahlad and planned to eliminate him. When all attempts failed, he asked his sister, Holika, to intervene. She was immune to fire, and one day, she sat with Prahlad in her lap. Then, the king lit the fire, but Vishnu intervened. The flames consumed Holika, and Prahlad escaped to tell a pretty story! Good had triumphed over evil–again. However, there is more to the story.
Id-I-Gulabi
The Mughals celebrated Holi? I discovered this while reading a tweet from Devdutt Patnaik on Holiday. They called it "Id-I-Gulabi." "Gulab" translates as rose. They believed a joint celebration could help build harmony in society. The old Indians were much more self-aware and pluralistic than people today. If I were to tell my friends about this and mention the Mughal name for Holi, some of them would swell up in self-righteous anger and tell me not to insult the Hindu Gods. No one dare ask them if they are in direct contact with Hindu Gods.
I Repeat Myself
I've had my fill of Holi. People have applied boot polish and silver paint on me: it took almost a week of baths with a detergent bar to get the damned thing off. I've had mud baths throughout my years in both colleges. A woman ripped my shirt off one year ago: she married someone else. And, in Barsana, the crowd's movement picked me up and threw me into a ditch–but I already mentioned this.
Damn! I have repeated myself!! Mea Culpa!
Several months from now, I will write about my travels to the Braj Bhoomi. Wait until then!
Enjoy Holi!! Have fun!