This used to be a regular question till class 6 exams. So finally, I have decided to earn those 10 valuable marks, that i always missed. Festival of colors - Holi. The significance of this festival also, like many others, goes back to the accepted legends. Lord Vishnu saved a demon king's son, who was his ardent follower. The king did not like his son to be a God's follower, and ordered his sister Holika, who was blessed by some lord (I think Lord Brahma) that fire could not burn her, to sit with the son in flames. By Lord Vishnu's grace, Holika burnt, and the demon king's son got saved, like in many previous attempts of his murder. SO that is the legend. I really don't know how "colors" got involved with the celebrations, but an intelligent guess would be that next day, people ran amok throwing colors at each other...
Holi's prominence in the contours of Indian society can be judged by the immense patronage that it receives from the Bollywood, being one of the five festivals celebrated on screen; Diwali, Rakshabandhan, Id and Kumbh being the other four in order.
But holi, at my place, my lane, in Sector 17-C in Gurgaon has been celebrated in many ways, by people of different age groups. I remember when we used to be small kids and Gurgaon was still a sleepy little town and not the "City of Malls", Holi was an addiction for us, not just a festival. The previous night, as Holika burnt, we kids would burn too, to get more members in our group. All the kids in the lane, from 5 to 15, would be found running till late night, until their parents shouted and called them in. All games like cricket, "what color u want?" and our own version of crystal maze, etc. would be suspended. And finally, in all chaos, two groups would be ready by late dusk, to take on each other with full might the next day.
The oldest guy in the group was usually the group captain, unless there was somebody more popular than him albeit slightly younger. He would assign who was to come out at what time, and who will wake who, and the likes...
So, a few guys would wake up the next morning, at 6 a.m. , I did that too. Then, we would sneak out while our parents were still asleep, to the outer bathroom. Two large buckets, water color, gulal, our steel pichkaris, balloon packets would already be there, thanks to last night's efforts. With pride and jubilation, we would begin. Filling the buckets to the brim. Color the water. Play with our pichkaris up and down in the bucket itself to get a "taste of blood". Start filling the balloons and tying them painfully with our little fingers. Cursing the bleak quality of the balloons which were found leaking. We did everything. And by 7:30 a.m. there wud be tens of buckets, filled with water, lying in a corner of the dirty lane. Half of them had soaked balloons in them. Gulal in hands and pockets. Pichkaris, big and small, plastic and steel, Rs. 5 to Rs. 180, single jet to multiple jets, tank pichkaris to hand held; all were ready. But well, there was one more group, with almost the same amount of resources on the other side of the lane. A perfect recipe for an India - Pakistan match!!!!
After a few hours, scores of kids, hardly recognizable by their faces, would be all done. Sogging and dripping till the feet, the arch-rivalry finally ended. Any late-comer kid, whose parents refused to let him out early, now received all the wrath, from the entire group, and was soon made one of the group. Refilling of buckets, balloons would soon begin. The party wasn't over. It never is , for the kids.
Some enterprising kids would soon be coming to our lane from other lanes. They were the bad guys now. After refuelling our arsenal, we would find spots to hide, like snipers, and wait for our kill. And another war of jets of water, grenades of balloons, and emotional gutterings during firing would begin. If you were left with no water, and balloons, you would turn into a Gorkha, running towards the enemy with gulal sogged hands, and head straight for the face of the intruder. It was fun, and it was still not over...
Soon, the elders would come out, hug each other, and color each other with dry gulal. But we did manage to corner a few, time and again, and showered them with our blessings. And they covered themselves all this while, pleading not to wet them...
And finally, when the sun was up over head, moms' shoutings began, calling their kids in at around 12:30 pm. But we would not leave, until a feast of hot kachoris and gujias, the local sweets of the festival, being served to us by a generous aunty. Then finally, the battle ground would be empty. We would enter ou homes, with looks of disgust from our mom. She would parade us to the back courtyard, strip us to our underwears. We were again excited, to see a tub flled with clear water. The holi day bath used to be the toughest.
Finally, tired, we used to fall asleep, and again, in the evenings, laugh at others faces, and the experiences of the day. This used to be HOLI for us...THE FESTIVAL OF SPIRIT AND COLORS!!!!!
Holi's prominence in the contours of Indian society can be judged by the immense patronage that it receives from the Bollywood, being one of the five festivals celebrated on screen; Diwali, Rakshabandhan, Id and Kumbh being the other four in order.
But holi, at my place, my lane, in Sector 17-C in Gurgaon has been celebrated in many ways, by people of different age groups. I remember when we used to be small kids and Gurgaon was still a sleepy little town and not the "City of Malls", Holi was an addiction for us, not just a festival. The previous night, as Holika burnt, we kids would burn too, to get more members in our group. All the kids in the lane, from 5 to 15, would be found running till late night, until their parents shouted and called them in. All games like cricket, "what color u want?" and our own version of crystal maze, etc. would be suspended. And finally, in all chaos, two groups would be ready by late dusk, to take on each other with full might the next day.
The oldest guy in the group was usually the group captain, unless there was somebody more popular than him albeit slightly younger. He would assign who was to come out at what time, and who will wake who, and the likes...
So, a few guys would wake up the next morning, at 6 a.m. , I did that too. Then, we would sneak out while our parents were still asleep, to the outer bathroom. Two large buckets, water color, gulal, our steel pichkaris, balloon packets would already be there, thanks to last night's efforts. With pride and jubilation, we would begin. Filling the buckets to the brim. Color the water. Play with our pichkaris up and down in the bucket itself to get a "taste of blood". Start filling the balloons and tying them painfully with our little fingers. Cursing the bleak quality of the balloons which were found leaking. We did everything. And by 7:30 a.m. there wud be tens of buckets, filled with water, lying in a corner of the dirty lane. Half of them had soaked balloons in them. Gulal in hands and pockets. Pichkaris, big and small, plastic and steel, Rs. 5 to Rs. 180, single jet to multiple jets, tank pichkaris to hand held; all were ready. But well, there was one more group, with almost the same amount of resources on the other side of the lane. A perfect recipe for an India - Pakistan match!!!!
After a few hours, scores of kids, hardly recognizable by their faces, would be all done. Sogging and dripping till the feet, the arch-rivalry finally ended. Any late-comer kid, whose parents refused to let him out early, now received all the wrath, from the entire group, and was soon made one of the group. Refilling of buckets, balloons would soon begin. The party wasn't over. It never is , for the kids.
Some enterprising kids would soon be coming to our lane from other lanes. They were the bad guys now. After refuelling our arsenal, we would find spots to hide, like snipers, and wait for our kill. And another war of jets of water, grenades of balloons, and emotional gutterings during firing would begin. If you were left with no water, and balloons, you would turn into a Gorkha, running towards the enemy with gulal sogged hands, and head straight for the face of the intruder. It was fun, and it was still not over...
Soon, the elders would come out, hug each other, and color each other with dry gulal. But we did manage to corner a few, time and again, and showered them with our blessings. And they covered themselves all this while, pleading not to wet them...
And finally, when the sun was up over head, moms' shoutings began, calling their kids in at around 12:30 pm. But we would not leave, until a feast of hot kachoris and gujias, the local sweets of the festival, being served to us by a generous aunty. Then finally, the battle ground would be empty. We would enter ou homes, with looks of disgust from our mom. She would parade us to the back courtyard, strip us to our underwears. We were again excited, to see a tub flled with clear water. The holi day bath used to be the toughest.
Finally, tired, we used to fall asleep, and again, in the evenings, laugh at others faces, and the experiences of the day. This used to be HOLI for us...THE FESTIVAL OF SPIRIT AND COLORS!!!!!
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