Wednesday, March 15, 2006

March 14, 2006

Happy Holi.

Walking back to the Guest House from the hospital that we’ve been rotating through let me appreciate some things that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. For one, the neighborhoods and the way they melt together, sometimes imperceptibly. The hospital is nestled in a neighborhood that seems to muffle the city from itself, almost blanketing the bustling streets with buildings and trees in such a way that at noonday the heat is balmy and the noise of traffic a hypnotic buzz. Spacious houses soon give way to apartment complexes with deceptively matching appearances. As major streets approach the din of midday traffic grows along with the frequency of stores and stalls until they reach a tumultuous climax at the train station. From swank to slum I walked and enjoyed the exercise, something I haven’t done lately.

While walking I would come across mounds of straw laced with wood, logs and the occasional tire. These became the holi bonfires later tonight. From what I could gather, holi is a celebration of the triumph of good over evil. Holikha (questionable spelling) was a woman blessed with invincibility who sacrificed herself to confer this power to her nephew. He refused to worship his father who believed himself a god. As punishment he was doomed to death by fire. Holikha decided she would let the boy sit on her lap and by so doing save him. Now, I’m not sure of the details of the story, or its completeness but this gives the gist. Holi officially starts tonight but the real fun begins tomorrow.

Holi is best known as the festival of colors. Dyes are sold from thousands of street stalls and friends, neighbors and strangers paint one another in reds, blues, pinks, purples and any other color imaginable. Clothes become casualties. Even water balloons and squirt guns are used. School kids and coworkers start the chaos early but the culmination of the festival is tomorrow afternoon with parties and bhang, a milk drink laced with hashish.

What better way to leave this country than looking like a box of melted crayons.

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