Holi

Holi is the famous Indian festival where everybody goes a little bit nuts and throws coloured powder over each other. This year it fell on 19th March and I was a part of the whole craziness. After dressing in a salwar kameez that I had bought just for the occasion (i.e. it cost about $2 so I wasn't going to worry if it was ruined) I eventually went out onto the street in response to several teenagers demanding my presence. Of course, I was immediately hit with all manner of coloured powder, water bombs and indeed a whole bucket of water. I then took revenge on the little munchkins who coloured me up and proceeded to do the same to them. Damn! Some of them are fast, but as my daughters will tell you, old age and treachery beat youth and vigour every time!

We then called Bart down from where he was hiding on the third floor, to greet him with a load of colour and water. He also managed to exact some revenge. The photo shows Bart and I in front of the home we live in, with the crazy labrador Moju peering over the 1st floor balcony.


Sanjeev, who is the head of the household, then invited me to visit some relatives, riding on the back of his vintage Enfield motorbike. The astute observer will note that neither of us wore helmets. We whizzed about the main roads of Delhi, which were completely deserted, as everyone was hanging around their homes throwing coloured powder at each other. It was an exhilarating ride, made even more so by Sanjeev's claim (like so many other drivers in India) that red lights didn't apply to him!

We arrived safely at Sanjeev's cousin's house, and were immediately pelted with water and colour as we were dismounting the motorbike in the street. It was Holi, after all. I was then introduced to another Holi tradition: bhang. Now this is a milk drink with bits of green stuff floating in it. I smelled it and asked if the green stuff was marijuana. No, they said. It's just like alcohol, they said. Drink up, they said. So I did. The photo shows me holding a glass of bhang in one hand and the coloured powder in the other. So we all drank a couple of glasses of bhang and then Sanjeev and I headed back to our house to collect Bart and the kids, and go to a party in the park.


It was after I had had something to eat, and done a few dances to Punjabi music, that I started to feel, well, a bit odd. I hadn't had any alcohol, but started feeling, well, pretty drunk. I asked Sanjeev what bhang actually was. Was it a drug? No, he said, it's just a herb we drink at Holi. Are you sure it's not marijuana, I asked. No, he said, it's just a herb. And then I remembered the Hindi word for marijuana. Is is ganja, I asked. Oh yes, he said, it's ganja. Oh great, I thought. So it all went a bit downhill from there. I was completely stoned and was having trouble working out whether what was happening was real or I was in fact dreaming. The photo shows me sitting with Bart, as I was asking him to reassure me that he was real, and not a dream. He was real, he assured. He was a Dutchman, after all, so he knew a thing or two about cannabis I think (or maybe I dreamed that bit).

After having several completely inane conversations with pillars of the community and trying really hard not to looked stoned, I felt capable of walking again, so Sanjeev and Bart escorted me home. Sanjeev made several phone calls, and I understood enough of his Hindi to know that he was asking people for an antidote to bhang. The answer that they all gave? A shower and a sleep. So that's what I did. After being shown to my room I gave myself a shower, all the while wondering if this was real or a dream. I decided that it was real - after all, why would I dream about showering in Delhi? I'd done that plenty of times before. I then put myself to bed for four hours and woke up refreshed and ready to start the party again.

So if my daughters are reading this, remember what you're Mum told you: never ride a motorbike without a helmet and never take drugs. Unless it's Holi. And you're in Delhi. Then it's OK.
:-)