"Bura na mano" coz Holi Hai?

Today was the festival of Holi, which is basically the Indian festival of colors (although in recent times, we’ve improvised quite a bit to add mud, eggs, and grease to the list too). Now, as much as I love smearing absolutely harsh colors on other’s faces, I can’t help but notice that Holi, as a festival, does not exactly enthuse the same feeling of jubilance in all the people.  Some people, I’ve noticed, almost tend to detest this great festival of colors. And in their defense, they have good reason for doing so.

Let’s look at the fact number one. When I went down to celebrate this morning- after coating my face, body and hair with liberal amount of oil- within 10 minutes I was so covered in strong, ugly colors that I doubt whether even my mother would’ve been identify me (an exaggeration probably, but I did look like a zombie, mind you). My friends actually ignored off the relatively softer “gulaal” and used only the harshest colors to splotch my face. And even then they told me that apparently I was lucky, for “the grease had already been used up!” One might argue that all this is “in festive spirit” but what if I don’t want to end up looking like a lab experiment gone wrong?

I thought I had seen the worst, but that was only until the color started to dry. Then started the painful itch I was only too familiar with, having to experience it once every year. The color was almost cutting into my face, and I had to constantly spit in order to expel the color in my mouth. And that sure made drinking the thandai and eating pakoras a much more troublesome task! The only thing that gave me some solace was that my friends were suffering from the same problem. So I ask myself, is it really worth using such harsh colors? If it is indeed a “festival of colors”, why can’t we use gulaal, if not those organic colors, which all the news channels are advertising about?

Now the second part.  As one of my friends very rightly said, a few days before, even up to 2 weeks before the D-day, we start feeling like those military forces in counter-strike: having to constantly duck, crouch & sprint in order to dodge those dreaded water balloons, which are almost as fatal as hand grenades. The sight of kids hiding out in their balconies, lobbing those grenades at unsuspecting victims, followed by their euphoric shouts of “bura na mano, Holi Hai!”  that almost sounds like a triumphant cry of “mission accomplished”. The problems of these water balloons had intensified to such an extent that the government had to advise people against the use of these balloons. Even now, every year, notices have to be hung in my society, asking people to advise their children to keep away from hurling the balloons at passer-byes. And although the situation has improved a bit, as the dreaded day gets nearer, the commando in me starts to come out!

Now the third part. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Most alcoholics just need a reason to drink, and this reason is gift wrapped and handed to them on this joyous occasion. “Thodi aur Bhang toh banti hai aaj!” I’ve heard many people exclaim, who’re already feeling a little tipsy from the influence of this intoxicant. Not among the most common of drinks on other days, Bhang gets its 15 minutes of fame on this festival, every year! And people tend to get creative, mixing Bhang in thandai and pakoras. Hats off to them, really!

Now ask yourself, what does this festival stand for? As an occasion to get drunk? To throw water balloons at strangers? To smear such a strong color on people’s faces that they can scrub their skin raw, but it still won’t come off? I doubt many of you would be nodding your head enthusiastically in assent for any of these choices.

I personally like the way my father and his friends celebrate this festival. He goes down much earlier than me to catch up with his friends, they greet each other with generous helpings of mild gulaal, eat sizzling pakoras together, and basically laugh away with each other, with sips of thandai in between. I think he’s got a much better hang of this festival than me, but then, that’s just my opinion, isn’t it?

The Sane & the Skint: The story part 2

Continued from the last part (part 1) -

He had found two people who fulfilled most, if not all, of his stringent requirements.

The first one was Dylan Harris. He was not among one of Andrew’s brightest pupils, although he was certainly one of the richest and the snobbish. Not the one who believed in working very hard very often, Dylan was constantly on the verge of failing his exams. And while other professors- out of a little respect and intimidation of Dylan’s prominent family- always passed him, albeit with lowest possible grades, the same family name had little or no effect on Andrew, who had already flunked Dylan once and looked set to do it again.

Ethan had approached Dylan about 2 weeks back, and it had taken little convincing on his part to get Dylan to be a part of his little charade.

“I’m in”, Dylan had said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get back at that virtuous prude. My father cancelled that Porsche he was gonna get for my birthday just coz Griffin is too full of principles to bend even a little. No offense to you, Mr. Griffin. And now dad’s saying that if history repeats itself, he’ll cut me out of his inheritance. You have my support, Mr. Griffin.”

The second individual had taken some time and research. Declan Sawyer was a high-profile psychiatrist. He was also someone who had made the stupid mistake of engaging in a public debate- on the topic of “the effect of language barriers on the modern political system”- against the highly esteemed professor Andrew Griffin. Needless to say, Declan had come out looking like a fool. People made a mockery out of him, saying that a doctor, who hadn’t held a stethoscope ever, got the better of a shrink! Pride is a big thing among doctors, and the promise of sweet revenge was how Ethan convinced Declan to be the part of his team.

The stage was set, the actors were ready to enact their part, & the play was about to begin. And the act had to start with Ethan paying his dearest brother a much-needed visit.

“Little Brother!” Andrew came forward to greet his brother. Ethan hated being referred to as that way, but Andrew never had been considerate enough to care. Well, soon the little brother was about to get the better of him.