Holi Goodness

Holi's one of those things you hear about India. Taj Mahal and temples. Cows and elephants. Divali and holi.

It even took a starring role in Outsourced. So much build up that I prepared to be a bit underwhelmed.

The holiday, in short, is a celebration of color to mark the arrival of spring. Of course the high temperature hasn't dipped below 70 since i got here, so spring takes on a new meaning. No spring showers -- it's rained only twice since i arrived in January. And the temperature this week -- 95 -- hardly feels like "spring."

And as a HIndu holiday, the day marks the celebration of a god who -- after praying to VIshnu -- didn't get burned alive when he sat on a fire. His demon sister, on the other hand, didn't pray to Vishnu and died on the same pyre. So it goes, when you sit on a fire.

Our drivers invited Andrew, Gloria, new friend Jordan and I to their homes on Saturday. We were welcomed, warmly, as guest of honor into a foreign world. First, Narasaiya's home. Not palatial india, real india. A small three room hovel, warmed by life. Stacks of bags of rice. Puja nooks instead of puja rooms. A pinching reminder that the $200 we pay our drivers every month really does support a family. All their needs, all their rice for what some people back home pay for cell phone and cable bills each month.

So much, in short, that I take for granted. You can't fill water balloons with running water at everyone's home...

After a simple, delicious meal, we joined the warfare in the streets. Polite face painting evolved into color schmearing. Colored water splashing tipped towards full face plants. Minutes later, we found ourselves trading water ballons filled with colored water. Barrage after barrage, until we admitted defeat and i strolled through the enemy forces offering handshakes and "meeru gelicheru"s to buy the others enough time to get in the car to make our get-away. Amazing. Awesome.

Afterwards, Krishna's house, not far from the consulate. An older, more experienced driver. A slightly bigger, more comfortable home. One more plate of delicious food by Telugu-only wives shyly hiding in kitchens while husbands and children laughed with us in the main room. We returned to the dusty streets for round #2.

Teenagers smashed eggs into our hair, adding a whole new level of schop and stickiness. I felt like I was cultivating salmonella over half my body, but I couldn't tell if it was the green, the yellow, the blue or the red speckling my body. Wild. Wonderful.

We retreated to Alcazar and took turns in the shower by the rooftop pool. A rinse round, a scrub round, a lather round, a shampoo round and a rinse round before being clean enough -- although still stained pink -- to jump into the pool. wo much color. It's be easy to argue too much color. I collapsed onto my white sheets and woke up in sea of pink streaks

On Sunday, the color war continued at a coworker's family's house. I only went because i thought it was going to be more tame. A gather of adults. Professionals pleasantly at play. How I underestimated.

Again, the interlocutors started with measured color sprinkling. But ten minutes later, folks were plunked into 55-gallon barrels of red sludge. Glitter paint slobbed over any exposed skin. Little sprinkles of color floating atop glasses of beer and other drinks*. Hours of tomfoolery in all colors.

After a third delicious meal and a dripping retreat, another multi-round of showers, minutes more soaking in the pool. But still pink. Even a sunflower oil shower and a coconut oil bath. Still pink. Hair? Pink. Bedsheets? Pink. Pillows, pink. Camera and car? Pink. Swimsuit, goggles, sandals? Pink. Contact lenses, pink.

And a monday morning at work? Pink, but thankful for invitations. And tarps conveniently stored in the dickie**.

* Would have later consequences.

** Indian for "trunk."