Holi

The mad warriors of Holi 2013. Ellisbridge, Ahmedabad, Gujarat. They pounced on me like vultures swooping on fresh carrion.

On the night before Holi, my aunt and her two daughters-in-law gathered silver matlas filled with water, and a thali with popped dhana and a few coins. The sun had already set and we walked in the darkness to what was – surprisingly, in the urban density of Ahmedabad – an empty field next door where an adolescent-sized bonfire about eight feet high licked towards the sky. People were already gathered around the fire and my relatives exchanged subdued greetings with them. What was just neglected urban pasture a few hours earlier was now holy ground, a place where good was beating back evil.

The story goes that Hiranyakashipu, the great king of demons, was granted a boon by Brahma that he could not be killed “during day or night; inside the home or outside, not on earth or in the sky; neither by a man nor an animal; neither by astra nor by shastra.” (I’m not sure exactly why a God would grant such a power to a demon king but perhaps it was all part of the let’s-all-get-along movement among the divine and the damned at the time.) Anyhow, Hiranyakashipu began to think a little highly of himself, as one  might since even death did not now have power over him, and demanded that he be worshipped as a God. But his son Prahlad refused. He was a devotee of Vishnu. So Hiranyakashipu  ordered that his son to be put to death by fire. Prahlad would be held on a pyre in the lap of his sister, Holika, who herself had a boon that fire could not harm her.

Instead, because of his devotion Prahlad was saved while his sister burned. Thus, the beginning of the “Holika dahan” that takes place each Holi eve. Small effigies are placed in the bonfire to represent the siblings, one made of highly flammable material while the other is fire-resistant. This was a darker side to a holiday I knew only as a light-hearted frolic when we would throw colored powder and water at each other.

The colors come the day after, on Dhuleti, and mimic the frolics Krishna had with milkmaids, known as gopis. Today, people go from house to house, color-bombing and throwing buckets of water on friends and family. We had set out for another cousin’s house yesterday only to find when we got there that he had run away! So, sporting our shades of hot pink, purple, green and yellow, we zipped along Ahmedabad’s unusually quiet streets for a food stall and enjoyed vada pav.

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Porbandar Scenes

Porbandar, a port town located on Gujarat’s western coast, is known for being the home of Mahatma Gandhi and his family home is now a shrine/museum to his life. The home’s rooms are quite small. Climbing between flights along claustrophobic staircases reminded me of my visit to Anne Frank’s house in Amsterdam. A swastik marks the floor in the room where Gandhi’s mother gave birth to him. We also visited Sudama Temple, named after a childhood friend of Krishna, and I walked through a swastika-shaped maze on the temple grounds. Traversing the maze is supposed to wash you of your sins. The day we were there, a Friday, was also the Birthday of the Prophet Mohammed, and a celebratory parade wound through the city streets. Considering Gandhi’s message of religious tolerance, I thought the timing brought a nice addition to our visit.

Looking to the Skies

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I was 10 years old, on a family trip to India, when I first learned about Kite Day. Imagine, a holiday just for flying kites. Everyone was out on their rooftops flinging thinner-than-paper-thin kites into the air. The sky was littered with pastel diamonds, bobbing in the breeze. It was a day of simple joy, enjoying the mild Indian winter, out in the sunshine with family and friends, flying – and cutting – kites.

The festivities relate to Makara Sankaranti, or the transition of the Sun from Dhanu rashi (Sagittarius) to Makara rashi (Capricorn) and takes place around 21 days after the tropical winter solstice (between December 20th and 23rd) that marks the starting of Uttarayana, which means northward journey of the Sun, according to Gunatit Jyot. It marks the start of harvest season and is generally considered a good time to begin a new endeavor – like perhaps a trip to Gujarat!

I wasn’t so fortunate in actually flying the kites. Despite able assists from my cousins who launched the patangs in air for me, my line-tugging skills only resulted in the kites’ fall to earth. So, I sat back, took pictures and enjoyed watching them fly their kites so high as to be mere specks of color in the sky. I cheered along when they dueled with another kite, each player furiously tugging the string to be the first to cut off the other. Eventually the cry of “lapet!” would ring in the air, signaling victory and we would watch the colored paper, now deflated, slowly drift back down to earth.

Because Uttarayan is a holiday on the solar calendar – unlike the rest of our auspicious days which fall on the lunar calendar – Kite Day happens each year on January 14, fixed. So, why do we fly kites to mark this day? Gunatit Jyot suggests: “The act stands as a metaphor for reaching to their beloved God, the one who represents the best.”