Holy, Holi- The Festival of Colors from world.zennepal.com
By Sidra Showalter - zenNepal.com intern

On the night of the
full moon, Holi came and went with a bang. If you arrived in Kathmandu
this morning, the might have to look closely to find the remnants of
such lively celebrations, like the traces of brightly colored tikka
powder strewn on sidewalks. Purples, oranges, blues, and pinks sprinkle
the streets in a trail of memories; bright orange puddles of water
trickles down from the edges of buildings; an occasional flash of
bright pink remains on the shoe laces of a little boy. There is a sense
of elation floating around the city as people go about their days, as
Holi has become a well hidden secret revealing itself only in the child
like smiles of people as they think about the day before.

Life was put on hold as the streets of Kathmandu came to life in the celebration of the Festival of Colors.
Planning to stay inside for the day and enjoy a nice rooftop barbecue,
I was unsure of what to expect from this Hindu holiday. I was told the
festivities could get pretty rowdy, and being a single white woman, I
would easily become a target for rough housing. Not very enthused by
this prospect, cozying up on a sunny rooftop, away from the chaos,
seemed like my best option.

I
could not have been more wrong. Making a quick trip to the corner fruit
market, I asked my roommate if she thought I would get hit on my way
out, she said no. So I proceeded with caution out of the confines of my
safe haven, and began the five minute walk around the corner. I made it
inside the market, narrowly escaping a few water balloons, but felt
safe when I sat down to wait for some fresh squeezed orange juice.
Again, I was wrong. Two friends rounded the corner, and seeing my
clean, dry outfit and freshly washed hair, I could tell by their
mischievous looks that I was not safe. In the span of about two
minutes, I was completely drenched and had made a mess on the small
concrete floor in the juice shop.

Ready
to surrender myself to the day, we prepared our own Holi festivities to
start off right; covering ourselves from head to foot in a rainbow of
colored powder. We even going as far to make a mixture of gold and
silver combined with hair gel to make some face paint. Clearly done
with the idea of staying clean and away from the celebrations, I was
already gung ho and ready to commit to the long day ahead of me. Next
on the itinerary was creating our own Holi war zone, otherwise known as
the “bike workshop,” where most of the people I was with work.

Armed
with bags of water balloons, and the more popular clear baggies that
pose as water balloons, we set up camp between the motorcycles and
tools to begin our self inflicted battle. Posted up by the water spout
we all took turns on duty, filling up the bags. Occasionally a rebel in
the bunch would fill up an entire bucket of water searching for a
victim, and then pour the entire cruddy cold contents on their head.
After thoroughly drenching each other, and everyone having turned a
shade of purple, green or pink, it was time for the most exciting part
of the day.

But
first, let me explain something else that happens during Holi. From my
observations many of the older women, watch and participate in Holi
from the rooftops. The men and younger rebellious boys parade the
streets in large packs, like wolves hunting a fox, and roam the city
looking for targets. While we were slowly filling our secret stashes of
water balloons, there was a woman perched up on the high flying rooftop
across the street from our little game. With a stern look and savage
frown, she was full heartedly filling up her buckets of water, and
flinging them as far as they would go, to drench us and any passersby.
She peeked her head around the corner every once and a while, and then
would return with a full bucket and look of vengeance. I could only
imagine her hiding on the roof laughing with her friends. A few of the
men tried to launch water balloons up to her rooftop, but with no such
luck. We were no match for her precision and skill, something she must
have been practicing every Holi for many years.

Next
comes the best part of the day. A movie like motorcycle ride around
Kathmandu. There were about twenty of us in total, so that makes for a
quite a scene on the streets. I have ridden a motorcycle quite a few
times in my day, but needless to say, I have never ridden a motorcycle
through Kathmandu, during Holi. What an experience!

Every
single street was teeming with people. Young boys proudly marched the
streets, faces painted in silver, red, and black; confidently traipsing
around and shouting, “Happy Holi,” as we flitted past. Buckets of water
were thrown from rooftops to greet our already died hair; people with
baggies filled with colored powder poured them out hoping the wind
would whip it onto our speeding motorbikes.

All
through the day, hundreds of people participated; balloons and buckets
of water were launched from rooftops, and pounds of powder flew through
the air; on every street corner and every alley way, hordes of people
wandered the streets covered head to toe in the bright colors of the
eighties; there were even a few stray dogs suffering from the layer of
green or orange dotting their noses.

Holi
celebrates the coming of spring and the triumph of good over evil, but
it is also a time to forget the daily grind, and just play. Holi brings
people together, from every caste, career, village, household, and
gender, building bridges between societal and cultural gaps; everyone
is welcome to join in the fun. By far one of my favorite days in Nepal,
if you ever get a chance to visit a Hindu country during this time, you
must do it!