Mon. March 1, 2010

Last night, under a bright, full moon, Holi began with the lighting of the huge bonfire across the street. We watched from the balcony as it grew and people began to gather. They touch their foreheads and lips as they pass the fire, which is sacred. Our faces began to burn from the heat. One man has a bucket of water from which he sprinkles water onto the fire to control it. No hoses here. Little children look at the fire with awe, as do I, and the black spaghetti does not melt. As the fire continues to slowly burn, more families come to do puja and passersby continue to bless themselves as they go by.
The whole family gathered for dinner and stayed to chatter and laugh about this or that, enjoying each others company. I don't understand what they are saying, but it does not matter. I just enjoy the warmth and love in the room. In the US we have many paths to happiness. Here it is just one, the family, and for these people, it works. Fires like this are burning all over the city and I can hear the firecrackers from every direction.
This morning we were awakened by groups of young boys armed with little water pistols filled with wet color, looking for their next victim. They are already covered in color. People are coming to the burnt out fire, blessing themselves with the sacred ash and making offerings. This is boy's fun only. No girls are seen. The groups of boys continue to roam the street, beating pieces of metal and hollering. It is a little frightening, reminding me of Lord of the Flies, Logan's Run, and Children of the Corn. All of them deal with what happens when children develop their own societies with no adult input.
JP gave all the married women in the household the silk saris Smita Bahoo had picked out for them. Saris are an integral part of Indian culture and have been so for thousands of years. Even Smita Bahoo, who certainly is not wealthy, has 60 of them.
Arun leaves to go with about 50 friends to the other side of the river where they will have their own Holi celebration. Apoorva also goes to "play Holi" with his friends. Before he left Apoorva told me of the Holi Jai Chacha (uncle) and his friend, Jesse, spent in Varanasi two years ago. I am going to break my own rule about no pictures, and ask Jai to import pictures of that Holi into the blog, so watch for them. Apoorva said Jesse got the worst of it because he was obviously a Westerner. By 10 AM every boy and man are totally covered in color. Even two poor little boys down the street, who do not have water pistols, are playing Holi by filling their cups with colored water and throwing it at boys who pass. Their aim is terrible and they don't actually hit anyone, but it does not seem to matter. They are so excited they are actually bouncing up and down. It is so wonderful to see how much fun a human being can have with so little. A woman walks by, touches a calf lying in the road, and blesses herself. Everything is sacred here, as it is everywhere as we live in a sacred universe. The difference is that these people know and honor it. The sound of the monks across the street chanting mingles with the shouts of the boys: a cacophony of joyous sounds. Apoorva came home around noon, totally black with color. He is now sitting outside the bathroom, scrubbing the color from his body. It will take a few days for all of it to fade. Of course tonight everyone will be throwing dry color. Arpit and Anupria are celebrating at Archana's house in Delhi.
Because it is Holi, the little scrub woman is not coming today to clean the lunch and dinner dishes. Every other day she is here very early and later in the day, squatting by the faucet outside of the bathroom, scrubbing the pots and pans with ash. She then piles all the clean dishes and pans into two huge wire baskets and puts one into Anita's kitchen and one into Smita's. While Anita Bahoo sweeps and mops on her hands and knees, Bhabhi and I shell peas which is old ladies work. Tonight we are to go to a big party at the house where Bhabhi was raised, now owned by her parent's grandsons. Tomorrow there is to be a big party here on the roof to celebrate Arun and Smita Bahoo's 25 wedding anniversary.

Peace,
Nadine