2. Hues of Holi – Part II

A man in a shiny purple shirt and white trousers looks in my direction and flashes a big smile. I smile back and say, “hello.” The tuba he is carrying has the word, “Prakash” in bright pink capital letters glued to the bell of the instrument. His white trousers are about to be clobbered by the colors of Holi if today is anything like the past two days of the festival. And if there are water cannons like there were yesterday, it could get really messy for him and for me. I look at my own clean white shirt and know that it’s only a matter of moments before it will be saturated with splotches of color. There is no avoiding the barrage of bright powder that the celebration brings — and why would anyone want to avoid it? Holi is a joyful time of renewal with the changing of the seasons from winter to spring. It’s a time of hope for new beginnings, friendship and love. Everyone wears their colors as a badge of the happiness that Holi represents. A small group of musicians wearing the same white and purple uniform stand near the man with the tuba. I can hear their horns warming up, and I feel excited. I’m also curious about what’s going to happen in this celebration. Near the small band on the back of one of the floats are six large loudspeakers. Oh boy. Just how loud is the music going to get? I walk to the front of the float and see two young girls wearing lovely satin dresses with their hair and makeup perfectly done. I raise an eyebrow, assuming that this is going to be very different from Barsana and Nandgaon — or is it? I don’t know yet. I wonder whether these little beauties will be doused in color. I can’t imagine that they would be, but then again, who knows? This is India. Almost anything goes. Two men with oversized maracas walk near the side of the float. They are dressed in blue uniforms with long brightly colored ribbons dangling from their wrists. One of the men says something to one of the girls. She shyly giggles and adjusts the small crown she is wearing. It’s a precious scene. I see two large paper-mâché fish above her on the backboard, and I wonder how they fit in with Holi. I’ll have to ask my guide about symbolism… My eyes shift to more girls sitting near the front of the float. One of them looks as though she is meditating because her eyes are closed, and the backs of her hands are resting on her knees. I take note of her young age and stillness in the middle of all the noise and impending exuberance. I continue walking the length of the float and past the horns of oxen that are restlessly waiting to pull it. I want to see as much as I can before the powder starts filling the air and blurring my vision. The last thing I need is a collision with a farm animal that could harm me or my gear. Which reminds me… I stop walking, take off my protective goggles and look down at my camera situation. I’ve already checked it about a dozen times, but once again I look at the bag that is adhered to my camera. I turn it upside down and look from side to side to make sure that there are no gaps between my lens and the gaffer tape. This morning I cleaned off yesterday’s sloppy mess to the best of my ability, and I check everything one more time for peace of mind. I don’t want any technical glitches that might distract me. Everything looks okay. I pat my pocket, checking for the fresh cleaning cloth that I brought. I put my goggles back on, tuck my hands back inside the protective sleeves of the bag and grip my camera. I look up ahead and walk toward the next float. So far, the atmosphere is reminiscent of the small town parades that I grew up attending — minus the young girl meditating and the oxen and me wearing safety goggles with my camera in a protective bag. I laugh at the thought of how different the two instances actually are… Rose petals are heading in my direction, and I bring my camera to my eye to photograph the boys who are having fun tossing them at me. The fragrance is refreshing and sweet. I’d like to linger longer, but drumbeats catch my attention. I pick up my pace and move past the boys. I quickly realize that the parade has started and that a lot of the action is happening up ahead. My heart starts to beat faster as I rush up to a total party scene. There are six men with drums that look like congas strapped to the front of their bodies. Pink powder is flying through the air and people are dancing to the rhythm. I work my way into the center of the group and start to take images. The atmosphere is light and fun, and everyone seems to be having a great time. I can feel powder landing on me from head to toe. It’s coming down like mist in the air and making it hard to see. I keep taking images and try to ignore how thick the air is getting. Then suddenly — BAM! Wow! That was a wallop! I turn around just as a handful of powder is thrown right at me. My face is immediately covered, and I can’t see a thing. I lean forward, shaking my head and hoping the loose powder will drop off. It doesn’t. More powder falls between my goggles and around my eyes. I’m struggling to see. BAM! There’s another handful of powder. Then another. Holy smokes! I’m being blasted… What’s going on?! I need a reprieve, but I don’t get one. I’m in the middle of a small, lighthearted ambush. It’s meant to be fun, but I feel a bit helpless with my impaired vision. Someone wipes a handful of powder on my face. I can’t even see who it is. “Happy Holi!” I hear. “Happy Holi!” I reply. I imagine someone watching from the safety of a second-floor window thinking, “Oh, that poor girl.” The drums pass by, which gives me a moment to get my bearings. I give myself a strong shaking and use the cloth that I had tucked in my pocket to quickly clean my goggles and face. I regain my composure and glance to my right. It looks like something literally exploded pink powder over everything. The powder is so dense that I can make out only shapes around me. I take a deep breath, put my goggles back on, wipe my camera bag and rush toward the action. This parade is my last chance to photograph Holi festivities, so I’m going for it. I weave through the boys with the drums and take images when I can as I work my way toward a truckload of men. They are standing in the back and throwing pink powder in every direction. I catch up to them just as someone wraps a long strand of carnations around my neck and shoulders. I don’t even know where the person came from. But I do know that I shouldn’t be wearing the carnations because I see the decorative strands hanging on the back of the truck. I’m about to take it off when I hear a man’s voice firmly tell me, “You shouldn’t wear that.” “I know,” I say, removing it. I hand it to him. He takes it and then tosses a handful of rose petals on my head as he wishes me a happy Holi. I rush past the drummers and the men in the truck. I haven’t even been to the front of the procession yet. I want to get ahead of them to see what’s going on. Once I’m there, it proves challenging since more people have gathered and are dancing in the street. I try to get some images, but it’s really hard. The crowd grows, and the visibility remains low. The light isn’t helping much either since it’s part shade and part sun. One moment I can almost see faces and the next everything is shaded. I wipe off my goggles again. Then again. And again. It is, without a doubt, one of the toughest photographic situations I’ve experienced — yesterday’s was the most difficult… My mind flashes back to yesterday when I was standing in the front row of a huge circle of photographers that was four rows deep and almost all men. We are shoulder to shoulder, and I’m using every muscle in my body to stay upright since the men behind me are pushing on my back and trying to knock me over. I’m working hard to get images of the ritual that’s unfolding in the middle of the circle. I can see prayer books, but I’m not really sure what is going on. There’s too much yelling and shoving to be able to hear anything. In addition to that, spectators on the upper level of the temple are pelting me with water cannons and huge blasts of powder. I struggle to frame images using the sensors in my camera. I try to focus on the prayer books, but it feels almost hopeless. The man sitting directly in front of me says I can dig my knees into his back to help brace myself. I thank him but continue to make every effort to stay vertical. I think I’m going to be okay, but then I feel a man’s hand on my ass. Within seconds, there is another hand from the other side. I’m furious! I want to ignore it and keep doing what I traveled here to do, but then a hand starts to work its way around the side of my right hip. I turn around and tell the man behind me to stop touching me. I look at the other men, not sure of who else groped me. “You all need to keep your hands off of me!” I warn. None of them respond. Instead, I feel the chill of their angry stares. I turn back around to the center of the circle. Within moments, I feel someone pulling on my right shoulder. I stop taking images and look to my right, leaning a bit in that direction. The lean creates an opening between my left shoulder and the person to my left. The next thing I know, a man shoves his way into that space while the men behind me physically work together and, row by row, shove me out of the circle. As it’s happening, I feel their hands all over me, but there is nothing I can do. I’m outnumbered, and they are stronger than I am. Seconds later, I’m standing outside of the group. I’m in disbelief and feeling helpless. Tears well up in my eyes. I stare at the backs of all the men as they continue taking images. I’m in shock over the entire situation. I thought the Hindu celebration of Holi would be more holy, but I just learned about its underbelly. It’s even more disturbing that I had the revelation in this town, the childhood home of Lord Krishna, who is India’s supreme god of love, tenderness and compassion. My mind swirls with emotions. In a country where women are subservient to men, the men’s actions physically put me in my place. I’m beyond disappointed. Thank goodness none of that ugly behavior is going on today… I push those thoughts to the back of my mind and refocus on the action ahead of me. I move farther away from the drums and the truck full of men, and I’m happy to discover a group of young boys having a blast. They have a rickshaw bicycle and are dipping their hands into a bag of pink powder and throwing handfuls at people on the sides of the road. It’s playful and happy — the way the celebration should be. I rush alongside them, joining in their excitement. One of the boys looks at me and softly blows a puff of powder toward my lens. Click… I take his image. A couple of the drummers catch up to the group, and the procession takes on a new rhythm as their drumbeats escort us. I look ahead to the store owners quickly pulling aluminum security gates over their storefronts. I see one man getting his bag of powder to retaliate against the ambush that’s about to start in front of him. Other locals join in and more and more powder is in the air. Once again, it gets increasingly difficult to breathe and see, but I manage. It’s too fun not to. I repeatedly wipe powder from the back of my viewfinder and goggles. I go with my gut, use my camera sensors and try to capture what I can. Suddenly, a small boom catches my attention. I turn around to see a dark pink plume of powder in the air. I have no idea what caused it, but I quickly take the image and try to get the boys in the frame. I hope I got it… I return my focus to the action in front of me. People are either joining in and celebrating or wincing and running as they try to avoid the handfuls of powder being launched in their direction. I can hear excited laughter from the boys. I also hear laughter and shrills from the people watching the parade. As the boys move down the street, I stay with them and take images. I’m not sure how much time has gone by, but the light starts to get brighter and brighter. We are coming to an opening in the road where there is an intersection, and the parade makes a turn to end. I feel a tug on my heartstrings because I don’t want it to be over. As hard as it has been, it’s also been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I feel one last dusting of powder on my head, and I happily take it in. I look down at all of the powder I’m wearing. I’m a mess, but that’s okay. I know that moments like these don’t come along very often, especially for someone like me from the other side of the world. These three days of taking images went by in the blink of an eye. And now, like the locals, I’m stained in the colors of Holi.