Holi has
never been my favourite festival. No, that spot has always belonged to Diwali
and Durga Puja. Holi, as of now, has lost all its colour (no pun intended) for
me. However, whenever this festival is round the corner, I tend to revisit a few moments of it from my past. The past where I had some fond memories of this
festival, which, when I think of it now, are indelible.
When I look
back at the Holi from my past, there are a few facets of it which I connect
with the most: the balloons, the holika
dahan, the lazy afternoons and, above all, the lip-smacking ghevar. Smearing colored powder on each
other wasn’t something that caught my fancy and I did it unenthusiastically,
just out of custom. But these other facets had a certain allure to them that
made the festival worth it for me.
The Holika
dahan (the burning of a pyre on the eve of Holi) was a memory I fondly
associate with the festival. Though the tradition has a lot of mythology and
rituals attached to it, for me, it was sheer fun and awe to observe the huge
gathering of people in my neighbourhood throw in an assortment of things inside
the burning pyre and then take circles around it religiously. The pyre would be
massive, colossal at times, and appeared like a giant bonfire to me in those
days. The neighbourhood women would chant songs and we would all laugh and
dance around the raging fire late into the night. Nice moments they were.
The
balloons, of course, were the one thing that actually made Holi genuinely fun.
Filling up balloons with water early on the Holi mornings was what would get me
going. The balloons were stored in buckets and I, along with my cousins, would
then prepare for ‘balloon wars’ with our neighbours from the buildings across
from us. It was super fun; all the ducking, aiming and getting hit. The pichkari would make an entry every now
and then, but I wasn’t really much into it. The balloon wars more than made up
my staple for Holi entertainment.
After the
balloon wars would be done, there wouldn’t be many activities left to do in the
afternoon. A hush would envelop our neighbourhood during the daytime; the
silence being punctured every now and then by the para hooligans drenched in the gaudiest of Holi colors. Drunk from
an overdose of bhaang, these ruffians
would sing loudly and dance merrily, while I would watch them keenly from the
vantage point of my verandah. That was a perfect position for me to spend my
lazy Holi afternoons. After having spent an eventful morning, with a smear of
color on my cheeks, I would just place myself on a chair in my verandah and
gaze outside at the empty streets. The balmy March breeze would
ruffle my damp hair and make me droopy. But the excitement of the after-exam
phase and knowing well that it wouldn’t last long, would egg me on to make the
most of the moment.
There was
one thing about Holi, though, that stands out tall above everything else. Ghevar,
the lip-smacking syrupy sweet is what defined Holi in my childhood. I used to
call it ‘bada jalebi’ (large jalebi) because of its curious shape which was
quite similar to a jalebi and would gorge on it ravenously throughout the day
on Holi. My mother, the wonderful cook that she was, would diligently go about
with the preparations of this sweet the night before the festival, and, on the
big day, would serve it out to the entire family. To really relish ghevar, one
has to consume it along with a bowl of dahi (curd). The Rajasthani delicacy is
really sweet in taste and having it after dipping it in dahi balances the taste
splendidly.
So smitten
was I with this crispy sweet that I simply couldn’t have enough of it. In fact,
ghevar would serve as my breakfast, lunch and dinner on Holi day and I remember
my mother only half-heartedly telling me not to have so much of it. I knew that
secretly, she loved serving them to me throughout the day. “Would you like to
have one more?” she would ask me with a twinkle in her eyes after placing one
ghevar on my plate. While munching on it and letting the sweet syrup engulf my
mouth, I would hold my plate towards her and say happily, “Yes please!” Sure,
having such amounts of the sweet throughout the day would often lead to upset
stomachs the day after. However, they would be worth it. Oh yes, they would be!
I have been crazy about a lot of food delicacies in my life, but ghevar – or
the ghevar made by my mother to be precise – shall always hold a very prominent
place in my life. I yearn, I pine for having the very same ghevar, just one
more time.
And today,
as I reflect back on this festival, I realize that Holi doesn’t have any
significance left for me any longer. The festival just remains a holiday these
days and nothing more. Perhaps an unlikely day will come in the future where I
would be able to enjoy it again. For now, all I have left of this festival are
the memories of it from my past which I look back on from time to time as they
also remind me of a childhood gone by; a childhood glittered with some very simple
yet special moments where Holi played a small yet significant part.
As I write
this, I remember I had received a box of ghevar from a friend earlier in the
day (which I got after much coaxing and cajoling I must say). It seems like the
perfect time to have it and I open the box to find four pieces of the delicious
sweet cramped in. I smell it and my senses are immediately tickled. I break a small
part of the one placed at the top and try it. It is crunchy and quite syrupy. Though
not at the same level of my mother’s, this one comes eerily close.
A waft of a languid
breeze blows in from the window near me and I close my eyes to savor the taste
of the delicious sweet. It has a distinct flavor; an aroma which immediately
takes me back to my childhood. I can almost feel myself sitting leisurely in
the balcony of my childhood home again; where I am munching on a ghevar with great
gusto. I see my mother walking up to me with a twinkle in her eyes and asking
me, “Would you like to have one more?” I open my eyes, take another piece from
the box, and before placing it in my mouth again, quietly say, “Yes please!”
