Confessions of a Holi-gan

Today is Holi and looking back in time makes me happy and sad at the same time....in fact in many cases feel embarrassed. By the end of this small piece you will also feel 'Oh My God'.

Holi khela Kya? Khela aur Bahut khela. For sure.

Water balloons ....yes for sure. Would start filling the balloons very early in the morning and have a few buckets full before launching attack. My house was on a main road and at times threw the balloons at people on cycles and two wheelers...don’t recollect anything bad happening but still quite urchin like.

Pichkaari- some small ones, but every year would finally end up using the football pump. This was one thing my dad had to buy for me every year for our mutual love for the beautiful game of soccer. This pump was outstanding as the pressure would be great and in those days the steel body with a black wooden handle would be the most attractive piece of armament in the battlefield of Delhi. You would be quite feared with this AK47 in hand.

Colours and Paints- I was never a ‘gulaal’ person. Would buy the colours available asking the shopkeeper if these were really good and would stay for a long time....of course he would say yes. Gradually, graduated to the silver coloured paints which gave the other person the zombie look. Green and maroon shades were passé. Your ijjat or position in the comity of friends was judged by the quantum of paint that remained on your hands when you went to school the next day after scrubbing with everything from soap to lemon to vim…

Carbon- 15 days prior to this beautiful day we would pick up transistor batteries from road side. These had to be cut open with the precision of a surgeon and the carbon inside crushed to make powder. This was the cheapest but the darkest paint used by me. We would run after boys and girls and rub their cheeks hard making them look like creatures of the night.

Mud- When balloons, paints and water ran out, the war would shift to hand to hand combat with the stronger guys throwing the weaklings on the muddy ground. This would at times get ugly but who cared. I was pretty good at kushti or the Indian style free style wrestling plus always was blessed with friends who would team up and batter others.....show no mercy...no pain, no gain…

Girls- Yes, this was always the high point of Holi! We would go to places where girls would be playing and attack with balloons and paints. With our faces coloured dark and deep we appeared to be wearing the Balaclava mask you see kidnappers and terrorists wearing with just eyes popping out and surely impossible for people to identify the ‘badmaashs’ and ‘battameezs’. Successful ambushes and raids were things you remembered days after the festival had passed. 

Having possibly done everything bad this Despicable Me did not do a few sober things like drinking ‘bhaang’ just stopped at ‘thandai’. Hard liquor and grass were also things this Good Boy never touched even though all these were a shaking distance away with generous friends dying to bring you into the Big Boyz Club. I always admired people who would drive around in bikes and cars on this day going from one friend’s place to another....this remains a bucket list.

Now for a true short story.

I was in Class 4 then and we had shifted from Nanak Pura to RK Puram but still had all my best friends in my earlier colony. During my winter vacation, I went over to my best pals and brothers Uttam and Neelam, who suddenly brought out some paint from their house. Twang....sudden devilish idea struck us as we saw a small kid playing in the park outside in a puddle created by the leaking water hose. 

The Trio quickly went up close, wet their hands a little, rubbed the paint on their hands, caught the little boy and painted him black from head to toe. As luck would have it the kid made such a ruckus that his father quickly came out of the house and started chasing us in his striped pajamas and vest.....all of us were fleet footed and smartly started sprinting in three different directions.

I ran and ran and as I stopped to take some breath and looked back, I saw my pursuer a step behind me. He caught me by the neck...started abusing me in chaste Punjabi which reminded me of my family tree- mother, brother, sister, father..π..¥..≠..©..€..₽..₮..₭..₴..₺.. He did not spare names of animals ...then dragged me to my friend's place and shouted at their mother...”agar agli baar in kutton ke bachchon ne aisa kiya to main police mein report kar doonga”. Police, in those days, was the worst fear we had since the time we opened our eyes. 

For a long time I did not go to Nanak Pura and even later, generally, spared very young kids during the peak times of insurgency when no one else was spared.

Now I stand at the window of my 17 storey flat watching kids play, youngsters and oldies doing rain dance with the DJ belting out one hit raunchy number after another.

Rang Barse...Happy Holi!