Holi

So I spent the day being doused--and dousing others--in coloured powder and dye, in a series of guerrilla-style ambushes.

No, I hadn't regressed to a five-year-old state (although I know several people who would dispute that claim).

I was celebrating Holi--possibly the greatest holiday of all time.

The actual story seems to change slightly each time I ask someone. But it has something to do with a king upset at his son's (nephew's?) devout belief in Vishnu. So he tries, naturally, to burn him to death in the arms of the king's sister Holika, who's protected from fire. But she burns, the kid doesn't and to make up for his aunt's awful death, names a paintball holiday after her.

Or something like that.

Either way, the concept is fabulous: A day dedicated to smearing powdered dye on other people, and ambushing them with water balloons and water guns.


Plus, Holi's traditional drink is Bhang--a crazy liquid that contains concentrated marijuana, vodka, milk and other things. Legal? Not quite. Delicious? Yes. (or so I've heard)

Of course, Holi isn't without its controversies--namely, that a lot of people don't enjoy being covered in paint on their way to work, having their new blouse soaked in water or being grabbed by a stranger's paint-drenched hands.

These are all legitimate complaints, and there are Holi-specific laws about non-consensual dyeing, throwing mud and chemicals at unsuspecting passers-by and even selling water ballons of a certain size during the holiday.

(Unofficially, anyone's fair game before noon on the day of Holi, After that, you're supposed to get a paint-free pass if you really don't want to play.

Luckily for me, I have ludicrously lax hygeine standards, and the maturity of a six-year-old. 'Twas good times.

A word of caution, however: Those dyes never come out. Ever.