Happy Holi!!

At noon today the bedlam of Holi passed. Children were whipped indoors for bathing, men vanished to sober up and women reclaimed the streets. I ventured out to now brightly painted city, dodging the weaving drunks, waving to the highly charged youngsters and enjoying the festive mood.

I decided on a whim to walk down to the far rickety pontoon bridge which spans the river during the dry season, about 5 kms from assi ghat near the Ramnagar fort, a 17 th century ruined fort and a palace still apparently visited by the maharaja.

Ramnagar Fort

Ricketry pontoon bridge over the Ganges

5 kms turned into more I got completely lost in the suburbs. An ashram blocks the banks (owning prime land seems to be their signature). Finally I joined the throng of people, bikes, motor or otherwise, animals, etc tottering over the low lying swaying structure. The murky water swirled underneath as I negotiated its long shaky length, the river now wider and becoming tidal.

The villages on the far side are agricultural, a far cry from Varanasi town. And as it was Holi nothing was open. Thirsty, hungry and concerned about my abilities to find/get back esp before dark, I was standing anxiously in a field considering my options when voices called me from a nearby house where a family dressed in their festive best waved me over.

I was welcomed in, despite my British protestations, ushered to a seat in the best bedroom kept spotless for visits ,given water, a trayful of Holi food,  sweets and savory dishes, then decorated for ceremonial photos. This wonderful multi generational family made me feel truly humbled.

My Holi Hosts...

.. and I dont even know their names!

I was a dusty, disheveled stranger but they were all so excited to have me in their home. Misunderstanding my query about high water levels the son exclaimed ' madam, we are only a middle family, not a high one, we never normally have the privilege of a British guest, this has made our Holi very special'.

Though the women spoke little English, the two sons, both at university in Bhopal, spoke enough to put my basic Hindi to shame. Everyone's excitement was overwhelming. A genuine invite to supper had to be declined as it was getting dark, which they appreciated. So they walked me back through the villages to find a boatman who was a) not too drunk and b) prepared not just to row me the hour back on Holi but also to take the going rate as, like an idiot, I hadn't much money with me!

Relief - I found a boat!

The boatman rowed patiently against the strong current, pulling us under the bridge by hand, and slowly we edged our way through open water to the shore at Assi ghat steps as the sun set. This kind elderly man took my 200 rupees with such good grace, waving as he set back on his return journey, I felt truly bad I could not give him more.

How do we get under this bridge - DUCK!

I was miles away...

Boatman sets off on the long haul back

Holi painted steps - the culvers are running red

So I’ve seen Holi from the outside and the inside. My abiding memory will be the riot of noise and colour and the amazing gift of hospitality and kindness from strangers who showed me the true meaning of Holi.  I feel truly honored with the privilege.