Happy Holi, Happy Hampi

‘HAPPY HOLI!’

The chorus of a dozen, excitable young voices accompanies the explosion of colour catapulting into the side of our tuk tuk.

Whoooosh. And another. And another. 

It's not yet 7am but already, my once white t-shirt is decorated beyond recognition.   

Holi began as a Hindu festival to mark the beginning of Spring but this care-free, free-for-all carnival of colours is now enjoyed and celebrated by everyone wishing to express love, frolic and colour throughout India. The festivities start early in the morning when those taking part take to the streets and chase one another with dry powder, paint, water balloons and all sorts else.

We start out with powder which we purchase in haste as our tuk tuk leaves us fully exposed in the centre of Hampi square. The colours are all so enticing, I buy one of every colour and am suddenly swarmed by young children who are only too happy to show us how it’s done; ‘mix with water and whoooosh!’

Within seconds we’ve gone from having every colour of the rainbow to none at all. At least not in our hands; it’s now all over our face, hair and body instead! We’ve been well and truly hustled but I can’t help smiling as we follow the frenzy down to the river, covered in hundreds of tiny handprints and the blessings of a Happy Holi.

Drumming echoes throughout the narrow streets, growing louder and louder with every step. We weave in and out with no particular route in mind, allowing ourselves to be swept up in the parades of people dancing and splashing in the coloured puddles. I turn to check my mum’s still with me and burst out laughing at the state of her attire. Then I catch my own reflection in her sunglasses; I’m so covered in paint that it takes me a moment to even realise it’s me! There’s something wonderful about the anonymity that the paint gives us. Today, nobody is white or brown – today, we’re all multi-coloured.

At last we reach the river and on the crossing over, begin to realise the extent of the festivities on the other side. The parade is at least ten times the size of any we’ve come across yet, led by a group of men playing exotic instruments and dancing wildly. We find our spot in the midst of the madness and shuffle along with the crowd. I begin to lose count of how many times we’re struck with a colour bomb or unruly limb. It’s not long before I lose all concept of time completely.

It’s a surreal day, to the point where it could almost be mistaken as a colourful dream were it not for the remnants of Holi spread throughout town for days following. My stained skin serves as proof too, smudges of purple and green still very apparent even after my eighth shower in two days. No matter how long the colour lasts though, the memories will definitely outlive them.