Holi Festival - the Festival of Colours

Today it was the Holi festival, a national holiday in India. I'd seen the signs of it coming everywhere and beforehand it didn't look too ugly. It is called "The day of colours". What happens is that everyone gets out on the streets, starting a nation-wide Paint Ball fight without guns. Hands full of all kinds of coloured powder are thrown around at everybody. So, no problem I thought. I'll wash the powder off my body at night, and my black bags will finally be nice and coloured for a change. As it turned out, that was a wrong thought. The first mistake was that I thought they'd only be throwing powder; the second mistake I made was that I misjudged the effect of alcohol on Indian youngsters. Because honouring this celebration they drink. In the first villages things went alright. I got handful of powder over me, but I can keep laughing. Only in Chirawa, a town with some 15.000 citizens things start to get ugly; scary even. Groups of youngsters rummage around town and they don't only throw powder. Some have mixed it with local liquor and apart from the fact that it seems a lot like ink so it stings in my eyes, it also sticks to my sunglasses so I can't see anything anymore. A couple of guys push and pull my luggage, but I manage to stay straight up. An angry yell scared them off. The third group I encounter is bigger. The road is awful so I can't make any speed, I can't see where I'm going after two litres of 'liquor chalk'. Somebody pushes my luggage and I fall over. I get up, cursing and swinging my fists around. The only effect is that others start hitting me, and on guy thinks it necessary to wash my hair - with liquor.

This keeps me busy at least. I worry most about my bicycle; and about the people walking all over it. I thank God for the idea to put locks on the zip! I try to get my bike on her wheels without harm. Except for a little tear in my tent bag, that actually works out. Someone pulls my T-shirt roughly. My shirt gives up and wearing only my shorts I fall back down on the pavement. I expect a shower of liquor and feet on top of me, but that doesn't come. All I see is bare feet in sandals walking past - some backwards. I look up and I see my saviours: Three stern officers with sticks. They all have a look on their face like: 'Why did you have to go cycling TODAY??!!' I return back sorry. The officers install me with a couple of grownups who, coloured as they are, protect from other mishaps. They are very kind indeed. They care for water to wash myself, even for lunch at some point, feed me as much tea as I can take and they're proud to be in one picture with me. Thus washed and revived I watch what is going on, on the road. I see more and more dangerously drunk (one even falls over upside down in an open sewer!) and the amount of 'powder warriors' decreases. Shortly after noon the first freshly washed people appear on the road and they remain unattacked! Although there are still quite a few coloured guys. I put new sunblock on my injured neck and face and at about quarter to two I am given the 'safe' sign. Although it's terribly hot, I decide to cycle at least another 30 km's. The discipline is unbelievable. Not mine, that of the Indians. There's hardly anyone on te road who still wants to through some powder and a warning pointerfinger from my side makes even the last doubters stop.

And so I get to a formerly Rajput house where I rent a room for two hundred rupees a night. A room with a King-sized bed and a bathroom with a good shower. It takes three quarters of a large bottle of shampoo to clean hair - and it is internationally well known shampoo! After the shower I go downstairs and have diner with an Australian guy who waited here for the Holi festival. Last year he had even worse experiences than me now. He made a sensible decision.

I'm relieved that I'm still alive this night, very much so. But the first seeds have been planted for the 'Indian fobia' that has become part of me. Yes, it's a fear for a group of Indians who can't control themselves. It is a built in reaction at the sight of an Indian - a subcontinental Indian, don't get me wrong; it is something allergic to the over attention I get in this country, the lack of personal boundaries and the lack of respect for ownership. They don't steal intentionally; it's just that they seem to think that what's mine, they can try too! Especially in Rajasthan, but also in Maddhya Pradesh my Indian phobia will grow quickly... I'm not proud of it, but I can't help it either.

Holi - The festival of colours
	Jhunjhunu, March 2nd, 1999 Hi There! Today it was the Holi festival, a national holiday in India. I'd seen the signs of it coming everywhere and beforehand it didn't look too ugly. It is called "The day of colours". What happens is that everyone gets out on the streets, starting a nation-wide Paint Ball fight without guns. Hands full of all kinds of coloured powder are thrown around at everybody. So, no problem I thought. I'll wash the powder off my body at night, and my black bags will finally be nice and coloured for a change. As it turned out, that was a wrong thought. The first mistake was that I thought they'd only be throwing powder; the second mistake I made was that I misjudged the effect of alcohol on Indian youngsters. Because honouring this celebration they drink. In the first villages things went alright. I got handful of powder over me, but I can keep laughing. Only in Chirawa, a town with some 15.000 citizens things start to get ugly; scary even. Groups of youngsters rummage around town and they don't only throw powder. Some have mixed it with local liquor and apart from the fact that it seems a lot like ink so it stings in my eyes, it also sticks to my sunglasses so I can't see anything anymore. A couple of guys push and pull my luggage, but I manage to stay straight up. An angry yell scared them off. The third group I encounter is bigger. The road is awful so I can't make any speed, I can't see where I'm going after two litres of 'liquor chalk'. Somebody pushes my luggage and I fall over. I get up, cursing and swinging my fists around. The only effect is that others start hitting me, and on guy thinks it necessary to wash my hair - with liquor. This keeps me busy at least. I worry most about my bicycle; and about the people walking all over it. I thank God for the idea to put locks on the zip! I try to get my bike on her wheels without harm. Except for a little tear in my tent bag, that actually works out. Someone pulls my T-shirt roughly. My shirt gives up and wearing only my shorts I fall back down on the pavement. I expect a shower of liquor and feet on top of me, but that doesn't come. All I see is bare feet in sandals walking past - some backwards. I look up and I see my saviours: Three stern officers with sticks. They all have a look on their face like: 'Why did you have to go cycling TODAY??!!' I return back sorry. The officers install me with a couple of grownups who, coloured as they are, protect from other mishaps. They are very kind indeed. They care for water to wash myself, even for lunch at some point, feed me as much tea as I can take and they're proud to be in one picture with me. Thus washed and revived I watch what is going on, on the road. I see more and more dangerously drunk (one even falls over upside down in an open sewer!) and the amount of 'powder warriors' decreases. Shortly after noon the first freshly washed people appear on the road and they remain unattacked! Although there are still quite a few coloured guys. I put new sunblock on my injured neck and face and at about quarter to two I am given the 'safe' sign. Although it's terribly hot, I decide to cycle at least another 30 km's. The discipline is unbelievable. Not mine, that of the Indians. There's hardly anyone on te road who still wants to through some powder and a warning pointerfinger from my side makes even the last doubters stop. And so I get to a formerly Rajput house where I rent a room for two hundred rupees a night. A room with a King-sized bed and a bathroom with a good shower. It takes three quarters of a large bottle of shampoo to clean hair - and it is internationally well known shampoo! After the shower I go downstairs and have diner with an Australian guy who waited here for the Holi festival. Last year he had even worse experiences than me now. He made a sensible decision. I'm relieved that I'm still alive this night, very much so. But the first seeds have been planted for the 'Indian fobia' that has become part of me. Yes, it's a fear for a group of Indians who can't control themselves. It is a built in reaction at the sight of an Indian - a subcontinental Indian, don't get me wrong; it is something allergic to the over attention I get in this country, the lack of personal boundaries and the lack of respect for ownership. They don't steal intentionally; it's just that they seem to think that what's mine, they can try too! Especially in Rajasthan, but also in Maddhya Pradesh my Indian phobia will grow quickly... I'm not proud of it, but I can't help it either.
The ones that protected me during the wildest hours in Chirawa. I already wear a new T-shirt. The old one I used to clean my face and then de-clog my deraileur.