Lost Colours of Holi

Basanta Utsab

In Bengal we celebrate the festival of vibrancy, most of the times, a day before the entire country plunges to colouring themselves in serene joy. We call it “Dol”. Infact, we take the privilege of celebrating two days of mirth, instead of just one. And whenever we mention Bengal, one name cannot be kept aside and that is none other than the epitome of literary genius “Rabindranath Tagore”. In Vishwabharati Shantiniketan, the university founded by him, Holi is celebrated to a different rhythm, different essence. They call it “Basanta Utsab” or celebrating spring.

Students dressed in yellow, come together through music and dances and welcome the awesomeness of spring with zeal. Grace and art conglomerate to such a candid effervescence that the onlooker too, is painted in the colours of the season.

Holi has different avatars in different regions, whether it’s the delectable madness of Mathura or the grace of Vishwabharati, one aspect is always the inseparable part of the festivities, and that is embracing life’s vivid colours in the absolute literal sense. And hence my nation is unique, where we celebrate a day painting each other in/with love.

Let the madness reappear

My earliest memories of Holi are truly magnificent, they belong to the era, when I and my family lived in the little Sail Township in West Bengal. I call it a hamlet for breeding rich souls. An astonishing association of culture, education and immense respect for each other. As kids, Holi was the best festival to do absolutely whatever the heart seeks. Neither mom was going to scold for the prestigious untidiness acquired, nor papa for skipping studies. We all would patiently wait for each other to make the first move and once movement was spotted outside in the garden area, there was no stopping at all.

“Hare re re re re, amae chere dere dere…jemon chara boner pakhi moner anonde re……”

This famous Rabindra Sangeet means, leave me to fly like birds in the wood sans inhibition and overflowing with gaiety. An apt expression to portray what we kids felt, as we darted towards each other giggling, jumping, with colour and “pichkari” in our little hands. A complete feeling of free spiritedness. Neither did we bother about the smoothness of skin nor the lustre of hair, the only botheration was glowing feeling of happiness in our eyes. We took to lot of mischief too, sometimes throwing balloons filled with coloured water at an unknown passerby, or at times pouncing on a friend, caught in slight inattentiveness. We ran from one house to another, and filled our stomachs with tasty, homemade sweets which the aunties had to offer. At the end of the day, we were left tired, satisfied and surging with possibilities.

Today, the mirth has faded to a huge extent. Given to our hectic lives, a mid week holiday is an added rest to our demented souls. Sometimes when I sit by the window of my sixteenth floor apartment in Mumbai those lost memories come back to me, like a breath of fresh air with the looming fragrance of Holi colours. Hoping for the day when that madness will reappear and the festival regain its lost colour for me.....

“I’m pledging to #KhulKeKheloHoli this year by sharing my Holi memories atBlogAdda in association with Parachute Advansed.”

Aritra Chakrabarty Sengupta