let's talk about holi

"Casual Tisching, post-Holi" -- a gem from Spring 2011.

The first time I heard about Holi was during my freshman year at Tufts. I went away for a weekend with the Tufts Democrats (because I'm a hip, social activist type...or just a nerd), and when I came back, my roommate and quite a few of my floormates were coated in colorful pigment. All I could get from them was, "Holi! Colors! On the Rez Quad! Just now! Indian festival! Blah! Did you see how cool my shirt looked?! Look at the cool Holi pictures that are up on Facebook!" During my sophomore year, I made it a point to partake in the festivities, led by the Indian student organization on campus. Once again, I didn't really know what it meant except that it was an excuse to take a nice, long break from studying for midterms to throw colors at each other. My boyfriend and I took a picture on my laptop in Tisch, post-Holi, to show to the world how cultured and colorful we were. (I should also mention that I sort of hated the whole thing. I liked being covered in colors, but I hated how every time I blew my nose for the next week, my snot was a mixture of purple and red from the rang. But, hey. A good Facebook picture is a good Facebook picture, you dig?)

Now let's fast-forward to a year later. I'm in India for Holi. No more of this janky Rez Quad business; I've moved into the major leagues. I woke up, excited to get out there and get my color on. But let me tell you something about Holi in India. It is serious business. First and foremost, the streets are empty. The market's closed. You can barely find an auto-rickshaw, when they're usually driving around in packs of five or six. Second, there's this ominous feeling when you walk down the streets because all you see is patches of pigment thrown on the sidewalks. You know someone has been there, but you don't know where they've gone and you don't know when they'll be back. It's nerve wracking. This is what I imagine a zombie apocalypse to feel like --

The usually bustling Lajpat Nagar Central Market on Holi.

And what have we all learned from zombie movies? When the zombie apocalypse is approaching, you stock up, and you stock up quickly. The only vendors that were on the streets were selling water guns, so Sarah and I grabbed one each and filled up. We then, cautiously, made our way back to our homestay. On the way, we had to dodge water balloons dropped from the roofs of the buildings surrounding us. I even saw a father, carrying his baby, with a water gun in hand. Sarah and I, unfortunately, did not come out unscathed. Some old man with a great white beard came up to us as we were buying water guns and smeared some green pigment on our foreheads and gave us a big bear hug, which was equally slimy. On our walk to the market, Sarah got hit with a few water balloons, some good squirts of a water gun and an egg to the right thigh. I got a water balloon to the right side and the back of the neck, in addition to an egg on my left butt cheek.

And then, war began. Children throwing pigment. Fathers on rooftops with sons and daughters, chucking water balloons. Big kids jumping little kids, rubbing dye in their hair and faces. Total chaos --

It was way aggressive. I'm still scared to go out onto the streets. In fact, Sarah and I went to the ATM and I had to literally growl at two teenage boys to get hell away from me with the rang, or pigment. They got dangerously close, but I scared 'em off. There was also a couple of grown men who were harassing us and threw a bottle of water on us. That was just uncalled for, honestly.

I'm now sitting in my room while the rest of my host family is napping. Our host sister says that once you wash the pigment off, you wash away your energy too and you just need to take a nap. But, much like last year, I need to buckle down and study for a midterm. Miree Hindi bahut karab hai. That's fancy-talk for, "My Hindi is really bad."

Today's been fun, but I already have enough trouble when I walk down the mean streets of Delhi. I get cat-called on the regular, so I really don't need to be worrying about getting a water balloon thrown at me or staining my clothes with potentially toxic chemicals, too.

Happy Holi! Right?!

coming home

Our bedroom for the next two months.

We got assigned our homestays yesterday, and that was sort of a stressful process. We knew that we'd be placed with an Indian family somewhere in Delhi, but they didn't tell us if our family would have kids or pets or anything until the 11th hour. In fact, we didn't know who our roommate would be until the last minute either. We were all watching the Bollywood movie "3 Idiots" in the Program Center as our host parents came to pick us up. Sarah, my roommate, and I were the first ones to leave. It was like being a puppy and waiting for someone to adopt you. Simultaneously sad to be leaving the group but totally excited to have a home, all at the same time.

I'm in the Lajpat Nagar neighborhood. It's right near a big market, which is not going to be good for my wallet, and we're only a 15-minute walk from the Metro. Our host mother is the cutest woman. This isn't her first time at the rodeo, though. In fact, I believe we're at least her third set of host daughters with SIT. Auntie-ji can cook up a storm, has beautiful long hair and loves watching "Comedy Circus." In fact, we all watched "Comedy Circus" last night. A lot was lost in translation, since the show is in Hindi, but I still giggled. Fun fact: Spit takes are funny, no matter what continent you're on. Our host mother also has a daughter who is 19 and a student at Delhi University.

Our building.

As I mentioned, I'm sharing a room with another girl from our program. There was a rumor floating around that the roommate pairs might have to share a double bed, but that's fortunately not the case. My one complaint, if you can call it a complaint, is that the bed is very, very firm to the point that I'm sort of sure that it's a table with some padding on it. Koreans like firm beds too, so I'm relatively used to it, and I'm just grateful to have a bed and a host family in the first place. We've got a lovely balcony, too. One fact of Indian life that I'm still adjusting to is the noise. From our window, you can hear car horns beeping; packs of dogs barking; a man riding his bicycle, ringing the bell and chanting; and shouting. Shouting from kids, from parents, from everywhere. We're also pretty sure we heard a flock of pigeons fling themselves at our window this morning.

I'm trying hard to act like I'm part of the family rather than just a paying guest, but I still don't know where that balance is. I'm sure I'll be walking the tightrope throughout the next couple of months, but I'm glad I finally have a place to rest my head. (The food is delicious, too, but I have to learn how to say no to second, and sometimes third, helpings. Auntie-ji likes to make sure we get enough to eat, and she's a mean cook.)

Our neck of the woods in Delhi.