Life, Zindagi And More

Call it male bonding, love and relationships in modern times, friendship or romance, Zoya Akhtar's latest offering 'Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara' (ZNMD) is a film that has all this and more. It is a mainstream film made for the masses, but it manages to strike a chord with the viewers in its own sweet and refreshing way. These days, when the lifespan of a film is very short, it is hard to catch the attention of viewers, let alone make an impression on them. We seem to have forgotten that a normal, commercial film can be meaningful, what with the bevy of inane movies being released every week. ZNMD differs from them in many ways. It is not rollickingly funny, but it has its funny moments. It does not portray stark reality in an unflattering way, but it mirrors contemporary urban Indians very plausibly. It is not preachy, but it gets its message across in a light-hearted manner. In short, Zoya Akhtar has achieved a fine balance. Her film holds you with a firm grip and takes you along on a trip literally and metaphorically. While the literal bit takes place through scenic locales of Spain, the metaphorical journey takes you through the emotional worlds of its characters.

And what an array of wonderful characters brought to life on screen by the talented cast! 'Restraint' seems to be the keyword in making this film. Nothing is larger than life here. The situations and the characters are picked from the upper class urban reality around us. There is no crime, no abusive language, no melodrama, no cheap thrills and no vulgarity. ZNMD has shown that it is possible to make an entertaining film without these staples that usually go into the making of a masala movie. Even Katrina Kaif's appeal is used with a lot of economy, elevating her to the status of an actress than that of a mere glamour doll.

It is Katrina who gets to dispense the premier message of the film: live for the moment, live today as if there is no tomorrow. And she does it not through hollow words, but with her acts. She lives her message while portraying the persona of a free-spirited young woman. And that is why it is so easy for Hrithik Roshan to not only accept it, but to adapt himself to live according to her philosophy. But it is not Hrithik's story alone. The stories of Abhay Deol and Farhan Akhtar are interwoven nicely, making it a homogeneous, free-flowing narrative.

ZNMD has reduced the gulf between small budget, arty, serious cinema and big budget, commercial cinema considerably. Kudos to the Akhtar siblings for presenting a neat package to discerning audiences. A well-written script, good storytelling, superior performances and technical mastery have gone hand in hand to make the film a success. Of course there are some flaws, but they are not major and can be ignored. Moreover, this is not meant to be a review of the film. Umpteen reviews have appeared in the newspapers, magazines and on the net. These are just my impressions of the movie and what I liked about it.

Delhi In July : A Test Of Tolerance

Delhi is a city of distinct seasons. It has a different look and a different feel in each season. Naturally, weather is a very important topic of conversation for Delhiites. Year in and year out, they say the same things to one another and feel sad or happy about the weather. Having spent a major part of my life in Delhi, I have experienced the agony and the ecstasy of the Delhi weather. I am trying to put together a collage of the various faces of Delhi in different seasons. I may do it month by month or I may club a couple of months together. First in the series is the month of July.

It is hard to say which is the cruellest month in Delhi (for there are many), but July will certainly qualify to be one of the top contenders. The high temperatures along with high humidity levels are enough to test the tolerance and patience of the toughest of tough people. If you are outdoors, the hot sun saps your energy in no time. If indoors, the sweat makes you sticky and miserable. The fan whirring overhead is of little help. But life does go on. In fact, schools reopen after summer holidays in the first week of July. Your freshly bathed little one who went to school wearing a clean uniform in the morning, returns home with damp hair, sweaty wet shirt and smelly socks. The water in the poor kid's water bottle is over. It is quite an effort to carry the heavy backpack. There is an odd umbrella or raincoat too. The kid goes back to school again the next day and comes back in a dishevelled state, and the same ordeal continues the day after the next day and the day after that. July always seems to be very long. There are 31 days and no extra holidays as no major festival or national holiday falls in this month.

To make up for this gloomy scene, nature does throw in some goodies even in this inhospitable month. When you step out in the evening, it is still hot, but at least the sun is not blazing ferociously above you. You walk a little and a pleasant whiff of corn on the cob being roasted on a makeshift fire by the streetside greets you. If you care for one, the seller dabs it with fresh lemon and tangy spices and hands it over to you. Roasted corn on the cob tastes best on a rainy day when it has just stopped raining and the poor seller is struggling to keep the roadside fire going. Pay him more than he asks for and the smile on his face will make the whole experience worth a lot more.

Elsewhere in the market, luscious plums have arrived. The dark red or blackish red fruit is sometimes covered with a dusty white coating. Bring home some plums, wash them and bite into their soft flesh. If you are lucky, you may chance upon a deliciously sweet fruit. But you are equally likely to find a tart one. Sweet or tart, plums are a treat, especially because they are seasonal and it is hard to find them at other times of the year.

Central Delhi, or more specifically, the area around India Gate has a large number of jamun trees lining its sidewalks. Come July, the sidewalks turn purple as they get covered with jamuns that fall off the trees. These trees were planted at the time of the planning and building of Central Delhi. So they are old and yield a lot of fruit. The trees are leased to contractors who manage their produce. Urchins who are spending a quiet afternoon under the trees feast on whatever they can get out of the fallen jamuns. Another attraction for them is to see if they can jump into the Boat Club lake for a cool dip on a hot and muggy afternoon.

The swim in the Boat Club waters provides temporary relief. It is still very hot although the dust storms that are so characteristic of the Delhi summer have stopped. But the rain Gods are not yet smiling on the capital. Some days dawn bright and clear with absolutely no trace of a cloud. Newspapers and television screens tell you that it is raining cats and dogs in Mumbai and you long to go there. But you are in Delhi, where the afternoon is frighteningly still. On some days, the same stillness envelopes Delhi through the evening and the night. But on some rare days, the city gets drenched with a sudden evening shower and the setting sun appears again on the skyline. That is precisely the time to get out of the house and enjoy the best Delhi can offer under given circumstances.

A Trip Down Gastronomy Lane

It is an old-fashioned, nondescript narrow street in Indore, just like any other in several towns and cities across India. But what sets it apart from the rest is the extraordinary culinary experience that is on offer here. The less-than-one- kilometre stretch that starts from behind the Rajwada--a stunningly beautiful mansion belonging to the Holkar dynasty, survived only by its facade today--exists in the densely packed, old part of the city; characterized by little lanes criss-crossing each other. These lanes are home to a variety of bazaars, where both sides of the lane are lined with shops selling pots and pans, fabrics and sarees, stationery and jewellery. So there is a Bartan bazaar, a Cloth Market, a Khajuri bazaar and a Sarafa.

Sarafa was originally meant to be a jewellery market. When the jewellers shut shop for the day, the savoury and sweet makers took over and set their wares up on the platforms outside the closed shops. Well, that must have been how the present Sarafa came into being. Now the jewellery shops and eateries sit side by side, all vying for the customers' attention through the day (and night in case of the eateries). The food outlets are open during the day, but they really come alive in the evening.

My earliest memories of visiting the Sarafa are with a dear uncle (Shantaram Kaka) on his bicycle. I remember going there as a little girl with him and being treated to my favourite samosa from the Samosa Corner, along with other things. We did this routine very often and it is still fresh in my memory four decades later. The shop exists at the same place and is in the same condition even today. I make it a point to go there at least once whenever I am in Indore. The crispy triangles stuffed with spicy potato filling are served piping hot, fresh from the pan, with two chutneys--a green one made with coriander leaves and chillies and a brown one made with tamarind. You stand on the street outside the tiny stall, place your order and the guy places a hot samosa on a piece of newspaper, makes a dent in it,  fills the depression caused by the dent with the hot and tangy chutneys and hands the concoction to you. When you bite into this offering, all your taste buds come alive and the samosa disappears leaving a zesty aftertaste in your mouth.

Just across the street is another establishment, Vijay Chaat House. Their USP is something called patties. The credit for introducing this delicacy goes to the owners of this eatery. Most people in Indore refer to it as 'paytis' and are most probably unaware that patties is the plural form of a patty. These are balls where the stuffing is made of coconut along with some spices, and the coating is made of potato. They are then deep fried and served hot with chutneys. The owners seem to be a big family of several brothers, all of them having a fair complexion and dressed in spotless white kurtas. When I went to this place last month, I saw a fair-skinned young lad in his early twenties, sporting the familiar white kurta, busy frying a big batch of matar patties, a variant where the coconut is replaced by peas. Ah, the next generation has joined the family business! As he takes the fresh batch out of the frying pan, it is lapped up by eager customers waiting on the street. No stale or refried food anywhere in the sarafa. The big kadahis are out there for everyone to see, along with platters full of freshly moulded balls, ready to be fried.
 

Further down the street is an outlet of repute specializing in dahivada and bhutte ka kees. It is simply known by the last name of the owner--Joshi. People flock here for the giant dahivada that is large enough for a mini-meal. Deep fried vadas have been softened by dipping them in water and then squeezing them. They are heaped in a big container. When you place an order, the person serving them tosses a vada high up in the air, catches it with great elan, puts it in a bowl, douses it with delectable dahi,  tops it with some spices and chutneys, and presents this absolutely irresistible, melt-in-the-mouth dish to you. The dahi in the vada soothes you while the spices tease you, making the vada-eating a roller-coaster-like experience.

My other favourite here is bhutte ka kees which can be loosely translated as corn-upma, though I must admit that it is a very tame term and does not convey the attributes of this preparation with the respect it deserves. It is served with a topping of freshly squeezed lemon juice, a very special Rajasthani spice called jeeravan and fresh green coriander leaves. The moment you take a spoonful of this delightful stuff into your mouth, a melange of slightly sweet, sour, hot and salty tastes hits you, turning it into an 'Aha' moment.

Then there is spicy sabudane kee khichadi, kachoris stuffed with daal or potato or peas or corn, each variety having its own fan club, aloo tikiyas fried in ghee, served with only chutneys or chhole, fried garadu ( a type of yam) in winters, daal-baafla (a Marwari speciality), and a whole lot more.


Foodies with a sweet tooth can indulge too. There are several delicacies to choose from. But sweets are not my priority when I go to the sarafa. Among the popular sweets are gulab jamuns, jalebis served with hot milk, rabdi (thick evaporated milk), gajar ka halwa (in winters), kulfi and shikanji ( a very rich preparation with evaporated milk and dry fruits) along with a host of barfis and laddoos. People are seen relishing these until late into the night. I have not been to these shops early in the morning, but I am told that jalebis with hot milk are favoured by many for breakfast too!

Most of the eating in the sarafa takes place while standing in the congested street, with vehicles and pedestrians passing by, and hot fumes from the frying making the air even hotter. For those who cannot stand the heat and the dust, an alternative exists in the newer part of the city. Called Chhappan Dukaan, it is a market with 56 shops, where many of the sarafa eateries have opened an outlet. One can enjoy the sarafa specialities in a cleaner environment there. It is a fine place and I have gone there several times, but once a sarafa loyalist, always a sarafa loyalist! For me, a trip to Indore is not complete without a visit to my dear old sarafa.

Map Your World!

Photo by Google

My son Prateek just returned from Google Asia-Pacific Geo Community Summit held in Singapore. He has been a regular contributor to Google Map Maker. Google acknowledges the support of its most active contributors by inviting them to such conferences. Two years ago, Prateek had been to one in Bangalore. Both Bangalore and Singapore summits have been pleasant experiences for him. He has written a piece about the Singapore conference. I am happy to share it here.

Let me start with what Map Maker ( www.google.com/mapmaker ) is. Basically, it is like an editable version of Google Maps. Everyone is editing a single, global, public map, and not their own private maps. Data from Map Maker is copied over into Google Maps, so a lot of the data you see in Google Maps is actually contributed by individuals, and not obtained from a commercial mapping source. Map Maker has been particularly useful in mapping countries where good commercial data did not exist. Map Maker is useful in mapping disaster-hit areas too. This is of great help during rescue operations.

It was a joint conference for Map Maker, Panoramio (a site where people upload geolocated photos, which are then displayed in Google Maps, and which complement the street view), and 3D modellers (people who model 3D buildings, again shown in street view). I was there for Map Maker and so were most of the other participants. Though we communicate with each other over forums and bug trackers, meeting in person was very different and much more satisfying. We were a nice mix of people of different ages, pursuing different professions and belonging to diverse countries such as India, Pakistan, Philippines, Sri Lanka, Laos, Cambodia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Bangladesh, Iran, Indonesia, Japan, Saudi Arabia and Australia. Some of the organisers had come all the way from Google headquarters in Mountain View, California.

The venue of the event was Resorts World on Sentosa Island, a touristy place in the south of Singapore. Sentosa Island seems to have some sort of special status, for example there are entry fees to enter Sentosa by any mode of transport (walking, monorail, bus, taxi, personal car, and cable car), and transport inside Sentosa is free.

The conference began on 30th March afternoon/evening, with a river cruise through the central business district. The riverfront was very well-maintained. Here one could actually see the river, walk along it, etc - as opposed to the many years of living in Delhi where the Yamuna seems to exist only "in the abstract", an entity that one sees on maps and occasionally crosses on bridges without actually seeing any water. The India-Pakistan match began when we were on the cruise, and we could hear a lot of cheering from the nearby cafes/restaurants. It was interesting to see that Indians and Pakistanis were asking each other about the score. Once when the cheering got very loud, I called home and came to know that Sehwag had hit five fours in an over. The cruise was followed by an early dinner at a semi-open-air restaurant close to the riverfront. The organisers asked if they could get the match on the TVs there, but that was not possible.

An important purpose (the primary purpose?) of the conference was to get the Google people and the users to meet and interact with each other, and this did happen on the first day, although there was no "formal" conference activity with projectors and screens and microphones etc.

Other than the Google employees working on Map Maker etc, there were many other younger "volunteers" representing Google who accompanied us on the bus/boat rides, ensured that everyone is informed of the plan, supplied water bottles and umbrellas and stuff, and were generally looking after everyone. This  was one big difference between being at a conference like this and being just a tourist.

On 31st there was a talk by Google's "Geo Evangelist", followed by a discussion with Map Maker engineers. These discussions with the developers about the features, bugs, etc were the most interesting part of the conference for me. There were also many other topics of discussion, like building the Map Maker community, organising mapping parties, mapping from mobile devices, using GPS devices, using Map Maker for mapping disaster-affected areas, and other more technical topics.

In the evening we visited Google's office in Singapore. It is mainly a sales/marketing office. So we just looked around and took some photos. After an early dinner by the poolside, I went to roam around on Sentosa Island. It had gotten dark, and I was surprised to find that the beaches were deserted. I was expecting to see at least some people there given that Sentosa is popular with tourists. I rode a Segway ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Segway_PT ). It was quite interesting!

Photos by Prateek

On 1st morning we had another discussion with the Map Maker engineers, and several  unstructured "unconference" sessions, where people discussed in smaller groups.The Googlers were very interested in interacting with the users and listening to their feedback.

My Cup Runneth Over With Joy

We will continue to exult in the afterglow of the World Cup victory. The gleaming cup will provide us with happiness for years to come. It is amazing how a simple game that requires minimum gear and is played in practically every street in India, can unite the nation in a way that no other glue can.

On Saturday, when India and Sri Lanka were making history on the cricket ground in Mumbai, every Indian heart was beating for Dhoni and his boys. It did not matter whether you lived in India or left the Indian shores generations ago to make a new life elsewhere. If you called yourself Indian, you longed to see the Cup in the Indian skipper's hands. Whether you were Mukesh Ambani sitting in the VIP enclosure at the Wankhede stadium, or a daily wage earner eking out a living in some remote village, you yearned to see India win that evening. From toddlers barely out of their prams to grandparents confined to their wheelchairs, everybody dreamt of the Cup.

On that fateful night in Mumbai, when the captain hit the winning stroke, the thud was echoed in billions of hearts across the globe. What followed was sheer madness. People ran out on the streets in celebration. There was complete chaos. It was an emotional moment for a land that had been waiting for this conquest for a long time. And when it did happen, people had tears of joy in their eyes and lumps in their throats.

What is it that makes cricket so popular as to transcend all barriers of class, caste, gender, age and language ? Its reach is widespread and its connect with the masses phenomenal. But that does not make it any less classy either. And therein lies the magic of cricket, a game that is the darling of not just India, but the entire subcontinent.

When your TV screen fills with images of a handful of strapping men who are epitomes of strength, stamina and fitness, you feel elated. Middle-aged men with paunches, balding and toothless seniors, obese males who are forced to stay indoors because of the nature of their work, students who are too tied up with their studies to go out and get a breath of fresh air, ageing women with bad backs and painful knees, homemakers who are wedded to their chores...almost all of us get a certain pleasure watching these men run, jump, stretch and fall on the ground playing the great game of cricket.

Perhaps we enjoy seeing them do things that we could not do because of other compulsions. After all how many of us get a chance to lead such an outdoorsy life? Maybe we fulfil our wishes through them, just like parents do through their children. We take pride in their achievements because they are real heroes. We are aware of the hurdles they had to cross and the stiff competition they had to face before reaching where they are today. We know that each one of them has put in years of hard work while pursuing the game. We love them, we admire them, we dote on them because they are powerful icons of hope. They bring a lot of cheer to the people of a country that is generally starved of good news.

And who would not be happy to see their side steadily climbing the ladder of success, vanquishing legendary teams that were considered great at one time? That is precisely what happened and as India took on Sri Lanka in the finals, a nation waited with bated breath. If we jumped with joy when they inched towards victory, we fell silent when the other side seemed to dominate the game. No other entity is capable of having a hold over the collective mood of the nation as cricket is.

That is why we need cricket. It is a symbol of our oneness.

My Guardian Angels

It was 1978 and I was a starry-eyed young woman, barely out of my teens. The standard courses offered for post-graduation in Indore did not interest me. I was fascinated by the world of the print media, and wanted to pursue it. The closest city from Indore where you could take a course in Journalism was Mumbai, called Bombay in those days. I had my eyes set on it, and even though it must have been a difficult decision for them, Aai-Baba--my parents--agreed to send me. As luck would have it, I secured a seat at the renowned Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan for a 1-year diploma course in Journalism. I was happy and thrilled. But there was a problem. We had to make arrangements for my stay. Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan did not have any hostel facility.

Photo by Mayuresh

This is where my father's close friend Achyutkaka and his wife, Ashatai came to our rescue. They opened their doors for me and invited me to stay with them in their flat, on Senapati Bapat Road in Mahim. Now, this was a small, one-bedroom flat and they had three young children. I became their fourth child, and the eldest one at that. Aai-Baba found it hard to send me away, but at the same time they were relieved because I was going to be under the loving and watchful eye of their most trustworthy friends.

Achyutkaka was (still is) a stickler for discipline, order and neatness. I made sure that I hang my clothes to dry in perfect symmetry on the clothesline. When I took off my slippers, I set them straight against the wall, with the toe-side touching the wall. Achyutkaka was particular about everything and paid attention to the smallest detail around his house. Footwear left on the floor in a haphazard manner, beds covered with sheets that were wrinkled and slack instead of being taut, and anything in general that was not placed neatly, bothered him. He was very straightforward and vocal about it. His children often got quite an earful from him. I may not have lived up to his exacting standards in spite of trying very hard, but I must say that he never let me know that in any way. He would regularly advise me on how to go about in my chosen field of study. He used to tell me how I should conduct myself in a big city like Bombay. 'If you have any problem, confide in Asha', he often told me. After all, they were responsible for a 19-year-old, who had come away from her parents for the first time.

Even though he was an executive with the Indian Oil Corporation, acting was Achyutkaka's passion. He was active in the theatre circuit and I remember going to see many plays with him at the Chhabildas High School in Dadar. Chhabildas was a great venue for playwrights and directors to showcase their creations. It provided a platform for quality theatre that was not purely commercial, but experimental and low-budget. I don't mean to name-drop, but I got to see Pandit Satyadev Dubey,  Rohini and Jayadev Hattangadi, Sulabha and Arvind Deshpande, Nafisa Ali, Nana Patekar, Amol Palekar, Sunila Pradhan and many others from close quarters, either on stage or as part of the audience or in an informal meeting, thanks to Achyutkaka. I can't recollect names of all the plays that I saw there, but the two that stand out in memory are Badal Sircar's 'Juloos' and Mohan Rakesh's 'Aadhe Adhoore'. And I certainly haven't forgotten the zesty batatavadas from a nearby stall, that we used to be treated to, after watching a play.

Photo by Govind

If I have to mention one more of Achyutkaka's 'likes', other than discipline, order, neatness and acting, it has to be his evening drink. He has been having his pre-dinner drink every single day for years. I can still picture him, sitting in a chair that was kept between a window and a steel cupboard in the small Mahim flat, nursing his drink. His tastes in food are simple. He is happy with his daal-roti, the daal has to be served in a big bowl though, not in the small vaati or katori in which it is traditionally served in Maharashtrian houses. And the pinch of sugar that Maharashtrians add to all the dishes is a strict no-no in his house. Ashatai's cooking has always been free of that dash of sugar. In fact, there is a delightful North Indian touch to her fare, as she hails from Jhansi. The family was mostly vegetarian. Occasionally, there used to be some fish and the children tried their best to cajole me into eating it, or at least trying a little portion. But I was, still am, a vegetarian by choice and therefore did not succumb to their pleas.

Life was simple. School for the kids, Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan for me and office for Achyutkaka. Ashatai was a homemaker then. She started teaching at a school later. Sunday evenings were reserved for sitting in front of the TV and watching whatever movie Doordarshan threw at us. There used to be an intermission--a break when news was telecast--that all of us enjoyed with some munchies. The favourite items were puff biscuits and hard and crispy boondi laddoos which Achyutkaka used to get from some shop in Dadar.

Time flew in these congenial environs and before I knew it, my course was over. I was fortunate to be selected as a trainee journalist at the Bennett, Coleman & Company, publishers of the Times of India and many reputed journals. Soon, I moved into a hostel for working women. It was not too far from Achyutkaka's place. I continued visiting and meeting him and his family till I got married and moved away in 1982. When we were about to set up our home in Delhi, Achyutkaka gave us an Indane gas connection from his discretionary quota. That was one of the most sought after things then, a precious gift indeed that is still keeping our kitchen fires burning.

Achyutkaka and Ashatai visited us in Delhi and in Bangalore. They came when Aai-Baba were with us so that the four of them could spend some nice time together. Achyutkaka and Baba have been friends for more than six decades now, but what is remarkable is that their wives are each other's best friends too! During his visits, I found that he is still his old self...inspecting cupboards, arranging newspapers in a neat pile, washing and arranging teacups in the kitchen...and so on. His actions told me that he felt completely 'at home' at our place. This is exactly what he would have done in his own house.

Well, that is Achyutkaka for me.

A bit of information for those who don't know: Achyutkaka is Achyut Potdar who played the role of the father of leading ladies Urmila Matondkar ( in the 1995 Hindi film 'Rangeela')  and Vidya Balan ( in the 2005 film 'Parineeta'), and a cameo of a professor in 'Three Idiots' (2009). You may have seen him in many other Hindi films,  TV serials and advertisements. Kudos to him for keeping his passion alive and being actively involved in it so many years after retirement.

Holi Is Around The Corner

When the nights started getting warm and the days warmer, when the woollen clothes felt burdensome every now and then, when you thought that you better open your windows, you knew that Holi was around the corner. The palash (flame of the forest, tesu) tree outside our window would come alive with little orange buds every year at this time. Soon, the whole tree was a riot of bright orange blossoms, their flames leaping towards the sky, leaving the tree completely bereft of its green foliage. This was my favourite harbinger, marking the turn of the seasons.

Photo by Santosh Chandran, CC-BY-SA

Holi, in Delhi brought the winter to an end. It came at a point when winter left Delhi, and summer was yet to arrive. It was the perfect time to shed your winter clothes, shed your inhibitions and join the party. But for years, we kept away from all the hullabaloo. We just did not like the loudness, the aggression and the mess that Holi brought with it. Why get doused with strong chemical colours that were not only hard to wash off, but were hazardous too? We wanted to avoid all this and preferred to stay put indoors, watching our neighbours who were hidden behind layers of powders and paints, from the safety of our home.

This went on for a few years. But our neighbours decided that they would not let us have the vicarious pleasure of playing Holi from the confines of our living room. So one fine Holi day, they rang the bell and knocked at our door, asking us to join them. We knew that they were armed with coloured powders, pastes and water bottles (pichkaris), ready to pounce on us as soon as they could, and so we decided not to open the door. The mob outside, though friendly, turned furious at our temerity and started pounding at the door with their fists. Some others kept the button of the bell pressed, making it shriek continuously. We were not sure if  keeping the door shut was wise, but we stuck to our stand anyway. The poor bell could not cope with the incessant pressure and fell silent. The thumping went on for some more time and then stopped. The group of revellers gave up on us and moved away, leaving us clean and dry, secure in our territory.

Even though we got what we wanted, we were somewhat uncomfortable because we had turned our neighbours away from our door without greeting them. We lived on the campus of an academic institute where my husband taught, so they were not only neighbours, but his colleagues too.

At the next Holi, we decided to participate in the celebrations in our campus. When we offered no resistance and went from door to door willingly with other people, they treated us as one of them and did not attack us with their deadly powders and coloured water, as they would most certainly have if we were to hide in a corner and show reluctance. Sure, they threw hot purple powder in my hair, and painted my face with fluorescent green, red and yellow, but the 'attack' was friendly, not ferocious. We followed this practice every year and soon became a part of the gang. The situation with chemical colours improved considerably as there were several campaigns against them in Delhi. People became aware of the dangers they posed and opted for organic colours that were safe.

Around noon, when everybody had played with colours to their hearts' content, a kind and generous neighbour used to invite all of us to his home for some refreshments. They had a neat garden outside their flat. Some of us sprawled on the lawn, while plastic chairs were hurriedly pulled out for others. The hostess disappeared in the kitchen to send platters of snacks for all of us. We felt very comfortable in each other's company in spite of all the mess on our clothes and bodies. It was at that instant that I understood the spirit of Holi. The Holi colours had the magical powers of hiding our formal demeanour and bringing out our true selves. We sat in that garden, sipping tea, munching on the savouries and soaking in the 'feel good' air around us. Taking a shower, washing the colours off our bodies and changing into clean clothes could surely wait for some time, couldn't it?