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Dilip D'Souza

Tradition in an odorous water balloon

This year, I can't help thinking, there is an even greater abundance of Holi hooligan stories. Like the one our office secretary told. The woman standing next to her in the train had a plastic bag filled with fish waste slung at her. She had to return home, clothes ruined, stinking, in tears. Or like the one a friend who lives down the road related. Two days before Holi, she was surrounded by a band of unknown mutts in Sion. Despite her protests, they pelted her with balloons -- just water in them, luckily -- and thoroughly drenched her. Another colleague at the office tells me Holi revellers banged on his door, forcibly painted and drenched him and his family.

The papers are full of reports of what gets thrown at people on Holi: everything from water balloons to frozen solid, to bilge from drains, to bags of stones, to excreta.

And then there's Air-India employee Uttam Pawar, part of the headlines in a way he never could have dreamed of. He was also on a train, also two days before Holi, when somebody in a train going the other way threw a water balloon at him. It hit him so hard that he fell down in pain. "Blood was dripping from my eyes and the pain was excruciating," he told reporters. Doctors say the iris in one eye is torn and the retina is bleeding; it's unclear if he will be able to see fully again. "Everything appears completely hazy" is how Pawar described his sight.

Holi, that celebration of spring come again, that delightful day of colour and friendship we knew so well, is now mutated into an unrecognisable monster that sometimes even smells distinctly fishy. Scummy behaviour to torment others is now just routine. In fact, there are too many mutts who seem to think Holi's very purpose is to torment others, especially women, especially from the front.

In fact, mutts and their doings are in evidence at other times of the year too. Like the two I ran across one recent Diwali on the street near my home. Mutt Number One was bent over a rocket that was laid flat on the ground, lighting its fuse. Before I could react, the rocket took off at full speed, streaming sparks, snaking all over the road, bumping into the median and finally exploding deafeningly against the kerb. Number Two whooped with joy and then bent over himself, getting ready to repeat the performance with a second rocket. I found my voice in time and yelled. He stopped while I passed, but who knows? He probably returned to the task at hand as soon as I had moved on.

I remember shaking almost uncontrollably with anger. If I had been just 10 or 15 steps ahead of where I was, that rocket would have exploded between my ankles. There were dozens of other people on the road: the two pyromaniacs clearly didn't care that their rockets might have seriously hurt or killed some of them.

I used to think Diwali was without doubt the most lovely day in my little world. The before-dawn oil-bath that left me squeaky clean and fresh, the new clothes, the sweets; at night, the lights sprinkled everywhere like some sparkling bounty, the whirring zameen-chakras, the spectacular fountains... no, Diwali was without doubt the most lovely festival in the whole world.

Today, it has mutated too, and in much the same direction as Holi. It's enough to make you want to weep.

When I wrote about these depressing changes in a column about a year ago, I got the response that is, these days, utterly predictable. An angry reader wrote to say I had no business to insult Hindu culture which I did not belong to and obviously did not understand: wasn't I a Christian? And anyway, all this talk of vandalism and destruction was pure exaggeration: there were only a few stray incidents which did not mean anything much.

Luckily, he got some angry letters too, even from women who told him in no uncertain terms just what a misery Holi had become for them. Just how out of touch he was with their reality.

But as I indicated, the reaction I got is just routine these days. I've been reading about a seven-year-old boy, Vir Seth, whose neighbour tossed a bomb at him on Diwali two years ago. He had to have three operations to remove splinters from his eyes; one splinter is too deep to be removed and will remain there through his life. While that was horrible enough, there was more horror to come in the course of the police case that resulted. The lawyer for the bomb-happy neighbour argued, perversely enough, that since Vir's mother is Christian, she is "against" Hindu festivals like Diwali.

The very thought that this is a possible accusation to make, that this kind of argument might hold water, is something of a signpost for the times. And it raises several questions. I'm going to ask them and hope somebody will answer.

First, I don't believe I move in some exotic, rarefied circles that have exclusive access to stories about vandalism during these festivals. Those from whom I hear these sorry tales are perfectly ordinary people going about their daily business. The point is, so many perfectly ordinary people complain about what goes on at Holi. The newspapers report so many sordid events. How can it possibly be that they all amount to just "a few stray incidents"?

Second, the Diwali and Holi of my memories were part of my culture too. They had great meaning to me, as they did to my friends. I celebrated with a joy no less joyful than my neighbours and schoolmates had. Like them, I stripped to my undies and squirted coloured water about; I lit dozens of little lamps and set off assorted thrilling fireworks. These things are a precious, integral, part of me.

Why should I have to give up any of that just because I'm dismayed by what has happened to these joyous festivals? On what possible basis can anyone say I don't understand or don't belong to that culture? Besides, what does that have to do with anything?

Third, I'll gladly admit to a knowledge of religion and tradition that's no more than faint. Still, I feel sure they never specified that commemorating anything must mean being a nuisance to and even injuring others. Yet today this happens with impunity. Funeral processions, whether Christian, Muslim, or Hindu, block roads, slow the passage of thousands, irritate me no end. Marriage processions similarly, even with the added attraction of tuneless, nonstop, deafening music. Besides, every year there's a new religious occasion on which processions hit the roads. Add to this list of nuisances the perversions of Holi and Diwali and you have to ask: when and why did we come to accept that hassling our fellow citizens is part of our culture?

Fourth, if it is indeed part of our culture, why is that not reason for concern and consternation? Why instead do so many rush to the defence of mutts and vandals thinking they are defending culture? Why won't they defend the women, especially, who fear Holi so much?

What is the real threat to our culture: the thugs or those who find thugs offensive? The obscene twisting of tradition or those who are appalled by it?

Yes, there's an abundance of questions. Just like this year there's an abundance of Holi stories. I don't want to think what next year is going to be like.

Dilip D'Souza