Holi Hey!

My hosts Nandini and Babu with their two kids (left and right) and a school friend (middle) in front of their house

To celebrate Holi with an indian family turned out a whole different way than expected! Like indians, I got myself ready for Holi: I treated myself with a huge henna tattoo on my arm, made by a young talented artistic girl, who was actually the servant of the family I was living with. She belongs to the caste of untouchables. The lowest possible category in indian culture. The fraction of population in India that even in these days, some indians from higher casts would not even dare to touch their shadows, let alone touch something that has been touched by them. Although this beautiful but very skinny young girl belonged to such a shunned class, my hosts treated her almost like family. She got offered chai when we drank, and she was offered food when we ate. But you could tell she did not feel very comfortable, sitting on the same carpet like us eating our meal. She usually ate very fast to get back to her work as soon as possible. Nandini, the wife of the house, explained to me one day that she was very shy. I could sense, that the girl did not feel comfortable around us because she herself didn´t consider herself equal. We treated her like a normal human being, like one of us, but you could tell she was not used to it. She could never look me in the eyes, even when I thanked her for the tattoo and gave her the expected amount of money for her efforts. She would always lower her gaze in a inferior kind of way and not even daring to say something in return. Too bad, since she was probably the nicest and most honest person I have met in this country. Despite her young age, her family has already married her to some man. But because she was under age, law protected her and she was still living with her family, until law allowed her to legally live with her husband. That day before Holi she spent over three hours to paint mine and the arm of another workawayer with henna. I was amazed at the endurance she displayed. But in the end, for her it was a pretty profitable day. I wanted to know from Nandini, what the girl would do with all the money. I knew that she wasn´t in possession of a bank account (most indians are not), so most of them were forced to hide the money in their homes. That was why they never wanted to make too much money at once, especially poor people, because they were not able to stock it someplace safe. So they normally made per day what they needed for food and maybe for shopping some jewelerys once a month or so. I wanted to know what I donated my money to. I asked, if the girl was saving the money. Nandini agreed. I wanted to know, what she was saving for. I couldn´t talkt o the girl herself, because she didn´t understand english, and my hindi was by far not good enough to hold such a conversation. And besides, she probably wouldn´t have answered me because of shame. So Nandini answered instead: «…for life.» I was not happy with her answer. «Will she use it to go studying some day?», I wanted to know. Nandini shook her head, sadness showing in her eyes. «This girl wouldn´t even have the chance to go studying. She is from the lowest cast, and already married. When she turns old enough, she will become a housewife, have kids and be the servant of her family for the rest of her life. There is no need to study. It won´t serve her in the end, so there is no point.» I recognized the deep frustration showing in her eyes, because it was the same fate that befell her too, the same fate that affects most women in India. Especially on the countryside. The cities have started to experience small change, but the change hasn´t so much reached the villages yet. There, one still believed in the good old traditional way. Although Nandini did get the chance to study before marriage, and even graduated after studying arts, her degree meant nothing here. No value, not now. Not as a housewife. It was a faint memory of a time where she had felt free, where she had felt that she could do whatever pleased her in life. A time where she has truly and unconditionally felt happy. But times change. At the age of 26, her marriage was arranged to a man from her cast, which is a high one, and she had to leave her home and family to move in with her husband in the countryside. She comes from the city, but now she had to stay with his family. She got lucky with her husband, mostly. He treats her nicely and I have experienced that he let´s her speak her mind freely and in a critical way, even in front of him. Not many man in India would approve of a women speaking her mind. Or approve her being partner of his businesses, allowing her to host foreigners and learn english. Babu does. And I respect him for that. But there are other factors that make her life hard, and sometimes even almost unbearable to watch. I found myself in situations where it took all my strength to keep my mouth shut. Indians have a different way of raising kids. So it was none of my business. But it hurts mea s a teacher to see how disrespectful a nine year old boy can treat his mother, and that she has no way of defending herself. In the end, it always comes down to this: men in India are worth more than women, still. No matter the age. It is a thing of impossibility to understand, but I can´t deny that that is still the way it is stuck in peoples heads.

Babu and Nandini got their own house, the mother-in-law living right next door though. Indian traditions are hard to understand and even harder to watch for foreigners. While I could walk around, in and out of the house as I pleased, that case did not count for Nandini. Nandini could never ever leave the house without the permission of her mother-in-law, and not without her or someone of her choice accompanying her. She was a prisoner in a golden cage as I liked to call it. But not only that. When she felt herself, she would take off her odna, the special rajasthani scarf that the women of the desert wear to cover their faces. With us, she felt comfortable, so for cooking and household, she would put it down. I imagine it being very annoying, having cloth infront of your face while trying to cook. Almost as if you would try to cut vegetables with a blindfold on. It was just not very practical. But she had to keep it on, to keep it ready, because her mother in law was very traditional. We knew that her mother-in-law liked to pay unexpected and unheralded visits to her house, control-strolls as I called it, and when that happened, she had to be ready with her veil on. And it happened every single day more than once, that she came rushing into the house making everybody feel uncomfortable with her demanding aura and making Nandini run around like a nervous wrack. For this exact case, all the stories about evil mother-in-laws are more than fitting. I experienced daily, how Nandini got suppressed, bullied and scared by the mother of Babu. And the worst hit was on Holi.

I was very excited to experience Holi with an indian family. The real experience. But my enthusiasm got deflated as my host as in Babu (the master of the house) announced, that we could not participate in the coloring. I am sure everybody of you reading this knows Holi as the festival of colors, where you throw colored powder in each others faces and dance to wild and loud music. Well, exactly this got cancelled for us. I was devastated. This had been the one thing I had been so excited about experiencing with an indian family. I think Babu sensed my disappointment and tried to explain. In the village, the coloring wasn´t celebrated, but when I proposed to go to the city instead, he said, that for two foreign girls like us, it would simply be way too dangerous. Not even indian women could go to the coloring because it usually got out of hand. Men got drunk and took adventage of the coloring, they would get very touchy and inappropriate, he warned. To be honest, at that moment, I didn´t care. A voice in my head said that he overreacted, and I was pissed. Now, I felt like a prisoner too. Because I knew, I had to accept it. I could just call a cab and let them drive me to the city, but I knew that would be beyond disrespecting. It would be disobeying orders of my host. He was not my father, but he was responsible for us, and I had to respect him and his beliefs. And I had to trust him in knowing his culture better than I did. I knew him well enough to know that even though both of us were grown-ups, he could not allow to have something happen to us while we were staying at his home. So I gave in. Very disappointed, but I gave in. The night before the celebrations, I got Babu to take us to Bikaner to see the burning. On the way, he told us the story behind Holi, and I was surprised to hear that not the coloring was the fest but the burnings. The story of Holi that is to say, is the story of Holika:

Once there was a demon king named Hiranyakashipu who was against the worship of Gods. Hiranyakashipu had a boon that he would neither be killed by a human nor an animal, neither at night nor at day, neither in his house nor outside, neither by any arms nor ammunition. After he received this boon, Hiranyakashipu became arrogant and started believing that he was invincible. He started treating everyone cruelly and banned the worship of Gods and Goddesses in his kingdom. Hiranyakashipu had a son named Prahlad. Prahlad was a staunch devotee of Lord Vishnu. Hiranyakashipu tortured him in every way so that he would stop worshipping Lord Vishnu. But Prahlad was adamant. So, as a last resort Hiranyakashipu summoned his sister Holika to kill Prahlad. Holika in indian culture stands for the devil, and she had a boon that she would never be harmed by fire. So, Holika tricked Prahlad, who was still a child, onto her lap and sat on a burning pyre with him. As she committed an act so sinful, her boon became unfruitful. She was consumed by the fire and Prahlad came out safely. Thus, the evil was destroyed and faith of the people in God was restored. That is why people to this day on the first full moon in march burn Holika, to chase off demons and celebrating the victory of good over evil.

Thus, entering the city of Bikaner, everywhere you looked were people preparing wood to start big fires. We drove across the city to a temple, where we attended the burning Holika Ritual. As soon as we joined, we were offered sweets from strangers, but when Babu took it we knew we´d be safe. We were the only women in the streets. I guess Babu was right, this was no place for women during the festivities. The gathered men started to walk around the fire in circles, a holi thing for Hindus that they also do around their temples. I never figured out why they do it, but they circle everything that is important to them at least once. They asked us to join, but Babu insisted on moving on. It was late, already eleven, but many men carried their boys with them. Also Babu had brought his nine year old son. We wandered the streets and came across more fires, more sweets, music and celebrating people. As soon as the fires came to live, preaching, praying and singing began, until all the wood was consumed by the hungry, sateless flames. Then, some began to throw color, and one kid selected me as a target. He hesitated, I could see him slowly closing in in the corner of my eye, but then I gave him an encouraging smile and he dared to step closer. “Happy Holi!”, he wished and gently touched my forehead with pink powder in his hand. Babu saw it and gave the kid the deadliest look and dragged me forward. I was antagonized. The gesture of this young boy had been neither violent nor bad intended… and I was shocked at his hard reaction. And I started to get angry. This had not been bad at all, why would he not let me have at least one kid coloring my face for the hell of this tradition? He was now getting very anxious as people started to celebrate and drink. I was upset that he was like that, I felt like a child being held from having fun. All I wanted to do is to join the celebrations, to dance and forget, and to feel alive again. But not today. The show was over, and he decided it was time to go back. And I went to bed with a bitter taste of regret and disappointment on my tongue.

Holi is one of the two most important celebrations in India. We were all very stressed out days before the big day, mostly because Nandini´s nerves were at breaking point and she was chasing everyone plus herself through the house trying to get all the preparations done in time. She was so worried about it all being perfectly neat, because the look and impression of her house was obviously considered the mirror to her ability and value as a wife. So everything had to be beyond perfection. Even our costume had to be planned out days before. For myself, I readied the nicest dress I brought with me to India, and prepared all my jewelery to wear the next day for celebrations. Since my dress was not total appropriate for indian celebrations (my shoulders were not covered), my host Nandini lend me one of her scarfs to cover up nice and smoothly. I even put make up on, since it was a special occasion and I really wanted to blend in as much as possible. And there, in my nice costume all dressed up I watched the kids playing coloring in the back yard. With every muscle in my body I craved to be able to play with them, run around and get all dirty and stained, but even for a foreign woman, in india this is just not done by grown up women. So I sat there instead, watching and longing, dreaming and wishing. Soon, visitors came, and we were all absorbed in serving sweets to them and cooking chai. Morning hours were reservated to the men who went from house to house for greetings and chatter. They would gather in one room, just all men, and we could only enter to bring them more food or drinks. Nandini obviously only all covered up. The afternoon though belonged to the women. Nandini had been excited for weeks to finally get to leave her house for once with her girlfriends. They came to pick her up at three, and proudly she introduced us to her friends. Then, they started their tour around the houses for greetings and gossiping, and we were left alone in the house. I took the time to rest some more in my room, because the last couple of days had been very tiring and stressful. Nandini did not return until late (I think it was around seven that she came back to the house and immediatly started to cook dinner). When I found her in the kitchen, she was crying. Her mother-in-law had been bawling her for being out too long. That was bad manners and not tolerated. «This is not our culture» was what she used to say. Nandini was drenched in tears when she admitted that the mother of her husband had also insulted her and her family, her dead mother, everytime she could. Since nine years, this woman was bullying her, and no matter what she did, no matter what she tried, it was never good enough. My heart wept for her. I felt so bad, seeing her like this. She had tried so hard the last couple of days, but she was right, it was never enough. It would never be enough. And through her desparation, I could hear between the lines that she was counting the days until her mother-in-law would leave this world for good and would no longer be.

We tried to cheer her up, brought her stuff when we went out for shopping and tried to help her with work as much as possible. But she was not able to get back to her positive self for the next couple of days. She seemed dull and weary. We kept her company and after five days she slowely started to recover from her husband´s mother´s blow. During that time, another girl joined us for my last couple of days in this home. She had been in Pushkar to celebrate Holi, and it was only then when I learned that Babu´s suspicion proved right. Although this girl had been with other friends (female and male), they had been attacked, overstrained and harassed to the extent that she would not do it again and could not enjoy the celebrations at all. People had stolen from her, had ripped off her glasses to purposely throw powder in her eyes and touched her in the most inappropriate and obtrusive way. So in the end, I must admit that it probably had been better to be kept from the festivities on the streets, and that I am actually glad I wasn´t able to go. I think thanks to Babu are necessary here for being stubborn, unrelenting and uncooperative in letting us go to the coloring! Thank you Babu!