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Published: March 17th 2006
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I awoke late morning to silence which was a change from the previous morning’s traffic jam outside my window. The entire city was silent and celebrating the Festival of Holi, the celebration of colors. My first sight in the hotel was outside my door as a family of Indian women sat on the stairs having their picture taken. They wore traditional Indian dresses and headgear but looked as if they had been subject to firing squad by paintball. One old woman’s face was yellow but her hair was red. The younger girls shared the same purple hair but had green faces and orange hands. All three of their dresses looked as if the had been bombarded by the end of a rainbow while innocently sunbathing. Most importantly all of this was perfectly normal.
Down the stairs, I found Royal working on his PDA in the lobby though he had been blessed with a few thumbs to the forehead mixing a little yellow and green to give off a muted orangish color. All he said was that I was wearing the wrong clothes for the day. He was right. I changed immediately from my white collared shirt and pants to an
Happy Holi 7
End of the day self portrait... older tee-shirt and worn pair of shorts that had been new three months ago if I hadn’t been wearing them every single day.
I walked to the sham of a travel agent office attempting to purchase train tickets through the Golden Triangle when I was met by three of the smiling travel agents that had appeared to have all the colors of the Crayola factory smeared all over their entire beings. The enthusiastically told me to put my bag in the office, take off my shirt and come outside. It was pointless to resist, I really didn’t have much to do that day, and the entire city was shut down for the festival. A little paint on the face and I’ll be able to say I took place in the Holi festival. I refused to take off my shirt, convincing myself that my insistence to remove any of my clothing would prevent anyone from throwing paint on my person rather than wiping a little on my face.
No more than two steps outside of the office; I got hit with the oldest trick in the book. Three buckets of red colored water came from the partygoers on the
Happy Holi 2
He kept trying to hug me to get more paint on me... roof down directly on top of me soaking me from head to bloody toe. The three travel agents then proceeded to smear up my face and hair with a powdered substance that felt more like flour than paint. Again, resistance was pointless. I figured that at least it was water and it really wouldn’t ruin my clothes. So I joined the family on the rooftop where I was immediately met at the top of the stairwell my two little boys dousing me again with colored water, this time purple and green.
The entire apartment building was on top of the roof, a few of the drunk and all eating some type of “Indian sweets” that they kept shoving into my mouth. They were throwing water balloons at each other and I was approached by three girls that couldn’t have been older than fifteen that were extremely interested in everything American. An older drunk man proceeded to chat one of my ears off about how he provided US Embassy workers with housing, he was in real estate, an older woman kept popping these sweets in my mouth, the girls were drooling over me, and the little boys were repeatedly filling
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These little buggers are the ones that kept hitting me with full buckets of freezin cold Paint Water... up their buckets and throwing them at me in intervals of nearly every thirty seconds. Sensory overload doesn’t even begin to explain what I was feeling.
When I finally escaped the family madness for a moment and was able to take in the magnificent rooftop view, I was taken by the hand and dragged onto the makeshift dance floor. The boys provided a viable excuse not to dance as they hit me from behind with their biggest load of water soaking me through to the underwear. One more picture and I had to leave the rooftop. There was simply too much happening and they all appeared to be focusing their attention on me as the lone outsider.
To say that Indian’s stare is a little like saying that leaves grow in trees. I hate using generalities when describing people, but this is one of the universally agreed upon traveler warnings, if you feel uncomfortable being looked at, don’t go to India. Its real hard being a white face in Delhi, absolutely covered from head to toe in every color of paint and walk down the street without being stared at. It’s cool though, I was staring at just
Happy Holi 4
The streets will run red with paint during the Holi Festival... about everyone else on the street that day, imagining how they got hit with all the paint that covered their entirety. I was a little surprised that no one threw paint at the random cows wandering throughout the street but then again, cows are sacred. Still, it’d be pretty funny to see a purple and green cow cruising down Main Street. No?
The end of the Holi festival was not as interesting as Royal and I took a deeper look into our situation and realized that we had been the prime targets of some scam artists. We re-examined everything the travel agents told us and took a more scrupulous look at their inability to furnish us with what we desired and instead pointed us effortlessly towards what they suggested as a better price and a better place.
I’ve never dined and dashed or skipped out on a bill, but I left my hotel shortly after receiving a HARD SELL to book a personal driver instead of a train through the golden triangle. All the elements didn’t add up and I really did not feel comfortable with the travel agents knowing where I was staying, and visiting often, so
Happy Holi 5
This is what I looked up to after being unknowingly bombarded with Buckets of Paint water from above... I bailed. Royal was being up for free by the Clinton Foundation of Delhi while he is doing some correspondence work for the foundation so he had checked out of the hotel earlier in the day. I had planned on staying in my room to give us some separation and time apart to do our own thing, but there was something not right with where I was staying. To start, we were likely paying twice as much as the regular rates, and though checkout was supposed to be at noon, there was still time enough at 5pm for them to clean the room and rent it out for the night.
So I write this from the comforts of Royal’s free guesthouse room enjoying the free accommodation, the free beer and the free internet. Free is good, especially now that my only pair of shorts are ruined and my sandals have been dyed purple. I suppose when I go shopping for new clothes, the money will offset somehow in the long run and believe me, that hotel was not losing much by my running out the front door and jumping into a cab. They made two nights worth of over
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All that Red Paint is a combination of what was running off the roof down teh gutter and what they threw at me... inflated fees off of me. I’ll enjoy my free night’s sleep in my free air conditioned room after my free hot shower. Free is good…
Happy Holi!
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jim
non-member comment
happy st. patty's
Lynch, dude you look worse in these pictures than after the last mud wrestle in the backyard at the townhouses. Just wanted to wish you and royal a happy st. patty's (i don't know if they celebrate it in dehli), but rest assure that I will have a few guinnesses in your absence. erin go dehli!