Holy Holi!!

As we travel, our luck continues. After four days in Delhi, we decided to head north, towards the Himalayas. First destination: Haridwar, a four hour train ride from Delhi, and one of the most sacred cities in India for Hindus. Holi was a festival to end all festivals, and reminded us both of Mardi Gras, and of Blancos y Negros in Pasto, Colombia. Although we knew from our ten year old Lonely Planet India that the Haridwar Kumbh Mela (celebrated in Haridwar once every twelve years) would be taking place during our visit, we didn‘t realize that the important Hindu holiday of Holi would also be occurring. Kumbh Mela  happens every three years but is spread between four small  cities, including Haridwar. Without discrimination for any creed or caste, Kumbh Mela celebrates an important story from Hindu religion: the gods and demons once fought a great battle for a pitcher that contained the nectar of immortality. The God Vishnu was the victor, but in his escape, four drops of nectar spilled onto the earth in four locations. These locations are sacred cities in India, one of which is Haridwar. 

We arrived in Haridwar on the eve of Holi, just a few minutes after sunset, and were immediately accosted by rickshaw drivers, porters, hotel representatives, and even a drunk policeman. As per our usual style, we discarded all offers of assistance and trudged off down the street towards the river Ganges. As we wandered down the streets of Haridwar, we once again proved to be a delight for the revelers who found our ginormous backpacks hilarious (as do we….until we are carrying them to an unknown and potentially distant destination). We passed pyres erected in the middle of the streets, lovingly strung with strings of flowers and garlands of dried cow pies, and draped with lavish and brightly colored scraps of fabric. We passed people dancing on the streets, and people smeared with bright colored paint. “Just wait,” we responded to the many offers to join in the party, “we’ll be right back!” After unceremoniously dumping our bags as a basic hotel, we headed back into the fray, ready to join the celebration and learn more about the town in which we had arrived.

Retracing our steps from the train station, we passed a still-smoldering pyre; the people who had beckoned us earlier had moved inside into an ashram. As we paused on the street to listen to the great din emanating from within the deep recesses of a kind of place that is sometimes unavailable to foreigners or non-Hindu‘s, an older gentleman gestured for us to enter, to join the party. And of course, lovers of parties as we are, we leapt through the grand archway and straight into a Holi celebration.  We were ushered into the dancing crowds with hundreds of friendly hands, and indoctrinated into the celebration by countless handfuls of colored powder pressed to our cheeks, our heads, our necks, and any other exposed skin. It was a multi-colored medley of joy - people dancing and singing and clapping and laughing and delighting in the convergence of a great family. Within our first ten minutes, we were introduced to the bishop himself, who sat in a folding lawn chair in the center of the room laughing and singing profusely, giving blessings, conducting the dance, and having a grand old time. The bishop covered our foreheads in more sacred anointment and we were encouraged to dance, sing, eat, and become family the whole night through.

 

As have many of our far-flung destinations, Haridwar again proves to us the strength and power of human harmony, the generosity of our hosts, and the ultimate privilege of being ’honored guests.’ We are guests and ambassadors to all the countries we visit, the families we enter, the cultures and economies we touch. We perpetually thank our lucky stars for these opportunities of exchange and sharing and friendship.