Happy Holi! (AKA "I just threw a water balloon at your back!")

Holi Eve.

It was Holi last Thursday, also known as the "Festival of Colors." It's a spring Hindu festival that's mainly characterized by throwing colored powder and water on everybody, as well as by getting drunk and high (mainly groups of men). The week before Holi, small boys get ready early by throwing water balloons at unsuspecting passersby. My pre-Holi tally was five water balloon attempts, with three finding their target. In one case I was going downstairs into the subway when multiple bombs came from above (not including the F-bombs I lobbed back). In the other two cases, the boys ran after me to hit their mark.

The groups of drunken men can make things unsafe for women in certain parts of the country and Delhi, but I didn't encounter anything that bad.

Anyway, I celebrated by "playing Holi" (that's the verb used) with the neighborhood kids. Wanting vengeance for all those water balloons, I threw colored water on them from my water bottles. I would walk up innocently, suddenly toss some water, and run away. I actually made one girl cry, but honestly, she was being a baby (I ran so fast away from that shitstorm).

The kids in return smeared paint in my eye and threw eggs at me, which I couldn't help but feel crossed the line. Just leaving my apartment was an adventure. I have to exit the garage into a narrow alleyway filled with high buildings and balconies, where perched the people who don't want to get wet, but still want to play. You're honestly running through a gauntlet. As soon as I left the garage I started running. Some teenage boys on the ground saw me and frantically started yelling, "Water water water!" With the whole alley thus warned, I got soaked.

In the afternoon I went to the pricy, Woodstock-like Holi Cow music festival out by the airport with some people I met on Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree Forum (hey, you make friends where you can). There was more smearing of paint and water throwing.

Selling gulal, the colored powder.

I actually bought my gulal here.

My bags.

People in the alleyway get ready to toss water.

After I got back--I look like a member of the Navi.

My arsenal--a water gun, pichkari and a handful of water balloons--is so tiny.
But you go to Holi with the water balloons you have, not the water balloons you wish to have.

The kids on the roof across from mine, with a pichkari.

I didn't ask him to demonstrate, but ok.

She has no paint on her, but she's holding a water balloon.

Now at Holi Cow Festival with Kathy, who's in town for just two weeks and wanted to experience Holi, and Kashi, who is from Bangalore. All his local friends left for their hometowns this weekend.

This is actually my handiwork. I needed to use those three bags.

People don't really play Holi past the afternoon, so while taking the metro at night I was the only one still dirty.