MERE CHOTESE GAAON MEIN MAINE BHI KABHI HOLI KHELI THI

My village in Bombay ( Yes, there was an ideal village like Mahatma Gandhi wanted or even better fifty years ago) and it didn’t have to be branded or leveled as a secular or nationalist India because it represented the heart and soul of India - Ali Peter John

There were only about 30 houses all around with most of the quaint bungalows belonging to what was known as the East Indian community which was predominantly Christian.

They followed a lifestyle handed over to them by their ancestors who also lived in the same village.

Soon , as the village started getting industrialized (another name for being murdered ) more and more people started living in my village known as Kondivita which was a name derived from the Mahakaali Caves and the Kondivita Caves which were supposed to be built at the time of Christ.

Among the other inhabitants of Kondivita Village were a large number of Muslims, the Bhaiya Community from UP, Christians from Tamil Nadu , Mangalore and Goa and even a community from Andhra who made a living by helping in the building of the new roads and selling donkey’s milk, and other communities from different parts of India.

All the communities lived in an atmosphere of peace and there were no major disputes or quarrels among the communities, excepts for the few neighborly quarrels about their dogs, chicken, goats and pigs walking into each other’s territory.

To prove that the village was truly secular for ages, there were the massive caves which were visited by people of all religions, a thousand year old church , a broken down mosque and several temples in different corners built in honour of gods like Ram, Hanuman, Ganpati and other small and big gods.

And the people of the village celebrated every festival together. Hindus , Muslims , Sikhs and the Wadari community came together to celebrate festivals like Christmas, Eid, Diwali, Easter and the festival of Ganpati. But the one festival which was celebrated in the true spirit of oneness.

I was only 12 years old when I first realized what the celebration of Holi was all about. I had seen men , women and children making merry during this colourful festival and I too wanted to be a part of it, but my mother said it was a festival that looked colourfull but could also hurt or burn and so I had to wait for my turn to take part in the celebrations. And then my turn came.

My mother’s house had become the centre of all the celebrations. The colours were stored in her house and so were all the essentials needed to prepare “bhang” , the soul-satisfying drink which the bhaiyyas who lived in my compound said took a man or woman to heaven till the “nasha of bhang “ lasted .

And also in my mother’s house were stored all the buckets and other vessels to hold the coloured water.

The celebrations began the previous night with the burning of a huge fire which they said was a way of burning all evil and sin.

The way the bhaiyyas used all kinds of the most filthy abuse against the women and their daughters used to shock me as I was a good Christian who was trained by my mother not to tell lies , rob and abuse .

But what I believed in did not stop the revelers in the festivities that went on till the fire was reduced to ashes when it was almost past midnight. It was one festival for which we boys could do and sacrifice anything for .

The words “sa ra sa ra ra” shouted and screamed while the fire burnt still ring in my ears.

The next day it was Holi Holi all the way. Every road, gully and every wall of every house was splashed with all kinds of colours and no house was spared and some of the houses were even smeared with gutter water and even more dirty liquids.

We boys also tried to have a few swigs at the bhang and laughed all day without knowing why we were laughing .

The 2 days were days for which we prepared all through the year and even saved money for. In the afternoon.

we sometimes played a cricket match without knowing who was batting , who was bowling , who the captains were and not being able to see the two umpires at all and finally not knowing who had lost and who had won . That was the magic of Holi.

But our kind of Holi celebrations was not going to last for long. The last time I played Holi was when several dancers and junior artists of the film industry came to live in our village and they changed all the colours of Holi and made the colours look ugly.

Then came the land grabbers and industrialists small and big who bought over all the best places in my village and slowly the magic of Holi started fading away. And now there are only memories of those glorious and colourful Holi days.

ZAMANA BADAL RAHA HAI , YEH TOH WAQT KAA TAQAAZA HAIN. LEKIN KYAA HAMARE TYOHAAR, HAMAARI SANSKRITI AUR HAMAARE AATMAAON KAA RANG BHI BADAL JAAYEGAA?