Fuck Holi.
There, I said it.
I know, I know. Some of you might say that this is THE most fun festival in India but honestly, Holi is easily the worst festival there is.
In the name of Bura na mano holi hai, everyone – from a random stranger to that middle aged pervert uncle of your colony – feels it is absolutely appropriate to smother you in gulaal because, duh, it’s Holi.
They feel as if they have a legitimate excuse to touch you inappropriately and cover it up in the name of the festival.
Even if you don’t intend to feel me up in the garb of celebrations, I still have an objection to this so-called celebration.
Firstly, I hate colours. Your skin gets itchy, they get inside your eyes and it just feels unhygienic to get smothered in a substance that takes hours to get off. But those who play with colours are saints in comparison to those who decide to throw eggs on passerbys. How is that fun?
But my biggest complaint with Holi is the nuisance that is created on the roads.
In the garb of colours, it’s difficult to identify anyone and people seem to enjoy this because anonymously creating havoc is certainly their best bet and who’s going to catch you when everyone around looks exactly the same.
With people going crazy in your colony and on the road, your safest bet is to stay locked inside your room. Because somehow, it is very difficult for people to understand that you don’t enjoy the incessant pichkari sprays and loads of grease being smothered on your hair.
Some people may not want to play Holi. Bura na mano, don’t force them!