INDIA Part 3 – Holi in Vrindavan
We enter Vrindavan, though not without some difficulty. In anticipation of Holi – the festival we’ve come to photograph, which takes place tomorrow – all the access roads into the city are blocked, and getting past the police checkpoints manning those entrances is quite an adventure. Fortunately, our driver with the unpronounceable name knows his stuff and, after countless rounds of haggling involving carefully measured refusals and concessions, they let us through to reach the hotel. But using the minibus tomorrow to get around is out of the question. The only option will be to get about by tuk-tuk, which, by taking back roads and evading the checkpoints, manage to sneak through. We travel a short stretch along Shri Kripalu Ji Maharaj Marg, Vrindavan’s main thoroughfare, divided into two carriageways by a low concrete barrier topped with a very long brick-coloured railing. On this road stands a huge temple, the Prem Mandir, which looks as though it’s made of whipped cream and is already swarming with worshippers by midday, though we’ll see the peak of the crowds this evening. It’s impossible to enter with cameras or electronic devices; you must enter empty-handed.
We have come to Vrindavan, which, together with its twin city of Mathura, forms the Braj region and is the centre of Holi, because it is the sacred city linked to the childhood and loves of Lord Krishna. In Vrindavan alone, there are around 5,500 temples dedicated to Krishna and Radha, his wife. With Holi, the Festival of Colors or Festival of Love, Hindus celebrate the arrival of spring, the rebirth of the world after winter and the triumph of good over evil. It is the festival of colors because people throw colored powders, known as ‘gulal’, at one another, even from very close range, symbolizing unity, equality and joy. During Holi, the rigid barriers of caste, social status and age are broken down. Everyone smears each other with colours, celebrating brotherhood. Each colour has a different meaning.
Red: Love, fertility and passion – Blue: Divinity, particularly Krishna – Yellow: Turmeric, health and wisdom – Green: Spring, new beginnings and vitality
We know that on this day, we and everything we’re wearing will be pelted with coloured powder and water. The problem is the cameras we want to use to capture this festival. We’ll be in the thick of the chaos and putting the cameras in heavy, rigid cases is out of the question. I’ve chosen a transparent silicone cover used by those who photograph water sports, such as surfing. It’s lightweight and has a glass filter that screws onto the lens and keeps everything secure. The glass filter, rather than plastic or some other composite material, should ensure a reasonably good quality final image and prevent any significant deterioration. I brought two with me, one for each of the cameras I have, but by the end of the day I will have used only one. The other remained sealed inside the waterproof bag I carry over my shoulder, along with my mobile phone and a small bottle of water.
We’ve barely had time to drop our bags in the room and freshen up a bit before we’re already in the two three-wheeled taxis taking us into the city centre. We wander around to soak up the atmosphere, which is already becoming electric and will reach its peak tomorrow. As soon as we step out of the tuk-tuk, we are surrounded by women and young girls who want to draw the classic ‘tilak’ or ‘bindi’ on our faces – the devotional marks that men and women apply to their foreheads, especially during these religious celebrations. Obviously, they do this in exchange for a tip, but it’s a constant ‘onslaught’, almost at every step, even if done with innate respect and grace. They are all, or almost all, young girls and they are endearing, even though we know they do it because we are tourists and therefore a sort of mobile cash machine. An endless line of stalls selling everything winds its way along the street. Behind them, the ‘official’ shops, which are open and brightly lit. Lots of people, few tourists—at least we don’t see any. We buy the last few things for the ‘battle’ the following day and head back.
It’s Holi day. At last. We’ve heard all about it, watched videos and looked at photos to get an idea of what to expect, and we’re ready. With our cameras protected, we dress as simply as possible. We know that by the end of the day, everything – or almost everything – will be ruined. We head out. Two tuk-tuks take us to the heart of the festivities, which are taking place in the area around the Banke Bihari temple. Even whilst still in the tuk-tuk, we’re pelted with colored powder. As we’re easily recognizable as tourists, they want to get us into the ‘mood’ of the festival more quickly by coloring us straight away. We barely have time to get out of our vehicles before everything becomes a blur. People are throwing handfuls of colored powder at you, sometimes quite violently, so you have to be careful with your eyes. Some, instead of throwing the powder, smear it directly onto your face, head, neck and cheeks. After a few minutes, we’re already covered in every existing color and our clothes are unrecognizable. Some in our little group buy large bags of colored powder and return the favors in kind. It’s all a blur – a riot of colors, scents, bodies crossing paths, jostling. The closer we get to the heart of it all, the Banke Bihari temple, the denser the crowd becomes, if that’s even possible. But it happens. To enter the temple, there is a huge queue channelled between two metal barriers, the sort used to guide herds into an enclosure. We decide not to go in, for the time being, because there are too many people and our guide doesn’t feel comfortable taking the risk. He warns us that at any moment the crowd could lose control, and then, in such chaos, you become like a leaf in the wind and can only hope for good luck. We stay in the vicinity of the temple, but the crowd grows by the minute. We’re covered in color; it’s in our hair, in our mouths, in our ears – everywhere it can get. Our white T-shirts and trousers are a rainbow palette. They only stayed clean for a few minutes after we left the hotel. We wander through narrow streets and alleys; water bombs rain down from above, whilst on the ground there is a single, enormous cloud of colored powder. It must be said that, amidst all this, we never felt in danger, neither from crime nor from the risk of being swept away by uncontrolled waves of the crowd. Everything unfolds in a chaos that is, all things considered, manageable. The police control access to the most crowded areas and they too are covered in powder, though I don’t think they’re the targets of actual throwing. Rather, they’re simply caught up in the side effects of this colorful storm. We spend the rest of the day, at least until lunchtime, wandering about, throwing and getting covered in color. The closer it gets to evening, the more the situation spirals out of control. It’s clear that many have had one too many and in this situation the crowd can be dangerous. Staying out any longer adds nothing to what we’ve already done, seen and photographed, so we decide to head back to the hotel.
Here begins a separate chapter concerning the process of ‘washing’ the colours off our bodies. We discover that a single shower, however long, is not enough to wash away all the dust we’ve got on us, partly because we’ll find traces of it hidden in the most unexpected nooks and crannies. Ears, nose, hair, feet – every part of the body is a repository of colored dust. Everything we’re wearing goes straight into the rubbish, including our underwear. Beyond repair. But even the protective gear we had with us—a waterproof boat bag, silicone camera covers—will need countless rinses to remove the dust that, once dry, magically reforms. The color, however, is impossible to remove; it seems to have penetrated the molecules of the materials and doesn’t fade even a little when rubbed. It will be our lasting memory of Holi in Vrindavan. The photos that follow illustrate, as far as possible, the madness of that day. Including some, the last three images, that prove just how much I myself was targeted by colored powder and water.
