Holi hai?....Bachaoooooo

 Holi and I have always had a complicated relationship.

From a safe distance? Beautiful.

From inside the battlefield? Absolutely terrifying.

This year, however, I decided to be brave. Or stupid. Still debating.

The moment we entered mint street ...THAKK!

Water balloon.

From somewhere above.

I looked up and realised people were throwing balloons from buildings like it was some aerial Holi attack mission.

My soul left my body.

I immediately turned to my dost and said, very calmly,

“Chalo main idhar hi rukhti hoon. Yahin se dekhte hain. They’ll just put thoda colour and we’ll leave.”

Because in my mind, Holi was supposed to be:

soft gulal on cheeks.... cute selfie... respectful exit.

But apparently, that’s not how India plays Holi.

My friend looked at me like I had lost the plot and literally dragged me forward into the chaos.

DRAGGED.

Like I was a reluctant bride entering mandap.

Meanwhile balloons were flying, people shouting “Bura na mano Holi hai!” like it’s a legally binding contract, and I was just trying to protect my head and dignity.

And then… colour.

Pink. Yellow. Blue.

Directly on my face. No consent form. No warning.

At first, I was in full survival mode.

Why is that uncle aiming like it’s IPL?

Why are children so powerful?

Why is everyone THIS energetic at 7 AM???

But slowly… I started laughing.

Like proper loud, slightly hysterical, “what is even happening” laughter.

We danced. We sang wrong lyrics confidently. We put colour on strangers like we’ve known them since childhood.

And then.

There was him.

One particular bandha.

I don’t know his name.

I don’t know his story.

But apparently, he had decided that I was his Holi project.

First time ... he threw colour on me like we had some ancient rivalry.

Second time .... crowd mein randomly again. Direct attack.

Third time ... eye contact + colour.

Fourth time ... I started suspecting destiny.

Fifth and sixth time ... I was convinced we had unfinished business from a previous janam.

He was throwing colour as if I had personally offended him in 2012.

And not just normal gulal. No. Full enthusiasm. Like, “Beta aaj tujhe rainbow bana ke hi jaunga.”

At one point I genuinely felt like he wanted me to eat the colour too.

Sir. Relax. I am not prasad.

But the funny part?

Every time we crossed paths in the crowd, I couldn’t even be annoyed. It was too dramatic. Too absurd. Too filmy.

It felt like Holi itself had assigned him as my personal rang distributor.

Between the aerial water balloon attacks, my friend dragging me into chaos, and Mr. Dushmani 2026, something shifted inside me.

Because here’s the truth:

Holi was one of my worst fears.

Crowds scare me.

Losing control scares me.

Being overwhelmed scares me.

And Holi is literally all three mixed with colour powder.

But I didn’t run.

I stood there.

I laughed. I danced badly. I got attacked by balloons. I survived my personal colour nemesis.

Coming back home was Part Two: Aftermath.

Oil lagao like armour.

Scrub karo.

Shampoo round one.

Shampoo round two because colour apparently has emotional attachment issues.

The bucket water looked like someone dissolved a rainbow in it.

My bathroom floor? Crime scene but festive.

Cleaning Devi entered with full authority.

But while scrubbing pink off my ear for the 27th time, I realised something quietly important.

I was scared of Holi.

I don’t love aggressive chaos.

I don’t love random grabbing energy.

I don’t love losing boundaries.

But I do love joy.

I do love laughter.

I do love those moments when you surprise yourself.

Maybe Holi and I aren’t enemies.

Maybe we’re just two dramatic personalities figuring out boundaries.

Will I play again?

Maybe.

But next time: – Oil pre-applied like war preparation.

– Smaller crowd.

– Strategic positioning.

– And if Mr. Personal Dushman shows up again, at least we’ll be familiar enemies.

And this Holi?

That felt like growth.

With extra gulal.