I awoke to the sound of children. The screams, laughter and footsteps running didn't deceive me: Holi had begun. The child who is in me jumped out of bed and went out to see it. When I looked at the set of colors that flew I couldn't believe. Although it was something that always wanted, I didn't thought I would have the opportunity to enjoy it.
Holi is celebrated with colors, water, and occasionally eggs. With great joy and smiles. It is a multicolored mess and wasn't different in Pokhara. There is something in this festival that appealed to me immediately. The colors are the most iconic. But they are colors of emotion. All share the joyful spirit that the festival brings.
I prepared to get into this mess. I buy ammunition - a pack of each color and a bottle of water - and join this Holi mess. In each "Happy Holi", a color is placed on my face and in the one who crosses me. For the main avenue there is a parade in celebration. People dance, colors fly and we get wet from the upper floors. That day, all is confusion, all is joy.
In the end, I'm a multicolored thing. Like all the others around me. There are no nationalities, ages or genders. This confusion is about sharing a sentiment common to all: the joy. And what better than mirroring the joy of it in blue, green, yellow or red that makes up the whole scene around us?
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