Call me a spoilsport if you wish to but Holi is my least favourite festival. I usually stay indoors, and cuddle with a book. This time, I think I might end up listening to Iqbal Bano on loop.
Who knows what might greet me if I step out? I’m no fan of colourful chemicals on my skin. And random drunk strangers trying to get cosy is too far from my idea of a celebration.
A few places do sell organic Holi colours and herbal gulaal but the last time I mentioned this to someone, I was told: “What’s wrong with you? Who plays with colours made of vegetables and flowers? That sounds like salad.”
It seems like, in Pakistan, there is a lot of jubilation around Holi this year, since it has been approved as a public holiday for Hindu minorities. That is such a fantastic step! Do fill me in with how you celebrated. But if it might gross me out, no, thanks!
I hope you don’t end up substituting colours with egg yolk and cow dung. Yes, that’s the level of crazy here. Once, during my school days, two guys with a twisted sense of humour, filled balloons with their own urine. Now you know why I like to stay away.
Hamza Ali Abbasi
***
Have you had a chance to watch ‘A Walk in the Woods’? It is a play about the love-hate relationship between a Pakistani diplomat and his Indian counterpart. It comes to Mumbai quite often, and has been to Pakistan as well.
No, there is no one like Sartaj Aziz or Sushma Swaraj in it, but Rajit Kapur and Naseeruddin Shah still manage to pack in a fair bit of drama. Of course, ‘dramatic’ is a relative term. There are few who can match Arnab Goswami and Hamza Ali Abbasi.
I met the director of the play recently — the talented Ratna Pathak Shah, who never fails to disappoint with her work as an actor, whether she is an play based on Ismat Chughtai’s stories, or a movie as silly as ‘Khoobsurat’.
Ratna recalled a show in Dubai, after which a lady from the audience came over to share a heartwarming story. She was an Indian who had been living in Dubai for six years. When this lady had just moved there, she learnt that her neighbour was a Pakistani lady.
Hearing this news, she was utterly distraught, and hated the thought of living right next to a Pakistani. Eventually, she got over her reservations. And now the two ladies are best friends. Isn’t that wonderful? By now, I am sure you know that I am a sucker for stories like this.
Ratna said, “That lady was feeling awkward because of the way she used to think earlier. But it was extremely brave of her to accept her own prejudice, and come out of it.”
Certainly! I think she would empathize with the pigeon who was reportedly detained in India for being a Pakistani agent. And, of course, poor Afridi who was just being a polite guest but got flak for praising Indian hospitality.
Arnab Goswami
***
There was a time when my ambition in life was to have kids, and be a good father. I was 18, I think. Or maybe 19. An age when one is allowed to be silly. Adults blame it on hormones anyway.
Of course, I had no real understanding of the rigmarole of parenthood. It was just a happy thought — wanting to be nurturer and caregiver. Perhaps it had something to do with the absence of a younger sibling to dote on, a gap I wanted to fill.
Now, a little over a decade later, the idea of having kids seems scary. I hear about two, three and four year olds being raped. And it makes me deeply sad and anxious. I am not sure if I have the courage to bring kids into this world.
“Did you hear what happened in Malvani?” asked my friend Deepak. “This asshole teacher from a coaching centre got two of his students to stand outside class without their clothes on.”
I hope you don't end up substituting colours with egg yolk and cow dung. Yes, that's the level of crazy here
“What the hell is going on? Why?” I said.
“They were not focusing on their studies. This is how he decided to punish them,” replied Deepak.
How do you make sense of something like this in Mumbai, a metropolis with smart city aspirations that cannot even ensure safety for its children? I can hear swear words playing antakshari in my head but that is a poor way of processing helplessness. But too many people I know have been scarred by abuse, and it is painful to hear about more such incidents.
Later, I read that a video was going around on social media, highlighting the misery of those kids standing outside, in tears, struggling to cover themselves.
I couldn’t push myself to watch it but what got me really mad was that the parents of those kids were quoted saying that they didn’t mind what had happened. They were fine with whatever the teacher wanted to do in order to ‘discipline’ their children.
I tried telling myself that the parents were probably misquoted. It’s kind of insane — this constant urge to believe that the world isn’t as terrible as it seems.
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based writer. That he shares his last name with a Prime Minister is purely a matter of coincidence. He tweets at @chintan_connect
