Ahead of Holi, a notice appeared at my housing society.
It requested residents to keep in mind the water scarcity in Maharashtra and not waste water.
Sensible — I thought. For Holi, water is used as such, used to dilute colour and even if you played a ‘dry Holi,’ you still have to wash it all off one’s self and clothes.
On the eve of Holi, below my apartment block, a group of youngsters played games. A senior resident — a likely traditionalist — expressed amazement that they were not playing Holi. Shouldn’t you? she asked; the society’s notice hardly ten feet away on the notice board. “I don’t play Holi,” the eldest among the youngsters said. The others continued with their game. I liked that. Blindly following tradition is stupid. Why should we, when we don’t live in the past, but the present? I felt happy that the notice had rubbed off on at least some of the youngsters. Or so I thought.
Over the last several years, Mumbai’s weather has gravitated to being hot than anything else. March is early summer, too early for the scale of water shortages being reported. It points to difficult days ahead. Holi dawned largely quiet. There was none of that regular Holi-rumble of people chasing each other up and down the stairs, no shouts. The morning seemed peaceful. Then a community’s resolve withered. Past 10 a.m., as I write this, there are hunts brewing; the courtyard is gathering plastic bags and from my window; I can see a little girl hiding behind a parked car while a big boy, his face a deep blue, dips his hands into a bag full of colour, plotting next target.
Tweaks to tradition
Couple of years ago, in Mussoorie, I was lucky to have a conversation with the eminent conservationist Dr George Schaller. Peter Matthiessen’s book, Snow Leopard was based on a trip with Schaller.
He wondered why religions, which seem to wield considerable influence on humanity, couldn’t come to the aid of the environment. Schaller’s question is relevant everywhere, definitely in India, at once religious and fast degrading its environment.
Imagine it: from commuters throwing the remains of daily pooja into the already contaminated Vashi creek to polluting the Ganga with ritual, to clearing forests for pilgrimage, to insisting on Holi amid drought and rendering Diwali the festival of noise rather than festival of lights — in all cases, a few tweaks to tradition would go a long way to making life sensible. Unfortunately in a land of 1.2 billion, as with the vote bank-politics of our parties, modernity isn’t as important to religion as constituency management. Here too we wait for crisis.
11.10 a.m.: the children are out in strength, the courtyard sports burst plastic bags and no doubt, there is happiness in the air. The adults have also emerged, looking like rainbows. From its pin, that notice hung defeated on the notice board. Such is life in India.
And just now, a kid with an empty bucket overturned on his head ran by moaning, paani khatam ! 6 p.m.: I say the notice shouldn’t feel too bad. The plastic litter isn’t much and best of all, everything wound up by noon. There is water still in the tap. So it was a responsible round of Holi. Just goes to show — if we want, we can; what God won’t correct, water scarcity will.
How about a quiet Diwali next?
Followed by less pilgrimage and just God in the heart?