First-Timer’s Holi
Some festivals are observed. Holi insists you participate.
I thought Holi in India would be a polite cultural experience. Instead, within seconds of entering the park, someone yelled “Happy Holi!” and a fistful of bright pink powder exploded across my forehead.
Soon my hair was green, my shirt purple, and strangers were hugging me like old friends.
For someone experiencing Holi for the first time, it was less a celebration – and more a joyful ambush of colour.
In the first week of March this year, I was invited to the wedding of my partner’s cousin in Jaipur. While this was an exciting thing to experience, I had been given the rundown of what to expect, what to wear, and how to gently avoid all the Aunties asking about our own wedding, so there was very little that truly took me by surprise. One part of my journey in India that I was completely unprepared for, was the Festival of Holi, specifically Rangwali Holi.
It was pure serendipity that we were in Delhi during Holi, allowing us to experience it in all its messy, colourful glory. When a relative who lived locally found us a place to celebrate, we received strict instructions to “cover yourselves in coconut oil before you go in”. While initially confusing, I was informed that I would be wise to follow his advice if I didn’t want my skin to resemble a sweaty palm holding a handful of M&Ms. We were also advised to bring “as many drinks as you can carry” which, due to closed bottle shops and my fondness for a Kingfisher with dinner, turned out to be about two beers.
After grabbing all the other Holi accoutrements of water pistols, gulal (the coloured powder that would become our playful weapon of choice) and sunglasses, we drove out to meet said relative. He greeted us warmly with hugs, smiles and a concerningly large bottle of Thandai Bhang (a heady mixture of milk, saffron and cannabis) which I politely refused. A short drive later, we arrived at a local gated community, where we gave ourselves a liberal application of coconut oil, before heading into the booming, colour-laden affair. Within seconds of arriving, my face was covered in a variety of different coloured gulal, someone had pressed a cold beer into my hands, and I had Aunties, Uncles and kids coming over to wish me a “Happy Holi!”
There is something special about experiencing Holi for the first time, especially as a newcomer to Indian culture as a whole. While I had seen the festival periodically splashed across my screen during late night doom scrolls, I never really understood the feeling behind the celebration until I was neck deep in colour and soaked to the bone. Holi has the warmth and sense of welcome that you might get after being introduced to your partner’s extended family. You are a complete stranger to these people, but you are taken in with open arms and invited to eat, drink and be merry. There is also a ‘tongue in cheek’ feeling during Holi, and many times I was told “Bura na mano, Holi hai” (Don’t be offended, it’s Holi) after having buckets of water poured over my head by a group of giggling teenagers.
The real surprise wasn’t the mess – it was the welcome. Each time someone shouted “Happy Holi!” and reached for my face with another cloud of colour, it came with laughter, a quick hug, and the sense that participation was the only rule.
At first I worried about doing it wrong – whether to throw colour, who to approach, when to stop. But Holi doesn’t allow much overthinking. The festival pulls you in, and before long the hesitation fades, replaced by the simple pleasure of being included in a shared moment of joy.
Somewhere between the first hesitant smear of colour and the final burst of laughter, I understood the quiet genius of Holi – joy shared freely is its own kind of welcome.
What looks like colourful mayhem to a first-timer is, of course, something deeper. Holi marks the arrival of spring and the triumph of good over evil, but in practice it becomes a rare social reset: hierarchies soften, boundaries loosen, strangers become co-conspirators in joy, and laughter replaces formality. For a few hours, everyone is equally ridiculous in stained clothes and rainbow faces – which may be exactly the point. Because once the colours fly, difference fades, and what remains is the simple pleasure of shared celebration.
Read Also: The road less travelled: An outsider’s perspective on Hinduism
