Photo by David Baker at Unsplash
Hi there,
Spring is around the corner, so is Holi, and I am thinking of those childhood years when I was scared of colors.
I would run, lock myself in a room every time I saw colorful powders and dyes on someone. It all started one Holi, the festival of colors celebrating the advent of Spring. I went out with my pichkari and returned home a few minutes later, deeply disturbed. “What’s wrong?” my parents asked. I told them I can’t play with colors and I didn’t want them to play either. My parents were not exactly obedient–they went out to play Holi anyway, leaving me in the safety of the house, but they did ask me, then and later, what happened when I’d gone out that day. Did someone forcefully put colors on me? Did I see something odd? What?
I had no answer because nothing had happened. Nothing that I remember. Yet I was scared. The fear was real, though its source was a mystery. Perhaps some of our fears have no source.
I would not get sleep in the days leading up to Holi. The advent of Spring disturbed me in this way for years, and then, suddenly it stopped bothering me. I realized I had outgrown my fear as suddenly as I had caught it. The meaning of Spring had changed.
This month’s newsletter from P. dwells on Spring. The letter takes us through change, both gradual and sudden. A photo essay on Spring in the Himalayas coming your way, soon.
Love
T.