Two Brothers-A Tale

They were as thick as theives.
Partners in crime; brothers in mischief.
They had a plan right up their sleeves
On that eventful day before Holi.

Up they scrambled on the terrace
With loads of balloons that were inflated
With water and colors together mixed,
And, hapless passers-by were their target.

Soon, anyone walking on the street
With a colored water balloon was hit,
And try as they might, they couldn’t see
Who it was that was throwing these.

And the puzzled look on their faces
Was worth the planning and the wait.
Oh yes! It was a merry piece of cake
This splash and hide kind of game.

And this went on nonstop that day
With no respite come what may,
Until one of their helpless targets
Saw the perpetrators as they hid.

Soon, he stormed up to the terrace
And caught the brothers red-handed.
And then they had to bite the bullet
For they were now at the receiving end.

They were dunked into the buckets,
Colored with gulaal from the packets,
And with the balloons, were targeted.
And that was the end of their racket.

Yes, the conquerors were conquered,
And they were indeed beleaguered.
But, they weren’t in the least bothered-
Those mischievous little brothers.

My Box of Crayons

You are my box of crayons.
The red to my passion;
The orange to my enthusiasm;
The yellow to my optimism;

The green to my peace;
The blue to my stability;
The purple to my creativity;
The black to my mystery;

The white to my innocence;
The brown to my strength.
Every shade and every tint
That I am is what you paint.

With you, I am smaragdine,
And viridian and aquamarine,
And argent and apricot,
And indigo and gamboge,

And ash and amethyst,
And skobellof and mulberry.
You are every color I’ll ever be,
And only with you, I’ll play Holi.

It’s Holi

Red and yellow make orange.
Smeared with it, our faces look strange.

Blue and red make purple.
In the water balloons that, towards us, hurtle.

Yellow and blue make green.
When sprayed from a pichkari, we run and scream.

Red and white make pink.
The splashes come faster than we can dodge or think.

Green and red make brown.
There are colors for every person in the town.

Brown and yellow make gold.
The gulaal in the air falls on the young and the old.

The dholak’s beats, the Thandai and sweets,
With them, the celebrations are complete.

Come one, come all – join in the playful revelry.
After all, it’s the festival of colors – it’s Holi.

How I Played Holi

It’s Holi morning! I want to play with the colors.
I pick up the packets of red and yellow powders.
And run with these to smear on my elder brother.
But he gets away as he can run much faster.

I think my baby sister would like to be colored pink.
So I walk to her small cradle, shouting, “Happy Holi!”
But I’m shooed away quickly by my grandmother,
Who said, “If only she was a little older, and I, a little younger!”

So then, I decide to spray the colors on my mother.
But she’s making sweets and should not be bothered.
Finally, I feel my father would surely celebrate with me.
So I search the house, but he’s at the market – shopping.

It’s the festival of colors. Who do I play with?!
Suddenly, I see Kanha in the prayer room beckoning.
I rush there and color His face with the gulaal.
No one saw it, but I played Holi with Nandlaal.

Musings on Holi

Bright yellow sunbeams
falling on green leaves.
Silvery bits of moon rays
on midnight-blue waves.

Crimson rose blossoms
in the white, winter snow.
Violet, indigo, blue, green
yellow, orange, red rainbows.

Dusty brown, winding trails
in the dark-olive, misty hills.
Pink and lavender shades
when the vermillion Sun sets.

Flame-like Gulmohar flowers
and saffron Tesu in summers –
Undoubtedly, all of these are
some of our favorite colors.

So this Holi – let it not be all
about playing with Gulaal,
but let us celebrate Nature
and everything that is Hers.

Holi – A Story

Spring arrives with a splash of colors
close on the heels of the cold winter
heralding the dawn of a special day
when everyone gathers to celebrate
the victory of the great Lord Vishnu
over the demon king, Hiranyakashipu,
who wanted to rule the three worlds
using the power from his five boons.
He couldn’t be killed during night or day,
in or out of the house, or in any place,
by weapon, man, God, demon or animal.
Yes, he thought he was all powerful.
And this evil king sent forth a decree
forcing people to pray to none but him.
Yet for his son, Prahalad, his ire grew
as he continued to worship Lord Vishnu.
So it was that the evil king conspired
and made arrangements for a huge pyre.
Into the flames, his sister, Holika, sat
holding her nephew Prahalad on her lap.
She, who flames could not destroy,
She, who tried to kill this little boy,
was burnt to ashes in that deadly fire
and Prahalad was the sole survivor.
At that auspicious moment of dusk,
a pillar shattered and from it emerged
Lord Vishnu in the form of Narsimha.
This half-man, half-lion celestial being
brought the end of the demon king.
Thus goes the legend of this day of Holi.
A day out of the pages of mythology.
So light the bonfires on the streets
and never forget what Holi means
The love of a God for his devotee
and the triumph of good over evil.

This Holi

Colour me blue this Holi.
Blue like the open skies.
Colour me yellow this Holi.
Yellow like the sunshine.

Colour me green this Holi.
Green like the leaves on trees.
Colour me orange this Holi.
Orange like the garden lilies.

Colour me red this Holi.
Red like the deepest love.
Colour me grey this Holi.
Grey like the clouds above.

Colour me with all the hues.
My soul is like white snow.
Come colour me this Holi.
And make me one with You.

He

He was like the egret on holi.
Unfazed by the music and colors.
Like the bhaang in the thandai,
he was the reason for the madness.

They swayed to his love songs –
men, women and children alike.
He stole their hearts and souls
with the music from his pipe.

They surrounded him on his way
screaming and shouting his name.
The fever raged through the day;
it showed no signs of abating.

Others accused him of sorcery,
and tried very hard to catch him.
But he escaped like the breeze,
for he was like the egret on holi.