visual visitor

On previous visits to India I had always either arrived the day after or left the day before the annual Holi festival kicked off, but this time I was there: at the right time in March but I felt I was in the wrong place. Bangalore isn’t on anyone’s bucket list for Holi observance as most head north to Uttar Pradesh or Gujarat in Northern India to view these colourful celebrations especially if you are as keen a photographer as I am. But there I was, scouring the sprawling metropolis of Bangalore with a group of photography students desperately searching for any Holi celebrations. I had prepared as best I could, for just $5 I brought a set of ill-fitting but cheap disposable clothes, while my DSLR was wrapped tightly in GladWrap and then taped into a clear plastic bag with just the tip of my lens uncovered. My fellow photographers laughed when we met but I knew I would have the last laugh once all the coloured dye started to fly, if only we could find anyone celebrating Holi. The more we drove around the overcrowded streets of Bangalore the more desperate I became. Was I destined to always miss Holi? Where were the wonderful photo ops that my hosts Raj and Jeevan had talked about so passionately the day before? Soon an equally exasperated Jeevan called out across the crowded bus, “Let’s go over to a nearby housing estate and see if they were hosting a block party there?” And they were. Holi is all about colour, with great clouds of colourful dyes smothering Hindu devotees, I knew that standing there on the fringes wasn’t going to get me the action shots I desired so I dived headlong into the colourful mist. Behind us the estate guards kept the homeless and other onlookers at bay while out in the middle of the throng, quickly drenched in colours which quickly blended into various shades of purple, I sought out the photos I wanted. The dye stings your eyes, but you forget the pain as the photo opportunities appear where ever you point your lens. I quickly found many wonderful compositions, brightly coloured children shooting water pistols at their parents or adult Indians madly dancing away to popular Bollywood tunes as their friends showered them in clouds of coloured dye accompanied by copious quantities of water from nearby fire hoses. I soon discovered that many were actually quite high after consuming food crammed with Ganja offered up at nearby tables. At the end of the day I was happy, soaked and purple but I had caught the moment.