Holi @2025

Colours, Memories, and the Essence of Life

After nine long years, I returned home to celebrate Holi with my family. Life’s journey had taken me away, absorbed in responsibilities, moving from place to place, fulfilling duties that often distanced me from these simple yet profound joys. But this year, the universe conspired to bring me back to where my roots lay, where memories were not just recalled but relived.

The moment I arrive

d, nature itself seemed to welcome me. The fiery red palash blossoms, the tender mango and lichi flowers swaying in the gentle spring breeze, and the sweet chirping of birds filled the air with an unspoken warmth. It felt as if the land had been waiting for my return, just as I had longed for this homecoming.

The fragrance of gulal mixed with the dampness of coloured water splashing on the ground, creating an aroma unique to Holi—a fragrance that carries laughter, mischief, and the innocence of childhood. The air resonated with the beats of drums and the soulful rendition of faag as groups of revellers passed through the lanes in front of my house. The melodies I had missed for nearly a decade now felt like a soothing balm to my soul.

The night before, Holika Dahan was performed, and the entire mohalla gathered around the sacred fire. We offered prayers, roasted wheat and gram bushes, papad, and sat together, sharing the warmth of tradition. It was a moment of collective devotion, where past and present intertwined seamlessly.

The morning of Holi was filled with the joy of reunion. Watching my younger brother’s son drenched in colours, playing with his friends, transported me back to my own childhood—the days when Holi meant unrestrained laughter, endless pranks, and returning home only when the colours had merged into an indistinguishable hue.

However, this Holi was not without its voids. My son and daughter, engaged in their academic pursuits, could not be present. My wife, too, was away at her brother’s home for an important family obligation. Festivals, while bringing joy, also remind us of absences. Yet, I found solace in knowing that each of them was fulfilling their own role, walking their own path. Perhaps, this is what life is—learning to celebrate not just in presence but also in absence, knowing that love and connections transcend physical distances.

One of the most emotional moments of the day was seeking blessings. As I bowed before my father’s feet, I felt a familiar strength in his touch—a silent assurance that no matter how far I went, home would always be here, waiting. My mother’s framed photograph in her room stood as a testament to time. It was in this very space that she had once blessed me in person, her voice filled with affection and prayers for my well-being. Though she was no longer there in flesh and blood, her presence was unmistakable.

I also took a moment of solitude to remember my grandfather and grandmother, whose love had shaped my childhood. Standing before their memories, I sought their unseen blessings. I could almost hear their voices, gentle and wise, whispering the lessons of life—lessons of patience, gratitude, and the fleeting nature of time.

Reuniting with friends after years added another layer of joy. We spoke of our journeys, our successes and struggles, and the dreams we once had as students. Meeting old teachers was like stepping into a time machine, as they blessed us with the same affection they had once shown in classrooms. Conversations about our physics and chemistry labs, the pranks we played, the lessons we learned—everything felt fresh, as if spring had once again painted our lives with youth.

And then, there were my students—now adults, leading their families, bringing their own children to celebrate the festival. Seeing them embrace their responsibilities and values made me realise the continuity of life. The knowledge I once shared in classrooms had now woven itself into their lives, shaping them into pillars of their own worlds.

Holi, at its core, is a reminder of impermanence. Colours are thrown, they spread, they brighten the world, and then, with time, they fade away. Yet, the joy remains. Perhaps life itself is like Holi—a play of colours and emotions, of togetherness and longing, of presence and absence. What truly matters is not how long the colours last but how deeply they touch us.

This year, Holi was not just a festival for me. It was a homecoming, a reunion with my past, a celebration of the present, and a quiet contemplation of life’s ever-changing hues.