Delhi

Delhi. That one word alone has not brought so many images and feelings and emotions and thoughts to mind than any other word I know. Delhi. Delhi. Delhi. The home of my wonderful childhood.

For the past few days as I have been talking more and more to a new-found friend from my summer holiday to India this year who lives in Delhi, my mind has been very rough and jagged with thoughts. I really miss Delhi. I don't know if it's the thought of what I may have turned out to be if I'd never left, or if I miss the fun I had while I was there with some awesome people. It's weird to think I would know them much more and be a part of them if I hadn't moved. Whatever it is, it has formed a new, stronger love for Delhi in my heart.

I was talking to one of my best friends a few days ago about what I should do when I feel so overwhelmed with emotions and he advised me to write it down. He said write down everything you need to write down and it'l feel like you've got it off your chest. So, I'd like to write about the best day of my childhood.

Holi
Holi-the festival of colour. My first experience of nervous, yet happy butterflies was probably the day before the first Holi I remember. Laying on the one bed we had, in our 2-room flat in Lodhi Colony whilst Mama cleaned the room up a bit and my babysitter getting ready to sleep in the room next door (I always wonder where she is and if she remembers me as I was the first child she babysat, hmm). Anyway, my long, white kurta and a pair of faded denim shorts would be messily folded and placed on our coffee table along with my precious water gun next to it. Water guns wear the thing on Holi between the kids. I vaguely remember mine being orange and blue and one of the best in the colony. I would fall asleep dreaming of the fun I would have the next day and as any 6-year-old, also dreaming about all the showing-off I could do with my new water gun, ha!

The second I was woken up by my human alarm clock, my lovely mama, one of the best days of the whole year would start. I would run and brush my teeth and eat my chapati and drink my milk as quickly as humanly possible by a 6-year-old. Dragging on my kurta and my shorts whilst my mama told me to calm down and tried to make my Papa's choice of boyish/mushroom haircut look as nice as it could. I would run out the house and into the hall of our flat where I'd be met by my 'gang'. Mridul, Madurima, Jubin and I. That was my so-called 'gang' haha! (And sometimes, Mridul's and Madurima's cousin would join us when he visited them). On our level of the flat, there lived 4 families. Two far right, two far left; with the stairs going down and up in the middle. We lived on one side with Jubin. Jubin was a South-Indian Malayalee like me who lived with his Dad, Mum and a little sister, I believe. He was one year older than me and he was Muslim. I'm guessing he may have been my first crush but I doubt I ever thought of him in that way at the age of 6 so I don't know. Our families were very friendly with eachother so we often played together. I still remember watching Bob the Builder in his house, sitting on the floor with him before I got called by someone. Right now, I also remember a time when I got a blister once and I was so scared that it might hurt, I treated it as a huge thing. I went to Jubin's Mum and she told me to pop it. And I remember sitting on their bed and popping my water blister and laughing because it didn't hurt haha! Ok, now Mridul and Madurima. They lived on the other side of the hall with their Mum and Dad and I remember that it was their Mum that was in the police (the flats were provided by the Government for people in the Delhi Police force with families) and I was so surprised that it wasn't their Dad, who was a software engineer. That must have been my first experience on equality; and I must have subconsciously fed into my brain that women can be just as good as men. And I am very glad that happened. Also, Mridul and Madurima were the first people in the colony to own a computer in their extra room on the terrace and playing Paint on it was my first and foremost experience on the computer. Oh, how I longed for a computer those days! The other people who lived in the flat next to Mridul's and Madurima's was an old Punjabi Sikh couple with two grown-up sons who didn't live with them and I don't really remember them except from the typical Punjabi face of a man with a beard, and a motta (fat) lady wearing a colourful salwar with her dhupatta (shawl) partly covering her head.

Back to the story, we would meet half way between our hall armed with water guns and small shoulder bags filled to the brim with unfilled water bombs. Then, we would run to the nearest tap and empty all our water bombs on to the floor and start filling them one-by-one whilst our bags started filling up one-by-one. After the water bombs, our guns would be filled. And then usually one of us would initiate the first flick of water on to another and that set us off straight away. We would run everywhere pelting eachother with water bombs and full blast water shots until we were dripping. As soon as we'd re-stocked, we'd run downstairs to the middle of the colony where the fun was just about to start. Everyone would come and throw packets of coloured powder into the middle and as soon as a small pile was made, the naughtiest kid in the colony would make the first move to tear open the plastic and empty it out on his friend. That one move marked the start of the whole day. No one could be stopped after that. All the boys and men dive for the packets whilst the women and the girls squeal and try to run eventhough they are soon caught up by someone and a huge handful of holi is brushed on to their cheek. Arre wah! The beautiful array of colours. Wow. As the colouring is in full swing, the teenagers usually ran up to their balconies over looking our central courtyard and filled every bucket in their house to the top with water. They lined them up and together, at the same time, drenched every person in the courtyard with water with one arm swing of the bucket. God, I would do anything to experience Holi one more time. 

That night, I would have the best sleep I've had all year. Despite the half-wet hair I'll be sleeping with, and the coloured powder probably still stuck behind my ears or behind my neck even after all the scrubbing my Mama would do which will probably all end up with her lovely white bed sheets turning rainbow-coloured by morning, or the fact that our house will basically be a little flooded and the whole colony will spend the next week or so trying to clean the mess that was made by that one day. God, was it worth it. 

This is why Holi is my favourite festival and my Holi memories are my favourite memories and that day is my most favourite day of my entire life.