No festival is intrinsically bad

There was a time when I loved Holi, and everything associated with it.

The smell of gulal made with multani mitti. Petrichor, I came to know it was called. One whiff still takes me to paradise.

Dahi vada and malpua.

After a morning of playing Holi, and the rest of the day succumbing to the fatigue, the only thing that could draw you out of bed was the thought of stuffing yourself silly with dahi vada and malpua.

Thankfully, those dishes haven’t been spoilt for me.

Palash, the Flame of the Forest.
The solitary tree growing by a stream.

The experiments with extracting dye to use as a colour.

The excitement of seeing the golden hue. The disappointment when it didn’t stick.

The sight of palash still fills my heart with joy.

The festival itself is not intrinsically bad, though many are petrified of it. It symbolizes the advent of spring. It speaks of joyous beginnings, of new life.

And yet, people spoil festivals for you. By choosing to move far away from what the festival is meant to be.