Hop, skip and jump. Time is giving no space for a hop or a skip but straight it says, “Jump yaar jump”. Will seem prejudiced if I say this is true. But really Time is having own affair and no place for a small soul like me. It is taking its flight, and the speed…I can’t catch up sometimes.
Holi has come up. It seems just like yesterday the Kite-flying festival, the Paush Sankranti, has not left its mark. Colourful kites flying around in the space of the blue sky. What a hue. Terrific and nostalgic to watch small colours adorning the sky sometimes the red on the left and then blue flies in. The yellow gleefully moving up and the green and pink one feeling shy to go near the purple one. Some brave one’s going too close and simply cutting the other to drift away and not come back. Kites playing their own game…no gender game…but a common one. And the human hand doing all the tricks.
Why is kite flying different from puppet shows? Both have to do with threads and strings. But puppet shows send out a message in the story they depict and kites, they fly all around with such mirth and glee, just a fun-fare.
And now Holi has come. Again it is the story of colours. Festivals come and go and they bring so much colour into life. The day when all play with colours, a sight to see. Everyone likes to be a part of this and why not so colourful…one colour taking over another and then another and then all the trouble to wash off the last colour from the face and hands and legs and the body.
Holi has come and will go and then the mangoes will come. I’m waiting for the ripe ones…my favourite fruit…but that’s for those very hot summer days that help to ripen them.
As I think of the heat and the dust of the hot summer days, I feel sad why winter has gone.