Imagine the time and place - early 1980s, early March, somewhere in UP (Meerut, Lucknow etc). It is Holi. Schools and offices are off. For days, the Subramanian family has existed in a state of dread. Their least favourite festival is looming. Amma grew up in Dehradun and Delhi, yet dislikes Holi, as does Appa who is a Madras boy through and through. My brother is probably too young to register much perhaps, but I have certainly contracted my parent's apprehensiveness about this Helli-day.
We have many friends among our lovely North Indian neighbors and colleagues (South Indians and Tamilians being rather thin on the ground), but we don't enjoy their boisterous and aggressive Holi avatars. Our wallflower-ish Tamilian instincts rebel at all that shouting, dancing, music, throwing color and water. Our biggest fear is being dragged out of the house and forced to be a sport and participate in Holi festivities.
Our house in Meerut has two front doors. So my dad has the brilliant idea one year to install a big lock on one door, enter the house through the other, and barricade ourselves in. The four of us sit inside, quiet as mice, knowing fully well we would be getting visitors shortly. (It was probably 2-3 people from my dad's office but to my 7 year old self it felt like a mob!)
Sure enough, some people arrive at the door. Knock loudly, ring the doorbell. "Subramanian, we know you are in there. Baahar aao! Hum kuch nahin karenge" someone with a name like Dubey/Goel/Tiwari yells.
After multiple rounds of shouting "Subramanian", my dad knows the game was up. He bravely opens the door. They are very nice, they put a teeka, throw some color on all of us, maybe we exchange sweets.
Anticlimax! Much ado about nothing! Rinse and repeat every year :)
Just in case you were curious, I love playing Holi now :) Yesterday's trauma is often today's funny story!
