Live,Love,Laugh – #KhulKeKheloHoli !

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You start dying slowly
if you do not travel,
if you do not read,
If you do not listen to the sounds of life,
If you do not appreciate yourself.
You start dying slowly
When you kill your self-esteem;
When you do not let others help you.
You start dying slowly
If you become a slave of your habits,
Walking everyday on the same paths…
If you do not change your routine,
If you do not wear different colours
Or you do not speak to those you don’t know.
You start dying slowly
If you avoid to feel passion
And their turbulent emotions;
Those which make your eyes glisten
And your heart beat fast.
You start dying slowly
If you do not change your life when you are not satisfied with your job, or with your love,
If you do not risk what is safe for the uncertain,
If you do not go after a dream,
If you do not allow yourself,
At least once in your lifetime,
To run away from sensible advice…
I remember the reckless mirth and the boundless fun,the whoops of laughter as we ducked water balloons hurled at us by conniving cousins as we were chased all over the house on Holi.Hearts pounding hard,out of breath and faces a bright red not because of the Gulal(colored powder used on Holi ) but because of the rush of blood and adrenaline.What with all that running around,chasing each other all over the house and neighbourhood .
It was a day when even our never smiling Grandpa’s face would crinkle up in a smile when I would smear his face with Gulal and shout “Holi Mubarak, Dada ji !”
How I loved Holi for its pure fun !

I remember how my day would start with washing the face well ,donning old clothes and then liberally putting oil all over the body and oiling my long hair .Oil helps in protecting the skin from harsh colours and also does not allow the colours to get deep into the skin hence reducing chances of reactions.It would be far more easier to scrub the colour off later if the skin and hair are well oiled .I would then tie up my hair in a long plait or bun and then stock up on water balloons and buckets of coloured water ,our ammunition for the day !

Even passers by and strangers would not be shown any mercy on Holi .

Then as we grew up into young girls ,we started hiding inside our houses on that day because someone could try and grope you on the pretext of Holi and run away saying ,”Bura na mano Holi hai (Don’t mind because it is Holi)!”

Later,marriage, kids and work sapped away all the energy that we mustered so effortlessly in our childhood days and no amount of the splashings of the cold colours could bring out the lost joy to surface again.
Holi was no more looked forward to .The enthusiasm had ebbed off .

Few days back ,I came across this beautiful piece of poetry that I have shared above .

and I resolved that I will not let myself die slowly, little by little …
( Thank you, Pablo Neruda !)

So this year I will unleash the child within .Of course,it will be herbal colours (to conserve water and avoid causing any undue harm to anybody ),but this year I will shout the battle cry and become a child …  with my children , I will squeal with delight and whoop with joy when smearing colour on the face of my shy spouse or my next door neighbour .I will hug my friends and bask in that warmth .

So bring it on !
Because this year …  I want to feel  alive … again !

 “I’m pledging to #KhulKeKheloHoli this year by sharing my Holi memories at BlogAdda in association with Parachute Advansed.”

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