Hyderabad

Afterwards, I had to decide whether I should just throw my t-shirt into the bin or rather take it home as a souvenir. In the end, Holi, the festival of colour, did turn into a party – at least a children’s party.

At first, though, it looks like the Indian spring festival would simply not happen for me. The streets of Hyderabad are empty. Hardly any people, only a few cars and motorbikes. A couple of guys reloading some coconuts from a large lorry into a smaller one. That’s it. I don’t find any children and young people shouting and throwing paint at one another on my walk through the neighbourhood of Secunderabad.

Although Holi is one of the oldest and most popular festivals in India. In the north, in some regions it is celebrated up to ten days long. It’s said that on this day all of the barriers of caste, gender, age, and status are lifted. Many of the colours that are later used in spirited battles are first dedicated on the altar. Everyone here wishes one another well or at least “Happy Holi.”

The reason for the empty streets is explained to me by my Deccan Chronicle colleague Natraj. Final exams are coming up for the school year now coming to an end. They are so important that many children are staying at home revising. To ensure me a proper Holi party, though, Natraj takes me home with him. There, in the backyard, sparks – and colours – are flying. The children from the neighbourhood have two hours, and then they must return to their desks. Two hours and the “uncle from Germany” in his white t-shirt. Happy Holi.