Festival de Couleurs

Holi, like all the other festivals, lost its sheen and fascination. Until the age of about 8, my brother and I would ritually ramp up to the Holi festivities by bringing balloons and aiming them at those playing in the garden our house overlooked, or anyone who made the mistake of staying within our visual horizon for more than 15 seconds. Back then, there were no hang-ups ('awareness' is the politically-correct word) about generous use of water and hue of colours.
The journey to school, and mainly coming back were extremely fascinating, dodging balloons and pichkaris full of water from other kids who jumped out from behind the walls. And of course, the 2-hour fiasco on the Holi-day, where we were (willingly) dragged from our homes and came back in unrecognizable hues. Mom laboured to get the colour out of the skin, while brother and I pleasingly gleed each time we caught a glimpse of self in the mirror. Another successful Holi!
As all good things, this masti came to an end as I grew up, and began realising that it was more of an opportunity of eve-teasing and grabbing than innocent fun. And so it remained for two decades forth. So what changed this time?
A friend invited me to his place for a bhaang party. Knowing him over 6 years, a quiet sit-down kind of person, I accepted the invitation, and set out to his place after a hearty lunch. The directions were for a terrace flat; as soon as I got out of the lift, the blaring music directed me to his doorstep. I was about to ring the bell when I heard riotous voices on the other side of the door, and I froze.
'Should I go back? Now?'
Seemingly my presence was detected, the door opened and I was greeted with multi-coloured people. I quickly spotted my friend and gave him 'the look' of WTF!'
He disarmingly said 'It's Holi! What did you expect?' I shrugged, and all was cool. Someone ceremoniously put colour on my cheeks, and then he whisked me inside to get me a change of clothes before I joined them in the rainbow of celebration.
The two men and five women I earlier described as 'multi-coloured' were French connections, and from the looks of it, they were having a ball of a time. Their English was heavily accented, and as the afternoon progressed with generous gulps of bhaang, tounges slurred, and conversation became quite inane. This was my first encounter with bhaang (I'd had the 'virgin' version thandai before).
After about 3 hours of chasing each other with bottles and buckets of water (sometimes even cups), and ensuring each of us had not a centimeter of skin in orignal colour, we washed it all off with surprising ease. One of the girls asked me significance of Holi; on a boring day I'd have launched into a monologue of its Vaishnava Theology, but spared them with the explanation 'celebrating the commencement of spring'
By late evening the lesson taught was how to pronounce bhaang correctly, with an accent on letter 'h'. Success was achieved with suggestion of saying 'ba'-'hang' with the slightest pause. I, of course was severly disappointed since the bhaang had done nothing to muddle my sensibilities, and my friend made desperate attempts by making more and more of the concoction.
The evening was complete with some lip-smacking reshmi kebabs and tikkas, after which I trudged home with a joyful heart.
My parents had not a clue that my jeans was soaked in colour; and the only proof remaining was a green mark on my palm of the colour. A surprisingly fun-filled festive day; and now I cannot say for sure anymore that 'I don't like surprises' :D