Phagwah 2006

To dye for. Photo by Nicholas Laughlin

Occasionally I count my blessings that I don’t make a living as a stripper. Last night, emerging from the shower, was one of those times. How, in the middle of writhing around poles and lap-dancing, would I ever have explained all those purplish and green marks left on my skin — in spite of multiple scrubbings — after yesterday’s visit to the Aranjuez Savannah?

Ah, the joys of living in a multi-cultural community. Yesterday afternoon, Jonty, Nikipedia and I donned dye-friendly clothing and armed ourselves with squeeze bottles and ziplock bags (to protect the cameras) and took our farse selves off to Aranjuez to take part in the Phagwah (as the Hindu festival of Holi is more commonly known here in Trinidad) festivities. Phagwah is a spring festival with origins in the Hindu holy scriptures, and earlier in the week the burning of Holika and other rites of a more obviously religious nature would have taken place. Yesterday’s celebrations, however, were more of a reminder of why Phagwah is also called the “festival of colours”.

As we arrived at the venue in our clean white t-shirts we received our first dousings with the coloured dye known as abeer, and it was downhill from there. I had liquid dye dumped over my head, powdered pigment rubbed into my skin (especially by Gillian Moor’s two daughters), and was drenched numerous times by little boys and girls armed with ingenious squirt guns comprising two lengths of PVC pipe fitted one into the other, or, in some cases, commercial toy super-soakers. My vessel of choice — a used water bottle (sport-top) I’d found on the floor of my car — was a shameful match for most of the weaponry other people were toting, and I only managed to besmirch a few people (including a press photographer, for which I suppose I get extra marks). But Jonty had better luck with a dishwashing liquid bottle he’d taken from home, and somebody gave Nikipedia a two-litre Coca-Cola bottle which had him acting like Hiranyakashipu the demon king himself, squirting small children and senior citizens and other helpless creatures (just kidding, of course). Stationed here and there were groups of men with barrels of dye shooting sniper-style from the trays of pick-up trucks and filling other people’s vessels, and little bags of powdered pigment were also being handed around.

And that wasn’t the only entertainment. Several chowtal groups performed, and a couple of old drunkards (though there is technically a prohibition on meat and alcohol being brought to the festivities) wined in what — had they not looked like they were on the verge of collapse — could have been described as lewdly, and one threw himself on the ground and humped the muddy ground, though I suspect he thought he was break-dancing. A young dance group called Natraj appeared and livened up the crowd with a few Bollywood dance numbers and now Nikipedia’s talking about forming a dance troupe and doing a Bollywood dance number for next year. All in all, and in spite of the drizzle and the tie-dyed hides many of us are sporting today, a good time was had by all.

Except, perhaps, for those who were off somewhere nursing bee stings. At one point during the proceedings the emcee issued a cryptic (at least to us) directive about staying clear of the big samaan tree near the edge of the festivities. Some time later, a fire engine pulled up, along with a gentleman wearning a beekeeper’s suit who proceeded to climb a ladder and spray the tree. Nikipedia called later in the evening to say that that the bee story had made the TV news, and that before we’d arrived bees had indeed attacked and two people had to be rushed to hospital.

I took no photos since it turned out I’d forgotten to replace the CF card in my camera, but here are Nikipedia’s and Attillah, who went to another venue, has a few as well. Here, also, is Flickr’s selection of photos tagged with “Phagwa” and photos tagged with “Holi”, and here’s blogger New York Friend’s report on the festivities in Queens, New York, and blogger Lee Ann’s report from Guyana.

Incidentally, 2006 marks the 161st anniversary of Phagwa celebrations in Trinidad. And yesterday was also St. Joseph’s day, which — way back when it was considered sacreligious to play calypsoes during Lent — was the day you were offered a mid-Lenten reprieve and allowed to sing as many bad songs and behave as awfully as you wanted. In these bad new days, of course, St. Joseph’s day has zero currency.

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