By Aashna Shah
Holi is almost here, and every year I convince myself I’m prepared. I’m not. I never am.
There’s something about willingly showing up in a carefully planned white outfit, knowing full well it’s about to be destroyed within minutes. It’s delusional optimism. You tell yourself this year you’ll stay on the edges, you’ll play it calm, you’ll avoid the overly enthusiastic people holding suspiciously full bags of neon powder. And then someone you’ve known since kindergarten walks up, smiles sweetly, says “Happy Holi,” and presses a bright pink color directly into your scalp like they’re icing a cake.
Holi, which celebrates the arrival of spring and the triumph of good over evil, is rooted in the story of Prahlada. It’s meaningful and symbolic and beautiful. But the way we celebrate it today? It’s pure chaos, just culturally justified.
Within ten minutes, nobody looks recognizable. The friend who spent an hour doing her hair is suddenly neon green. The guy who said he was “just stopping by for a bit” is fully drenched. There’s color in places you didn’t know could hold color. And somehow, even though you can’t
see clearly and your ears are ringing from music blasting, you’re laughing harder than you have in weeks.
The water is what really gets me. Powder I can handle. But the water guns? The buckets? The random splash from behind when you thought you were safe? It feels less like a spring festival and more like a competitive sport no one trained for. And yet, everyone is committed.
The aftermath is humbling. You think you washed it all out. You didn’t. For the next three days, you discover streaks of blue behind your ears and pink along your hairline. Your shower looks like abstract art. Your mom reminds you that she told you to oil your hair. You promise you’ll listen next year. You won’t.
But here’s the thing, it’s one of the only days where nobody is trying to look perfect. Nobody is curated. Nobody is filtered. Everyone is equally ridiculous, equally colorful, equally chaotic. There’s something freeing about that. Especially growing up here, where culture can sometimes feel muted, Holi is loud. It takes up space. It’s music blasting across parks, aunties pretending they don’t want color and then going all in, little kids running like they’ve been training for this moment all year.
It’s messy and overwhelming and slightly aggressive.
And I still wouldn’t miss it.
So yes, I’ll show up in white again. Yes, I’ll act surprised when I get attacked first. And yes, I’ll spend the next week finding pink powder in places it shouldn’t be.
Some traditions aren’t meant to be graceful. They’re meant to be lived.
Happy Holi.
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Aashna Shah is an Indian American sophomore at Syosset High School interested in business, fashion, and storytelling. She hopes to use fashion as a pathway to uplift underserved communities. She also serves as the Submission Coordinator for Kaleidoscope, where she helps curate and elevate youth voices through storytelling.
