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Holi in my childhood was not just about colours—it was a full-fledged festival of food, fun, and family traditions. The excitement would begin days in advance, with my mother and grandmother busy in the kitchen, preparing sweets and snacks that would disappear as quickly as they were made.
The Magic of Gujiyas and the Women of the House
I still remember my mother meticulously preparing gujiyas. She would make fresh khoya for the stuffing while roasting coconut and nuts to add to the mixture. The kitchen smelled heavenly—cardamom, sugar, and ghee mingling in the air, making it impossible to resist sneaking a bite. My mother, always one step ahead, would catch me red-handed, laughing as she shooed me away.
The best part? Sitting around the kitchen table, watching my mother and grandmother fold and seal the gujiyas with such precision. I tried helping once, but my clumsy attempts resulted in gujiyas that looked more like abstract art than perfect crescents!
The Special Thandai Ritual—A Father’s Touch
While the women took charge of sweets and snacks, Thandai was my father’s domain. He deeply loved this cooling drink and took great pride in making it from scratch. The night before Holi, he would soak almonds, fennel, poppy seeds, and black pepper, grinding them into a smooth paste in the morning.
Watching him prepare Thandai was like watching a master at work—each ingredient measured, each step done with care. He would pour the chilled drink into clay glasses, garnishing them with saffron strands and crushed rose petals. “This is the real taste of Holi,” he would declare, offering us our share while winking at my elder cousins who would later be treated to a special version with bhang.
The Chaos of Holi Morning
The real madness began on Holi morning. My mother would try to keep us clean for at least a few hours, but that was a losing battle. The moment we stepped outside, we were drenched in colour, our hair filled with pinks, purples, and yellows. My father, a playful spirit, would pretend to be serious about not getting coloured but would always end up chasing us with a bucket of water, laughing heartily.
Inside, the kitchen was buzzing with activity. My grandmother would be soaking Dahi Bhallas, my mother frying Malpuas, and my father stirring his favorite kanji—a tangy, fermented drink that we children never appreciated back then but now I crave for its unique taste.
The table would soon be filled with pooris, chana masala, namak pare, and shakkar pare—a feast that brought the entire family together. No matter how tired or stained we were from playing outside, the moment we sat down to eat, we felt an overwhelming sense of joy and warmth.
The Evening Feast and Nostalgic Conversations
By evening, the colours had faded from our faces but not from our hearts. Sitting together with my parents and grandparents, sharing sweets, recounting the day’s pranks, and laughing over childhood stories, I realized that Holi wasn’t just about vibrant colours or festive food. It was about love, about togetherness, and about creating memories that would last a lifetime.
Even today, when I prepare gujiyas in my own kitchen, I can hear my mother reminding me to seal the edges properly, my father’s voice declaring his Thandai the best, and the laughter of my family echoing through time. Holi may have changed in its modern celebrations, but its essence—family, food, and fun—remains the same.
What’s Your Favorite Holi Memory?
Did your parents or grandparents have a special Holi tradition? A favorite dish that defines the festival for you? Share your stories in the comments—I’d love to hear them!
Neerja Bhatnagar
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