I was confronted with a preposterously enormous buffet. Freshly baked salmon, smoked salmon, bacon, hollandaise egg muffins, chickpea curries, dals, a flattering array of flattened breads, croissants, pancakes and doughnuts. Chai brewed in the centre of the room, bubbling up from an enormous pot; honey dripped – not from jars, but straight from the comb itself. It was a breakfast paradise.
The buffet had so much variety that it was impossible to make the most of it. Luckily, Ashish’s continuous appeals for a late check-out had been successful, so not only did I not have to rush my food, but I got an extra two hours back in the room afterwards. Such a propitious morning banished any doubts I’d been nurturing the previous night about staying here. A decision well made.
When we finally did check-out of the Taj Lands End, Ashish and I were going our separate ways. He was catching a flight back to Delhi and I was moving to a well-reviewed hostel in the south of the city.
Walking back along Marine drive on my way to Colaba Market I began to notice lots of people covered in different coloured paint. On their faces. On their clothes. I soon realised this strange spectacle extended beyond Marine Drive. It was everywhere… even on the train and on the platforms people were splattered in pink purple and orange. Today, Hindus were celebrating Holi. The festival of colours.
The festival of colours is huge. One aspect of the celebrations involves people hurling water and paint at each other in the street. Being holed up in the Taj, I had missed the peak of such festivities, something I deeply lamented as I realised the magnitude of the chaos I had missed out on. Nevertheless, in the afternoon, as I walked by the Arabian sea, not far from the Queen’s necklace, I was suddenly doused with orange paint by a flock of children who then proceeded to offer me a beer and a cigarette. The Holi celebrations were continuing in and around the slums where bonfires were burning and people were dancing. For the rest of the city, splashes of paint upon the ground and a thousand burst water balloons were all the evidence I needed I’d missed out on something huge.
Talking to my roommates at my new hostel in Colaba, I got a further idea of the extent of the fun and madness that Holi brings. One British girl complained of an old woman who took her unawares, jumping out of an alleyway and splattering her as she walked along the street.
A restaurant owner allowed me to use his washroom to clean myself up before he served me my chicken korma. A chicken korma totally unrecognizable from that stuff I used to eat in the U.K. Both in appearance and taste. It was mighty good though.
Now that I’m staying in Colaba Market, my journeys through the city should be damn easy. The main point of staying here is so that I don’t have to travel for to see the places I want to see…
