HOLI AAYEE RE

Exploring unfamiliar nuances is Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Alaap Rekha unsure of
reciprocation, hides behind the door waiting in anticipation. The hero follows
her and colours her spontaneously, oblivious of her feelings for him. In complete contrast is rang barse of Silsila, the bhang becomes an excuse for the lovers to rekindle an old affair. The brazenness appeals to our basic instinct, evoking a heady feeling despite the social taboos

The story behind the holi festival is as old as our mythologies. When son Prahlad couldn’t be destroyed after every attempt of King Hiranyakashapu, Prahlad’s aunt and the king’s sister Holika blessed to immortality, offered to sit on the pyre with her nephew on her lap. Holika was certain that the flames wouldn’t perish her. On the contrary, it turned her to ashes. "I had to take back my blessings," proclaimed the Lord, because you misused my powers.

For centuries ever since, the festival is celebrated to mark the end of evil, while dhudeti, the ritual of spreading colour on the following day, a robust gesture to soothe the angry flames. It is said that in the olden days, the deities sprinkled kesuda (red flower) mixed with water to calm the ravage. Over the years, the royal families replaced the red leaf paste with red powder (gulaal), and gradually holi came to be identified as a festival of cheer, which in contemporary times, got translated as abridging of class discrimination.

Part of the attraction was in its secular message and part in the excuse to drop inhibitions but Hindi cinema for decades thrived on holi to evoke nostalgia. Despite repetitive situations, despite predictable dialogues and lyrics, the song and dance numbers triggered a feeling of deja vu in the audience and the magic hasn’t diminished in all these years. What has altered are the perceptions. If Yash Chopra projected it as an occasion for indulgence (Silsila) and later fear (Darr) for Subhash Ghai, it was a moment for confrontation (Hero) and later truce (Saudagar). For Rajkumar Santoshi, a reason for truant (Damini) and for Ramesh Sippy, a portrait of moods (Sholay). Combining the sad with the happy moments, when a younger Jaya Bhaduri chases Sanjeev Kumar’s tonga challenging to colour his spotless kurta and later, the same sequence with Jaya as a widow, watching the gaiety from a temple perched on the top of a hill, is heart rending.

So is Mani Ratnam’s Dal-Pati telling the story of a 13-year-old suffering labour pangs before the birth of her illegitimate child, who she abandons on a moving train. For years after that, on every holi night, the guilt ridden mother is hounded by visions of the villagers prancing around the bonfire destroying old belongings. The conscience continues to be at a crisis for thirty years, until she meets her neglected son and makes peace with him. My earliest memory of the festival goes back to Mehboob Khan’s Mother India. The hero Raaj Kumar has mortgaged his wife’s bangle to the sahukar. Next morning, on seeing the same bangle on the sahukar’s daughter, Nargis’ son is outraged. Birju’s fury was perhaps the first flash of the archetypal angry-young-man roles to follow. On the other hand V Shantaram films preferred to emphasise on the fun and flirtation associated with the celebration. Ari jaani natkhat, mat chuna mera ghunghat in Navrang picturised on dancer Gopi Krishna and Sandhya, after all these years remains memorable for its candid lyrics and unusual choreography. The song in a way set precedent of linking romance with the festival, the only unfortunate bit being that over the years, there were so many of them that there came a time (’60s-70s) when it became impossible to imagine a Hindi film without a holi song.

Only those that dared to be different made a mark. On top of the list is Waheeda Rehman-Dharmendra starrer Phagun. Waheeda’s father, a zamindar has brought her a Benaras saree as is the tradition. The husband, in a romantic moment drenched her with colour, destroying her father’s gift. Torn between the two men she loves, Waheeda feels obliged to humiliate her husband in public to pacify her father. Crestfallen, the husband walks out on his pregnant wife to return 20 years later, imbalanced and diffident.

In Shyam Benegal’s Bhumika Naseeruddin Shah playing a filmmaker has everyone believe that he disapproves of the celebration because his daughter died on the occasion. Smita Patil, playing Hansa Wadkar defies this by applying a dash of colour on his cheeks. Instead of exploding, the gesture is the beginning of a tentative attraction between the two. Exploring unfamiliar nuances is also Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Alaap Rekha unsure of reciprocation, hides behind the door waiting in anticipation. The hero follows her and colours her spontaneously, oblivious of her feelings for him. In complete contrast is rang barse of Silsila the bhang becomes an excuse for the lovers to rekindle an old affair. The brazenness appeals to our basic instinct, evoking a heady feeling despite the social taboos.

The stigma of a widow participating in the festivities was first challenged by Shakti Samanta in Kati Patang. Rajesh Khanna applying the shagun ka tikka on the young widow’s forehead was a statement on our social customs. And Ketan Mehta’s Holi a statement on our degrading education system. Reflecting the sinister side of hostel life and the damage done in the name of ragging, the film is the sad story of a young boy destroyed by peer pressure.

Bhawana Somaaya