Briefly – very briefly – considered writing a profound and complex short story about Holi-revellers, titled “The Dyeds of March” and incorporating such high-falutin' phrases as “What thou wouldst highly, that wouldst thou holily”. But I don’t have the time or (more relevantly) imagination. So here’s some kindly advice instead for those celebrating the festival. Since it’s clearly too much to expect that you don’t impose your own idea of “fun” on the unwilling (heck, the species has been doing that throughout its existence, why should it stop now), I’ll stick to the more important stuff: try not to blind anyone else with toxic colours, don’t use the occasion as a pretext for eve-teasing, and don’t get drunk and swerve your Sumos into other people’s vehicles (or into other people) at 140 km/hr (I was driving late last night amidst a sea of bhang-drunk-drivers and pedestrians – this is one of those times on Delhi’s roads when you really don’t feel like your life is in your own hands).
But who am I kidding, we’ll read all about it in tomorrow’s papers anyway, as we do each year.