Cheryl Snell's Blog, page 15
March 8, 2012
March 5, 2012
Holi
This week the three day harvest festival known as Holi is celebrated. Click the title for pics.
On the first day, Rang Pashi, a family's eldest member will sprinkle colors all around, while the women, dressed in Holi Dandia saris, make their preparations, cooking gujia and papri. Bhang and other alcoholic beverages are allowed.
The colors tossed during Holi are associated with several legends. One involves Krishna and Radha. Krishna had become jealous of Radha's fair color and his mother Yashoda suggested he change her complexion by smearing color on her. Those MILs!
I refer to this "festival of togetherness" in Shiva's Arms. Here's a peek:
There was some art festival going on, exactly the kind of frivolous hippie activity he hated. Alice sat on a hillside among her paintings, her long blonde hair parted in the middle, a daisy decal on her cheek. Young men with fringed vests and flared jeans milled around, looking, looking. There was no telling who had a trust fund. These boys might be more serious about art than the ones in polyester leisure suits. With their arms around barefoot girls in peasant blouses and Indian patterned skirts, the young men talked about revolution. They sized up Alice from a distance, out of the corners of their dilated pupils, making greedy, unclean overtures.
The air was redolent with pot, the music pounded with a primitive pulse. Exactly like Holi. Ram disapproved of that celebration on moral grounds. But the village men, high on herbal intoxicants, would go right on through the centuries tossing bright- colored paints on the women, Eve-teasing, trying to grope them whether Ram liked it or not.
Ramesh watched Alice, stared at her hard, tried to make sense of the physical sensations that overwhelmed him. She boldly returned his stare, asking the double-edged question, "See anything you like?" Ram pointed to a portrait of her mouth. He circled the picture a few times, viewed it from all angles, picked it up and held it close to his face, as if he was going to kiss it.
"I like all the textures in the mouth, the heat and color, the extremes in such a small place. The lips hide the teeth, the tongue hides behind them, but the mouth's uses are so basic, aren't they?" He looked from the painting to her mouth. Her gold-flecked blue eyes took on the aspect of the sea and he could have sworn he had already begun to drown in them.
The music from the live band in the distance had a sitar in it and the sound disoriented him. He had the urge to ask her to dance, but it was not what he was good at. He made slow, painful conversation as Alice waited sullenly by the paintings. And then he was so close to her, he could feel her breathe. A rainbow fell across her skin and made it hard to believe she was only flesh and blood.
Her blue eyes closed as he bent to cover her mouth with his own. Her resistance flared up, subsided. In that moment, Ram absorbed Alice into his bones, took the sense of her into his brain's wiring. She stared at him with darkened eyes, pulled at his hand. He imagined that it was her pulse beating inside his fingers.
On the first day, Rang Pashi, a family's eldest member will sprinkle colors all around, while the women, dressed in Holi Dandia saris, make their preparations, cooking gujia and papri. Bhang and other alcoholic beverages are allowed.
The colors tossed during Holi are associated with several legends. One involves Krishna and Radha. Krishna had become jealous of Radha's fair color and his mother Yashoda suggested he change her complexion by smearing color on her. Those MILs!
I refer to this "festival of togetherness" in Shiva's Arms. Here's a peek:
There was some art festival going on, exactly the kind of frivolous hippie activity he hated. Alice sat on a hillside among her paintings, her long blonde hair parted in the middle, a daisy decal on her cheek. Young men with fringed vests and flared jeans milled around, looking, looking. There was no telling who had a trust fund. These boys might be more serious about art than the ones in polyester leisure suits. With their arms around barefoot girls in peasant blouses and Indian patterned skirts, the young men talked about revolution. They sized up Alice from a distance, out of the corners of their dilated pupils, making greedy, unclean overtures.
The air was redolent with pot, the music pounded with a primitive pulse. Exactly like Holi. Ram disapproved of that celebration on moral grounds. But the village men, high on herbal intoxicants, would go right on through the centuries tossing bright- colored paints on the women, Eve-teasing, trying to grope them whether Ram liked it or not.
Ramesh watched Alice, stared at her hard, tried to make sense of the physical sensations that overwhelmed him. She boldly returned his stare, asking the double-edged question, "See anything you like?" Ram pointed to a portrait of her mouth. He circled the picture a few times, viewed it from all angles, picked it up and held it close to his face, as if he was going to kiss it.
"I like all the textures in the mouth, the heat and color, the extremes in such a small place. The lips hide the teeth, the tongue hides behind them, but the mouth's uses are so basic, aren't they?" He looked from the painting to her mouth. Her gold-flecked blue eyes took on the aspect of the sea and he could have sworn he had already begun to drown in them.
The music from the live band in the distance had a sitar in it and the sound disoriented him. He had the urge to ask her to dance, but it was not what he was good at. He made slow, painful conversation as Alice waited sullenly by the paintings. And then he was so close to her, he could feel her breathe. A rainbow fell across her skin and made it hard to believe she was only flesh and blood.
Her blue eyes closed as he bent to cover her mouth with his own. Her resistance flared up, subsided. In that moment, Ram absorbed Alice into his bones, took the sense of her into his brain's wiring. She stared at him with darkened eyes, pulled at his hand. He imagined that it was her pulse beating inside his fingers.
Coming this Week: Holi
This week the three day harvest festival known as Holi is celebrated. Click the title for pics.
On the first day, Rang Pashi, a family's eldest member will sprinkle colors all around, while the women, dressed in Holi Dandia saris, make their preparations, cooking gujia and papri. Bhang and other alcoholic beverages are allowed.
The colors tossed during Holi are associated with several legends. One involves Krishna and Radha. Krishna had become jealous of Radha's fair color and his mother Yashoda suggested he change her complexion by smearing color on her. Those MILs!
I refer to this "festival of togetherness" in Shiva's Arms. Here's a peek:
There was some art festival going on, exactly the kind of frivolous hippie activity he hated. Alice sat on a hillside among her paintings, her long blonde hair parted in the middle, a daisy decal on her cheek. Young men with fringed vests and flared jeans milled around, looking, looking. There was no telling who had a trust fund. These boys might be more serious about art than the ones in polyester leisure suits. With their arms around barefoot girls in peasant blouses and Indian patterned skirts, the young men talked about revolution. They sized up Alice from a distance, out of the corners of their dilated pupils, making greedy, unclean overtures.
The air was redolent with pot, the music pounded with a primitive pulse. Exactly like Holi. Ram disapproved of that celebration on moral grounds. But the village men, high on herbal intoxicants, would go right on through the centuries tossing bright- colored paints on the women, Eve-teasing, trying to grope them whether Ram liked it or not.
Ramesh watched Alice, stared at her hard, tried to make sense of the physical sensations that overwhelmed him. She boldly returned his stare, asking the double-edged question, "See anything you like?" Ram pointed to a portrait of her mouth. He circled the picture a few times, viewed it from all angles, picked it up and held it close to his face, as if he was going to kiss it.
"I like all the textures in the mouth, the heat and color, the extremes in such a small place. The lips hide the teeth, the tongue hides behind them, but the mouth's uses are so basic, aren't they?" He looked from the painting to her mouth. Her gold-flecked blue eyes took on the aspect of the sea and he could have sworn he had already begun to drown in them.
The music from the live band in the distance had a sitar in it and the sound disoriented him. He had the urge to ask her to dance, but it was not what he was good at. He made slow, painful conversation as Alice waited sullenly by the paintings. And then he was so close to her, he could feel her breathe. A rainbow fell across her skin and made it hard to believe she was only flesh and blood.
Her blue eyes closed as he bent to cover her mouth with his own. Her resistance flared up, subsided. In that moment, Ram absorbed Alice into his bones, took the sense of her into his brain's wiring. She stared at him with darkened eyes, pulled at his hand. He imagined that it was her pulse beating inside his fingers.
On the first day, Rang Pashi, a family's eldest member will sprinkle colors all around, while the women, dressed in Holi Dandia saris, make their preparations, cooking gujia and papri. Bhang and other alcoholic beverages are allowed.
The colors tossed during Holi are associated with several legends. One involves Krishna and Radha. Krishna had become jealous of Radha's fair color and his mother Yashoda suggested he change her complexion by smearing color on her. Those MILs!
I refer to this "festival of togetherness" in Shiva's Arms. Here's a peek:
There was some art festival going on, exactly the kind of frivolous hippie activity he hated. Alice sat on a hillside among her paintings, her long blonde hair parted in the middle, a daisy decal on her cheek. Young men with fringed vests and flared jeans milled around, looking, looking. There was no telling who had a trust fund. These boys might be more serious about art than the ones in polyester leisure suits. With their arms around barefoot girls in peasant blouses and Indian patterned skirts, the young men talked about revolution. They sized up Alice from a distance, out of the corners of their dilated pupils, making greedy, unclean overtures.
The air was redolent with pot, the music pounded with a primitive pulse. Exactly like Holi. Ram disapproved of that celebration on moral grounds. But the village men, high on herbal intoxicants, would go right on through the centuries tossing bright- colored paints on the women, Eve-teasing, trying to grope them whether Ram liked it or not.
Ramesh watched Alice, stared at her hard, tried to make sense of the physical sensations that overwhelmed him. She boldly returned his stare, asking the double-edged question, "See anything you like?" Ram pointed to a portrait of her mouth. He circled the picture a few times, viewed it from all angles, picked it up and held it close to his face, as if he was going to kiss it.
"I like all the textures in the mouth, the heat and color, the extremes in such a small place. The lips hide the teeth, the tongue hides behind them, but the mouth's uses are so basic, aren't they?" He looked from the painting to her mouth. Her gold-flecked blue eyes took on the aspect of the sea and he could have sworn he had already begun to drown in them.
The music from the live band in the distance had a sitar in it and the sound disoriented him. He had the urge to ask her to dance, but it was not what he was good at. He made slow, painful conversation as Alice waited sullenly by the paintings. And then he was so close to her, he could feel her breathe. A rainbow fell across her skin and made it hard to believe she was only flesh and blood.
Her blue eyes closed as he bent to cover her mouth with his own. Her resistance flared up, subsided. In that moment, Ram absorbed Alice into his bones, took the sense of her into his brain's wiring. She stared at him with darkened eyes, pulled at his hand. He imagined that it was her pulse beating inside his fingers.
