Holi War!

March 13, 2025

I crouched behind an old motorcycle, heart pounding, mouth dry with the taste of dust and chalk. Across the village square, the enemy was making their final preparations. To my right, concealed behind a weathered Newari-style brick temple, my troops awaited their orders. We had only moments before the element of surprise would be lost. I motioned for them to move around a crumbling tower to flank the enemy. Then, in my best dramatic whisper, I uttered, "On my signal... unleash hell!"

When they were in position, I gave the signal. With a blood-curdling battle cry, I sprang from cover and charged. My first shot landed square in the chest of an enemy soldier—down he went. Another of my troops struck their leader in the leg. I fired off a few more rounds, but then—disaster—I was out of ammo. I spun to retreat to the safety of the motorcycle, but before I could reach it, pain exploded between my shoulder blades. A hot, wet liquid trickled down my back. I dropped to the ground, lying flat to avoid further hits, wincing at the sting.

A shriek to my left caught my attention. A projectile whizzed past one of my troops' heads.  "Dad, we're almost out of water balloons! What do we do?" cried Austen, my middle child, in a panicked voice. 

Finley, my youngest, launched her last balloon with the precision of an MLB pitcher, striking her target dead-on. "Fall back to the pottery shop to reload!" I ordered, scrambling to my feet. We sprinted toward Prajapati Pottery & Training Centre, whose gracious owner had allowed us to use his sink for refills. By the time I reached the shop, my eldest, Ryan, was already refilling balloons. Finley and Austen arrived seconds later, bouncing in place as they waited for fresh ammo. They had attempted to tie the balloons themselves, but after several failed efforts, it was clear Ryan and I were the designated armament crew.

Our "enemies" were a group of Nepalese teenage boys, mischievously lobbing water grenades at Holi Festival revelers. We had decided to give them a taste of their own medicine, and they had eagerly accepted the challenge. It was all in good fun, and they took care not to hit our girls too hard—not that it mattered, considering their aim was, frankly, atrocious. After missing several consecutive shots, one of the boys simply ran at me with a bucket of water and dumped it over my head. I could have dodged—he was moving at a comically slow pace to avoid spilling water—but where's the fun in that?

After ten minutes of battle, we called a truce. We posed for a victory photo with our former foes, smearing their faces with colored chalk as we shouted, "Happy Holi!"

Holi is a riot of color, music, and joyful chaos—a Hindu celebration of unity that involves covering strangers in colored powder and drenching them in water. And Bhaktapur? It’s one of the best places in the world to experience it.