FESTIVAL OF COLOUR
Holi is India’s most vibrant celebration — so don’t miss it, says Jenny Coad
OF ALL the countries in all the world, India least needs a festival of colour. An ordinary day is a celebration of every shade — from canary yellow saris trimmed in light-catching gold to resplendent red turbans, bundles of dusty coriander, sacks of orange turmeric, and cows sporting brilliant blue horns.
Why stop there? They welcome spring after a full moon in March by plastering each other with powdered pigments, during the festival of Holi.
The night before, bonfires are lit to banish evil spirits — hot coals are taken indoors to cleanse the home — and Jaipur, where I am staying, glows beneath a smoky haze.
The following morning, a street party outside my hotel, the homely 47 Jobner Bagh, swings into action, with bands, dancing, and clouds of colour puffing into the air.
There’s drinking, more hooting than usual from paper horns and concerts across the city. One jolly rickshaw driver cycles into a lamppost. ‘Whisky,’ tuts my guide.
Big hotels organise events for tourists where they can ‘play’ at Holi away from the raucous crowds. But you might have more fun with the locals. Even if that means returning home with pink hair. (Delhi airport bobs with fuchsia and purple rinses and my friend Jo sports a green streak.)
You don’t need to visit India for Holi to enjoy its festival spirit. It’s a riot at any time of year.
And, for many, it is glitzy Rajasthan with its extraordinary royal palaces, decorative forts and lake city that show off India at its best. This is a starting point for most visitors wanting to dip a toe into its extraordinary culture.
Here, getting fort fatigue is more of a risk than Delhi belly. At Humayun’s Tomb — the inspiration for the Taj Mahal — in New Delhi, I hear a weary American bemoan ‘sometimes I get bored of splendour’. Have a changeh of f pace andd go and d see the house where Gandhi was killed in 1948.
The museum, which gives an overview of his life and work, displays his worldly belongings — two spoons, two forks, one knife, a pair of spectacles, his walking stick, a stone, and pocket watch, which stopped at the time he was shot.
No amount of fatigue, though, will dent your enthusiasm for the Taj Mahal in Agra, about a four- hour drive from New Delhi. We’ve all seen it before in countless pictures, but in the flesh, it is still arresting in its pure whiteness, beautiful contours and utter romance.
THEY cleared the decks for William and Kate’s visit last year, when they were pictured on the bench made famous by Diana in 1992. Everyone else has to wait their turn to have a photo taken in that spot. Inside the tomb, it’s a bun fight. Silence is meant to be observed but as our guide puts it: ‘Silence is not possible in India.’ It’s a wonder the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan and his favourite wife Mumtaz Mahal, interred here, get any rest at all.
For a quieter view, go at sunrise to the Mughal park, Mehtab Bagh. Entry is 100 rupees (about £1) and there are barely any tourists.
On the journey there from our hotel — the peac peaceful Trident with its gardens arranged around a pool and delicious homemade pizza — you can watch Agra awake. Little fires flame on pavements, people brush their teeth on the street, men gather at chai stalls.
Watching the world go by is one of the greatest pleasures of travelling in India. No matter how long the journey, you are unlikely to tire of the scenery.
The road to Jaipur — five hours from Agra — is captivating, with women in gaudy saris carrying bales of hay on their heads in the fields, and brick stacks smoking steadily. There’s even live drumming at the Welcome Break. You don’t get that off the M25.
After carousing at Holi in the Pink City (more of a terracotta), we fly to Udaipur and head for newly opened, Bujera Fort, in a village outside the city.
It’s quiet, with sweeping views of the Aravalli hills and surrounding countryside, warmly decorated bedrooms, a drawing room with a silver piano and its own vegetable garden. This is a good place from which to walk, sunbathe and dip into Udaipur.
The City Palace, where Udaipur’s royal family still live, has a vast collection of miniature paintings, sculptures, a silver gallery and peacock courtyard.
Ganesh Handicraft Emporium nearby is a trove of fabrics, antiques, and enough bedspreads to fill Buckingham Palace. Mayur Arts, which sells replica antiques, is so vast that apparently the Princess of Morocco once ‘got lost’ inside for six hours.
The lake is Udaipur’s star attraction and, perhaps the most romantic place to stay, is the Taj Lake Palace on the water.
A boat steers you there, red rose petals float over your head on arrival, a musician pipes daintily in the courtyard.
The small swimming pool with its pretty surrounding archways is bliss, as the light turns golden in the fading afternoon. If you aren’t in love when you arrive, you most certainly will be when you depart.