It is a lovely day; the children in my neighbourhood are running around equipped with water guns and fistfuls of colour; the air itself seems pink and purple; and loud happy shrieks punctuate the grown-ups’ laughter and (supposedly) drunken singing. There is a relatively quiet corner, away from the target zones of water guns and balloons, where I sit propped back on my hands in a pool of sunshine, with my idea of you, happy and tired and drenched in colours. It is a lovely day. Happy Holi.
Dialect of Heart 