All colours will merge in the twin townships today, yet given the diverse backgrounds of our residents, Holi meant something unique to everyone growing up.

The Telegraph Salt Lake spoke to residents across generations and cultures and asked them to relive their memories of the festival of colours.

Touch of Tagore

Kajal Chanda, now a resident of BC Block, spent his childhood in Santiniketan, where Doljatra was celebrated with the utmost grace and refinement.

“My memories are from the Santiniketan of the 1950s,” he smiles. “Boys and girls, dressed in yellow saris and kurtas, would parade from Sangeet Bhavan, the rehearsal venue, to Amra Kunjo, the mango grove that served as the festival ground.”

The performers would arrive singing and dancing to Rabindrasangeet, carrying thalis of abir, as only dry colours were used. The sky would be blue and trees full of red palash bloom.

“This tradition was initiated by Rabindranath Tagore himself,” recalls Chanda, who, as a high school student, would volunteer in crowd management there. “After the formal Doljatra, it would be a free-for-all to sit and sing together till lunch. It was pure, unique, and deeply rooted in culture, something that attracted outsiders over time,” says Chanda who now visits his hometown any time except on Holi.

“The influx of crowds from Calcutta, Durgapur, and Asansol changed the ambience. It got commercialised and by the 80s, the venue had to be shifted to an open field. Many in the crowd would come just to smear colour on girls,” says the senior citizen who this year will be visiting his son in Bangalore for Holi. “I’m not sure how widely it’s celebrated there, but in Salt Lake for several years now, Holi simply means visits from my sons’ friends.”

EE Block’s Amal Kumar Das grew up in Hasnabad, a village in North 24-Parganas, where Dol would be preceded by Chanchar. “For this, we would decorate pictures or idols of Radha-Krishna on a swing, adorning them with leaves. Dried leaves and twigs were set ablaze, and we would sing kirtans all night, dancing around the fire,” he reminisces.

Dol, the next morning, would be played in pichkaris. “We’d drench everyone in sight and this often led to playful quarrels. We’d visit every house in the neighbourhood and offer abir at the feet of the elders. In return, we’d receive batasha or narkol nadu,” smiles Das. “Today living in the city at the age of 70, I deeply miss the Dol of my childhood.”

Home ground

For those who grew up in Salt Lake, Holi of the 90s evokes mischievous nostalgia. “That was the time metallic colours like gold, silver and black started appearing.”

“Awareness was low so a friend, in an attempt to remove these stubborn colours later, even tried acid and ended up with a permanent scar,” says a man in his 40s who grew up playing Holi in CD Block.

If colours ran out they’d use Robin Blue. “Once, a friend even used leftover Berger Paints from his house. I’ve brushed friends’ teeth with colour on my fingers, and, in the absence of water, even used saliva. One year, stray dogs gobbled up our bhang tablets and vanished for two or three days,” says the man and you can guess why he wishes to remain anonymous.

Holi was also a time for playful revenge. “Groups with grudges would use the festival as an excuse to attack each other, knowing that no one would be recognisable under all the colour,” he laughs, also recalling the bravado of one of their friends. “Once two men poured coloured water on one of our friends — a teenage girl. She barged into their house and landed two slaps across their faces.”

Aniket Sil, now living in Bangalore, has returned to his Sourav Abasan home for a vacation but doubts Holi will be anything like it was in the mid-2000s. “Our complex had a fountain, which we would happily turn into a reservoir for our water guns. That was the one day we would jump into it and use it as a swimming pool too,” he smiles.

“But after school, it was an exodus of youth from the city and now no one my age comes to play Holi anymore. Now it’s just some uncles supervising their little children playing,” says the IT sector employee who has also attended the ticketed Holi bashes in Salt Lake. “Those are packed with people but it feels awkward spraying colour on strangers. And in Bangalore, one doesn’t even know their neighbour, so there’s no question of playing Holi together.”

Pink city

Chandrasekhar Bose recalls how Holi in Gaya spanned three days, each with a distinct tradition. “On the first day, people would throw drain water at each other,” says the IB Block resident with a straight face. “Men would drink bhang and behave like lunatics. The second day was for pichkaris, and the third was for neighbourhood wars. Boys from one lane would carry buckets of water on their shoulders, charge into another lane, splash people, and run back.”

Tara Pandey, however, insists that no Holi compares to Jaipur’s. “The night before, everyone prepares by filling balloons with coloured water, and on the day, we aim at passers-by from the terrace. Far from fleeing if we hit the target, we’d proudly claim our shots!” laughs the DA Block resident.

When buying colours, they’d make vendors swear they would last at least five days after washing. “What kind of Holi would it be if the colour faded in a day?” she wonders.

A key difference between Calcutta and Jaipur’s Holi is that colours aren’t applied to the feet there, as they are also offered to the gods. “Festivities start at the Govindji temple there 15 days before Holi, where songs are sung, asking lord Krishna for money, sweets, clothes, and colours to celebrate the festival,” she says. “Traditional instruments like the dhap and chang are played across town, accompanied by songs of abuses.” Yes, you read that right — mildly abusive songs are part of the custom.

Each household served gujia (a fried dessert) and kanji vadas (vadas served in a drink) the kids would go around tasting them in every house and mentally rank them. “These snacks are quite scientific too — kanji vada has salt and water, while gujiya has sugar, and together they help prevent dehydration in Rajasthan’s heat,” Pandey notes.

She proudly adds that Jaipur’s Holi is safe and respectful. “There’s no forcing anyone to play. In fact, at the Khatu Shyamji temple there, Holi is played not with colour, but with ittar (scent),” says the lady who rues not having been able to take her daughter and husband to experience Holi in Jaipur.

“It’s my favourite festival,” says Pandey. “I see reels on Jaipur’s Holi on social media now and miss it dearly. But even in Rajasthan, these customs are fading. The cities are all playing DJ music now instead of traditional songs. It is up to residents to hold on to our traditions.”