Alice in Mumbai

Alice always wanted to visit India. Actually, she didn’t. She had to endure a string of nervous breakdowns, marital conflicts and unfounded allegations at her office before she finally resolved that she needed a break. And what better way to alleviate oneself from the world’s melancholy and angst than visit India, the proverbial epicenter of Spiritual bliss, the epitome of pious contentment?

‘Strange,’ she thought as she exited the airport, “All the Indians back in Manhattan wear turbans and drive cabs.’ She soon spotted her name lucidly adorned in black ink on a square cardboard paper held by a precarious chap in a white uniform. She sauntered up to the young man, only a few inches shorter than her gaunt structure.
“Hi, I’m Alice.”
“Oh, welcome, Mrs. Alice. I’m sure you had a comfy journey.”
“I did, thank you… um… “
“Anand.” He filled in for her.
“Yes, thank you, Anand. So tell me, what does Mumbai have in store for me?”
“Oh you are very fortunate to be here at this time of the year, Mrs. Alice. Today’s when we celebrate the Hindu festival Holi.”
“You mean the Holy festival of Hindu’s?”
“No, I meant the Holy festival of the Hindu’s called Holi. Spelled H-o-l-i.”
“Oh I see. So how is Holi celebrated?”
“I think you should see for yourself, Mrs. Alice.” He said, opening the rear door of the Mercedes that her hotel had sent for her. He then busied himself with placing her bags in the trunk. Meanwhile, Alice couldn’t help but notice an anomalous odor inside the car.

A few blocks away from the airport, they were stuck at a signal. The stench had grown stronger and Alice couldn’t restrain her disgust anymore.
“It reeks in here. I need some fresh air!” she said, as she pushed a button that lowered the glass.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mrs. Alice.” smirked Anand. Alice sat as though she hadn’t heard his words. Who cared about a little smog? At least she was doing something about the stench. In a short while, Alice began to hear the rhythmic pounding of snares. It was a wild, speedy and earsplitting rhythm and it was getting louder by the second. Alice turned around to look at what the hullabaloo was through the rear windshield and saw a huge foggy dense of colors approaching them.

Silhouettes of scores of people could be seen within this multihued smog, jumping and bellowing at the top of their voices. Alice was petrified. The smog eventually engulfed the car and Alice was just about to roll up the window when a joyous child appeared there. She was wearing white clothes that were dyed a multitude of shades. Alice didn’t know what the kid wanted. Was it money? She was in no mood for beggars. And besides, the racket was getting to her and she had to roll the window before she went berserk. She looked at the child again. This time, there were two of them, beaming as though they were being handed out free candy. One of them suddenly raised it’s hands and Alice caught a glimpse of what it was holding… a water balloon. Perfunctorily, Alice reached for the button to shut the window, but before she could, she was bombarded with three balloons and loads of colored dust. Thoroughly shocked and disgusted, Alice glanced at Anand through the rear-view mirror.

“Happy Holi, Mrs. Alice,” he said, grinning, “Welcome to Mumbai…”