As we celebrate AAPI Heritage Month, we are honored to share an excerpt from Can We Go To Holi? by Rachel Varghese. In this story, Rachel helps us by leaning into her children’s curiosity so that together we can experience the freedom and joy of God. You can read the full story on Rachel’s Substack, Dear Little Brown Girl.
Holi marks the arrival of a new season, of good overcoming evil, new beginnings, and love and forgiveness. And of course, like so many things in South Asian cultures, it’s about togetherness.
My girls read Maya’s Holi by Thrity Umrigar, a story about a little Indian girl who experienced Holi when she visited her grandparents in India. Whether it was the bright colors, the time with beloved family members, and the experience of something in India, my kids were invested.
The next question I got was, “Can we go to Holi?”
Five years ago, I would’ve asked myself, “I’m not sure. Can we go?” Five years go, it would’ve quickly been a hard no. An easy no. But Rachel of 2020 would have concerns about the Rachel of 2025 because I responded, “Sure!”
As a child, I wasn’t allowed to celebrate Indian festivals like Diwali or Holi because of their connections to Hinduism. Whether it was the way my parents’ faith got colonized or perhaps they were too busy attending to other things related to church and ministry, I never really questioned it.
This line only got firmer as I moved into college and my early 20s where the binary thinking of white evangelicalism infiltrated my faith. I wouldn’t do yoga because who knew who I was praying to. I was hesitant to attend a garba or to go to a wedding at a temple. Anything would’ve been heretical, of full concern.
There’s a discomfort we carry over the unknown or different. I never knew how to walk past the images and physical idols of Hindu gods my friends had at their house. It all just aggravated my fear of anything outside the definitive box of Christianity…or what I thought Christianity was at the time.
But thanks to the unraveling of my theology over recent years, I’m finding safety in knowing God’s heart, his dreams, plans, thoughts, cannot be contained to that box.
I’m finding safety in knowing God’s heart, his dreams, plans, thoughts, cannot be contained to that box.
While Holi happens earlier in March, to mark the change of winter to spring, thankfully, the celebration a local town hosts occurs in April, and we show up in our hoodies and comfy pants on a cloudy day with a high of 40 degrees.
As we approached, I heard a band playing, “Hotel California.” Are we at the right place? Is this even going to be legit? Why haven’t I befriended more of my North Indian neighbors who can guide us a little more authentically?
Across a path, the music gets louder, and spread out over a field are people – some gathered in clusters eating, sitting, or running around. Even on this brisk day, the brightness of joy and delight were palpable.
I felt like a rookie. Some parents brought goggles and disposable ponchos. Many were wearing white to take in the contrast of color. Some folks had waterproof pouches for their phones. All I did was make sure my kids didn’t wear their favorite fancy shoes.
In between wanting to document the beauty, I was forced into presence (especially with the ruthless throwing of powder and color on my own body, mostly thanks to my husband and two random middle school boys).
People were approaching my tentative girls with a handful of color, motioning if my girls wanted to play, to be sprinkled with the bright powder. Surprisingly, my usually tentative children nodded in approval. Of course the Indian aunties didn’t care to ask…boundaries? What boundaries? I digress
At noon they gathered us in one group to count down so they could throw the colors together. Streams of colors in the air – red, orange, yellow, blue, and green. As if their favorite song from Mira came alive, this colored dust filled the sky.
My heart filled with joy, laughter, and pride. The celebration continued with local, Indian dance groups (Hotel California mostly forgotten). It was wonderful.
Here I was inviting my kids to join me in throwing colors, listening to the beats, the instruments, and the feet of dancers touching the pavement in rhythm. Encouraging them to embrace the beats, the beauty of our culture, even if this festival is not directly ours.
The tension of my former rules tugs at me. Are there ties to Hinduism here? Am I leading my kids astray? But then, as I lean in toward the mystery, I think, was God really displeased with me?
- Over my joy?
- Over the shared laughter?
- Over introducing my children to this festival?
- Was I taking them down with me or was I inviting them to seek joy and delight, something I think that would match God’s heart?
Was I taking them down with me or was I inviting them to seek joy and delight, something I think that would match God’s heart? Something that speaks to love, goodness, togetherness. Maybe God is ushering me into a new season of forgiving my old self.
- Forgiving my old self for her black and white thinking.
- Forgiving my old self for the shame she carried.
- Forgiving my old self for not learning more about my friends and trying to see God in them.
- For holding on too tightly to rules, expectations, caring what others think about me, what it says about my faith.
Just as my girls are finding themselves, through their own curiosity, I could do the same.
As the colors flew around, I wanted to welcome this. A new season of
living in the abundance and goodness of God
living in the freedom to wonder, to wrestle, to lean in
living in the audacity of a child of grace.
Dear Little Brown Girl,
May you experience a faith with no bounds, a love with no limits, and a Presence meeting you.
As you find yourself, may you know He’s with you along the way.
Let the colors fly.
