it was a fine delhi morning – birds chirping, a vegetable vendor calling out to the residents and the sharp whistle of a pressure cooker slicing through the air. The sound jolted Raj awake from his deep slumber.

groggily, He turned to look at the red clock on his wall – a Diwali gift his dad got from his office last year. The office’s name was still faintly visible behind the clock’s two hands.

10:30 a.m.

Panic set in as raj rushed to the living room. his father sat there, engrossed in navbharat times, an empty cup beside him – remnants of his usual morning tea.

however, this was no ordinary morning – it was a holi morning, and raj was running late. “mujhe uthaya kyu nahi (why didn’t you wake me up)“, raj asked his father. His father, calmly folding the newspaper, smiled and said, “abhi to sirf saade das baje hai (it’s only 10:30 am)“.

as promised, he had everything ready – water balloons neatly stacked in the balcony, and the pichkari (water gun) filled, just as Raj had requested the night before.

“me jaa raha hu (I am going)” raj calls out, as he hurriedly grabs his toothbrush, trying to change into the old t-shirt and shorts his mother had laid out the previous night. he quickly brushes his teeth, slips into the worn-out clothes, and dashes towards the door, carefree and eager to leave. Just as he was about to step out, his mother’s voice halts him –

“ruko, doodh pike jao (wait, drink your glass of milk first)”

raj despised nothing more than the glass of milk his mother forced him to drink everyday. some days he would argue, refuse outright or run away to avoid it. but, today he knew better. without a fight, he gulped down the bournvita-mixed milk, grimacing as his mother slathered his face, hair and hands with oil – her tried and tested method to make holi colours wash off easily later.

raj drains the last drop of milk, stuffs his pockets with as many water balloons as they can hold, and dashes out of the house a t a lighting speed. as he bounds down the stairs from their fourth-floor flat in the old government-provided building, his eyes land on his friends – prakhar, kshitij and shreya – already soaked from head to toe. their faces, arms and hair, are smeared In a riot of colours, standing just below the building, ready for a battle.

raj, seizing the advantage of height from the second-floor landing, pulls out a couple of water balloons and hurls them at his friends. “Happy holi” he shouts excitedly before rushing down the stairs.

but had he revealed his cards too soon?

the answer becomes clear the moment he steps off last stair. IN an instant, a cloud of gulaal engulfs his face and hair, followed by the cold shock of water balloons bursting on his head.

“Happy Holi” shreya grins, smearing more gulaal on his cheek. meanwhile, prakhar, laughing, asks, “kaha tha tu? (where were you?”

“so raha tha yaar” (was sleeping, man), raj says, as he looks at a sharply dressed young man, likely in his mid-twenties, stepping down the stairs. “are satish bhaiya, aap kaha jaa rahe ho? happy holi (Satish bhaiya, where are you going?, happy holi)”

“Office yaar, colour mat lagana, happy holi (office man, don’t apply colours please, happy holi)” satish replies with a smile that does not quite match with what he is feeling inside.

–

Raj wakes up with a jolt.

He blinks, adjusting to the reality, and turns to the digital clock on his bedside table – it’s already 9 am. He is late.

in a hurry, he steps into the living room, where his father sits reading the navbharat times. an empty cup rests on the table beside him, remnants of his usual morning tea.

“mujhe uthaya kyu nahi?” (why didn’t you wake me up?) Raj asks.

his father folds his newspaper, sets it aside and smiles. “abhi to sirf nau baje hai.” (it’s only 9 a.m.)

but today wasn’t just any other day. it was a big one – his annual review day at the office, a day he would find out if he was getting promoted. coincidentally, it was also Holi, and he assumed that his road to the cyber hub would be smooth, where his office was located.

he rushes through his morning routine, books an Uber while getting ready and takes the lift down from his 8th-floor apartment in a posh society.

as he steps out of the building, his ears catch the familiar sound of children laughing, splashing water, and throwing colours. instinctively, he turns his head to the right and watches them play. a small smile forms on his lips.

with a sigh, he opens the car door, ready to leave when a voice calls out –

“are raj bhaiya, aap kaha jaa rahe ho? happy holi (raj bhaiya, where are you going?, happy holi)”

Raj paused, glancing at the excited kid.

He smiles, an irony-laced reflection of his own past and replies “Office yaar, colour mat lagana, happy holi”