Holi feels different when you grow up. A nostalgic story about childhood Holi memories, changing friendships, and the quiet emotions of adult life. There was a time when Holi didn’t need planning.
It just arrived — like laughter running barefoot through narrow lanes.
The night before Holi used to feel magical. I would keep my old clothes ready beside my pillow, as if they were a ticket to freedom. Buckets filled with colored water stood proudly in the bathroom. Balloons soaked overnight like secret treasures. Sleep came late, excitement came early.
That was childhood Holi.
Back then, Holi was not just a festival of colors — it was a festival of fearless joy. We didn’t care about stained faces, messy hair, or sunburned skin. We cared about one thing: who to color first.
Friends would gather without calling. Doors stayed open. Laughter echoed through every corner. We would run through the streets shouting, “Bura na maano, Holi hai!” and no one really minded. The colors washed away by evening, but the happiness stayed for days.
But festivals feel different when you’ve grown. Just like Holi, even Eid feels different when you grow up — especially if you remember the softness of childhood Ramadan and those magical Eid mornings.
Now, Holi arrives quietly.
Now, Holi arrives quietly.
There are no water balloons soaking overnight. No early morning knocks on doors. No gang of friends waiting downstairs. Instead, there are WhatsApp messages, forwarded wishes, and carefully filtered photos.
Adulthood brings responsibilities. Work deadlines. Household duties. Emotional distances. Some friends moved away. Some relationships changed. Some people who once colored our faces are now just memories in old photo albums.
The festival of colors slowly turned into a festival of memories.
As children, we celebrated Holi loudly.
As adults, we celebrate it silently.
Now we think about skin care before applying color. We worry about cleaning the house later. We hesitate before stepping out. Somewhere between growing up and growing busy, the carefree madness faded.
But maybe Holi hasn’t changed.
Maybe we have.
Maybe the real meaning of Holi was never just about colors on our cheeks. Maybe it was always about connection. About forgiveness. About laughing without ego. About letting go of old grudges — just like we let colors wash away.
Growing up teaches us something deeper about festivals.
It teaches us that the brightest colors are not the ones in packets. They are the ones in relationships. In shared meals. In unexpected visits. In childhood memories that still make us smile.
This Holi, maybe we won’t run through the streets.
Maybe we won’t drench ourselves in color.
But maybe we can call an old friend.
Forgive someone silently.
Sit with family a little longer.
Or simply close our eyes and remember the child who once believed that happiness came in pink, yellow, and blue.
Festivals feel different when you’ve grown.
They are less noisy.
Less chaotic.
But sometimes… more meaningful.
And maybe that’s not losing magic.
Maybe that’s understanding it.
Maybe growing up doesn’t steal the colors from festivals.
Maybe it simply teaches us where the real colors live.
Not on our faces.
But in our memories.
In the laughter that still echoes somewhere inside us.
In the people we miss a little more during festivals.
And somewhere deep within, the child in us still waits —
holding a fist full of gulal,
believing that happiness can still be that simple.
