‘What are you doing, playing Holi with the fish?’ His father loomed large in the room. He wore his typical formal long sleeved shirt, trousers and tie. He looked at the dead fish and the glass and the wet floor. He looked at Govinda. Govinda could see his father wanted to hit him but instead of doing anything Sunil Seth fell quiet. Govinda did not like making his father upset. ‘Get out of here,’ his father whispered finally. ‘I will fix this mess.’

This was the day everyone threw coloured powder and water at each other. It had been Govinda’s favourite festival, but he no longer felt enthusiasm for it.

He walked downstairs, across the compound, past the gatekeeper, out of the school gate and onto the lane, where the sun beat down. His eyes took a while to adjust. Newspapers, advertisements, notices, political inscriptions and posters adorned the rainwater-stained, fungus-coated school wall. Posters of filmstars and starlets dressed as heroes and villains swallowed most of the wall. Other images of Hindu gods and political graffiti absorbed what was left. Every shade of opinion circulated there: red flags, the hammer and sickle, and portraits of the Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, chief of the Damdami Taksal, a Sikh religious group.

Recently in the news there had been talk of danger from Sikh militants – Mumbles had told him so. Mumbles’ leader, Jarnail Bhindranwale, went from village to village as a missionary and asked people to live according to the rules and tenets of Sikhism. Mumbles called his leader Bhindranwale Mahapurkh, which means ‘The Great Spiritual Man from Bhindran’. He preached to young Sikhs, encouraged them to return to the Khalsa and give up vices like adultery, drugs, alcohol and tobacco. Govinda knew adultery had to be bad because drugs and alcohol and tobacco were. Mumbles said the focus on fighting for the Sikh cause appealed to many young Sikhs, and the government was getting nervous. Just then a red water balloon landed on the Sikh leader’s face. The contents of the balloon smeared all over the poster and trickled down the wall.

Nitesh called out to Govinda as he made his way to the street. ‘About time, Butt-scratcher.’ Nitesh was now blue-skinned. Govinda walked over and joined him and a few others. Almost immediately he was drenched in water and paint.

Govinda observed a fat man approaching on a bicycle. When he saw the children he became agitated and cursed under his breath. He was dressed formally in a white dhoti, cream top, dark green vest, white shawl and white turban. The big man looked majestic on his bicycle. Surely, Govinda thought, the man could see them throwing colours at one another. A group of students, multi-coloured and unidentifiable, had joined them in throwing the cold, coloured water, but still the fat man rode on towards them.