Holi Day: an acceptable reason for morning whiskies

Every good tale begins with whiskey at 10.30am, at least every good yarn worth hearing, and our Holi Day experience began with a nip and a whirl of water under the glow of the desert sun. Actually we'd built up to that. We had first Sherpa-ed our bags from our hotel room to our car, prepped and primed for a bumpy road trip to Jodhpur.

"Are these your bags?" asked our driver Raj, leaning on our answer and sub-sequential decision. "We leave tomorrow - today is Holi Day. Please. Put them back into the room."

With the outcome already settled, we managed just that and returned outside to be greeted by the hotel owner who smeared powder paint across our faces. The idea of the celebration is simple, he explained, it's a coming together of everybody regardless of faith, creed, caste or in differences. For one day a year, there are no enemies, just a wild celebration of colour with drinking and food. That's how we found ourselves slurping meekly on a whiskey and water at 10.30am, faces painted in an array of powder.

The drink had come from the boot of a taxi driver's car. The makeshift bar was serving everyone that gathered in the car park: locals, tourists, other drivers. Golden pakoras emerged from shimmering foils; strong Kingfisher lagers frothed as they fell into cups and into the hands of anyone who would take 'em. Cuddles and colours entwined as Indian drumming had us kicking up the desert dust in dance. Plums, saffrons, blood orange rouges and rosemary greens swam in the breeze as splattered paint powder was daubed onto smiling faces.

A car then arrived to cheers. The owner bounced open the boot to reveal a massive speaker and a Now 67 CD. The Vengaboys, Whigfield and Backstreet Boys whirled on repeat as the sun beat down and local children urged to be hoisted on the shoulders of Westerners. Then at 3pm it all suddenly stopped. The drive-in disco reversed out, the makeshift bar slapped shut and we waddled gingerly to the rooftop of our hotel for fresh Kingfisher and vodka with Fanta. All differences were certainly forgotten as our heads met pillows at 8.30pm.