Holi in Jaisalmer – A Rooftop View of Joy
On March 13, we were just outside the fort of Jaisalmer. Not because we didn’t want to celebrate Holi — but because we needed rest. After days of wandering, sourcing, connecting and absorbing, our bodies asked for stillness.
So we took it. A quiet hotel. A wide rooftop. And a golden view over a few traditional homes clustered around an open courtyard — the heart of their daily lives.
From above, we watched life unfold slowly and gently. Children played with dogs and with each other. Women cooked and chatted. A man read the paper on a string bed in the shade. Three generations under one roof, sharing space and rhythm. We waved good mornings. Smiles were exchanged. Even in stillness, connection found its way through.
Then came Holi on March 14.
At exactly 8 in the morning, laughter echoed through the courtyard. The children were the first to start — smearing each other with pinks, yellows, reds. Moments later, the grownups joined in. Grandmother giggled. Uncles chased toddlers. The air was thick with colour and joy.
From our rooftop, we watched it all: No stage, no performance. Just life, in full expression. By 2 in the afternoon, the colour-throwing faded. Washing buckets were filled. Hair was rinsed. Courtyard tiles turned pale red and orange. Life moved back to normal — a little brighter than before.
Later that afternoon, we had a meeting inside the fort. We were hopeful: the madness was surely over by now, right? Fat chance. Of course we didn’t make it uncoloured into the fort. We were greeted — no, embraced — with handfuls of bright powder and cheeky grins. There was no escaping it. We laughed, gave in, and let ourselves be part of the story. By the time we arrived at our appointment, we were one big colourful mess.
And honestly? We wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Holi is not just about colour. It’s about joy shared freely. And that afternoon, we were part of something simple and beautiful — and completely unforgettable.
With colour in our hair, on our faces, and in our hearts,
Desertpeople
