This is a guest post by Scott Jarvie, a photographer based in Utah.

So this is Holi: The Festival of Colors

The Holi festival in Utah is one of the largest of it's kind (outside of Asia) in the world. This is what wikipedia says about Holi.

Two years ago I first heard of the event which had been growing over the years from some devotees and handful of local college students to where it is now some devotees and a mass of college students and others. I was lucky enough to take the iconic picture that year (Below), which is still probably one of my favorites.

Last year one of my biggest regrets of the year was taking an out of state wedding instead of heading back to the festival. This year I would have none of that and not only went to the event but organized 12 other photographers to come and take pictures to amass in a huge gallery for the benefit of the attendees and the temple. Between the 10+ photographers we walked away with 10,000 pictures and in the end we came up with a gallery of 4992 pictures. The reason for so many is because this was for the attendees and when you have well over 15,000 people there are rarely duplicates of the same person… unless of course they were doing something fun or were covered uniquely. You can see the pictures divided by each photographer here. Including mine of course.

In some circles I'm known as the Jarvie of the “Jarvie Window” experience. (Strobist) So of course I snapped a few pictures ala that style.

Wedding photographers might find it interesting that I also arranged for some clients and friends to show up in wedding dresses.

BUT what is the Festival of Colors?

It takes place at the Radha Krishna Temple located at 311 West 8500 South Spanish Fork, Utah 84660.

(Above) The temple is a unique and perhaps out of place building in the middle of a farming community in a highly LDS (Mormon) Utah. They pack them in. Estimates vary widely. They don't do an official count … but my guess would be somewhere between 15-25k (that range is pretty safe, I know).

(Above) this is hours before the color starts, but close parking is limited so they come in early.

The temple's priest, Caru Das Adikari (Below) runs the show and helped make the temple and the Krishna community happen in Utah County.

They have dancing and of course chanting but the big event is when they do the count down, burn the witch, usher in the spring and throw the colors.

A crowd this size makes for more than a couple wonderfully candid and fun moments (Below)

(above) and the not so candid

There are a lot of people with cameras (Below) Both DSLRs and everyone with their own point and click. It's actually a whole lot safer to go in with a nice sealed Pro camera than these little point and clicks, but a bit of plastic bags to go around and anyone's camera is decently safe from the colored (Corn Maize) powder found in one of the 50,000 bags they sell on the property.

Of course… People get covered with colors. That's kind of the point for those going.

They come dressed pretty uniquely (Below)

While the majority of people are students is also very much a family event. Good clean fun you may say (Below)

Other details and portraits

If you're in town next March or you want to go out of your way to make it down here, get a hold of me, because I'm sure we're going to do it again. Maybe even have a larger group of photographers this time.

I used to write posts about how to protect the cameras but after 2 events I've decided that this is actually such a non-issue that I will no longer coddle the weak. I said to myself why am I so concerned about curing people's worries and getting more photographers there? All are invited (by the organizers and of course me) but it's not for everyone. I didn't do anything to protect my stuff the first time and this last time I used saran wrap and gaffer tape and both times my cameras were totally fine. So this is about all I'll say on this subject.

We should be talking about the pictures, the totally unique and fun experience.

Go and see a whole bunch more divided into lots of categories. Like crowd surfing, color throwing, Jarvie Window and the Krishna Temple.

Tell us what you thought of this post! I look forward to your comments. Thank you!

My mother gave kisses like satin and embraces like warm honey. Making Punjabi-style home-made yogurt every evening was a religious practice for her. I would hover, eye-level with the kitchen counter, and gawk in awe at her magical hands that never spilled a drop. With those same bare fingers, she would flip oily, gritty and hot parathas. One time in Randall’s (a chain grocery store in Texas), in the soda aisle, someone accidentally put an eggplant on top of a 24-pack of Pepsi. It looked so out of context, so unabashedly “eggplant” amongst rows of sodas, that it spurred giggle after giggle after giggle from my mother. (Of course, my mom didn’t see the eggplant but rather baigan bharta!)

Many called her Nancy, instead of her Indian name, Neroo.  She and I are inextricably linked through the times I skipped school to create ‘busy' tasks for her; through the times I bought her bunches of her favorite bananas and playfully called her a monkey, just to see her laugh; through the times I would stand in her hospital room and just hold her in my arms, oftentimes only letting go when she told me I was suffocating her. We are linked through the drops of coconut oil she rubbed into my hair as a child, and through the drops of coconut oil I rubbed into her hair as an adult.

Coming from India in the late 60’s, my mother found herself lost in America, in a country where she couldn’t find cumin seeds and where people didn’t sleep on rooftops during summer. The story is one which has been now immortalized in books, movies, our memories, and our childhood of mothers who always wore saris to birthday parties of our white or brown friends from school.

The rest of her story has yet to be documented, has yet to be said. In what’s proving not to be such a rarity anymore for Indian families in the U.S., my father’s sudden departure from the family when I was 8 triggered severe symptoms of depression in my mother. This, combined with a complicated, abusive and rather hateful relationship with her own family, eventually morphed into biploar disorder -manifesting itself through hysteria episodes, hospitalizations, screaming, fights, multi-car trains of non-logic, and numerous suicide attempts. 

Since my pre-teens, I provided care for my mother. I tried finding creative solutions, taking great joy in the small victories, tried every resource I had at my disposal. I knew she was battling something larger than her, but her condition was not recognized by members of her Indian family and close friends in the South Asian community. This pitted me in complete disagreement with my mother’s family. Mental illness carried a stigma, it was an “American” problem, it wasn’t a real condition.

My father was often held at blame, I was often held at blame for her condition, being told my nontraditional choices and lifestyle left my mother in an “extreme sadness.” What were my nontraditional choices? Choosing to leave Texas when I felt my mom could take care of herself, opting for travel in the world instead of staying in Texas, choosing colorful boyfriends over marriage. Their medium of blame was a simplistic and dismissive answer to a complicated issue. My mother’s mental illness fell silent to her traditional family, to the South Asian community and prey to the stigma – the problem did not exist, so how could the solutions?

In 2006, my mother’s hallucinatory break-down and months of hospitalization led to her sudden and unexpected passing. It didn’t have to get to that point.

In the summer of 2008, I realized I had something to SAY. I knew the residual pain and isolation from my mother’s loss to bipolar disorder was so profound that if I didn’t channel it towards positive means, it would destroy me. So, in July 2008, I started SAY Campaign, to recognize and legitimize the fight against mental illness within the South Asian diaspora community (Check this YouTube video as well). There are hundreds more individuals in the South Asian community in the U.S. like my mother who, due to the stigma and lack of recognition, do not receive proper care. I am hoping by saying my mother’s story, sharing my story as a caretaker, it will be a catalyst for others to say their story and begin to chip away at the stigma.

I have something to SAY and I know others do as well. Join us, and South Asian artists and supporters Midival Punditz and Karsh Kale, in the SAY Campaign. Please keep an eye (or ear) out for concerts showcasing SAY Campaign with Midival Punditz and Karsh Kale in Spring 2009. Feel free to contact me at: graj@saycampaign.com

My brother-in-law sent me this link and I was really amazed at how things have progressed in India. Tamil rap? Well, we have had that for some time but these guys sound (and might I add, look) like rappers out of Compton. Their sound and look at times is reminiscent of Bone Thugs~n~Harmony, one of my favorite rap groups.

The Diwali Stamp petition I urged you all to sign is [groan] just another hoax. So says WNYC's Arun Venugopal [friend and now obviously super sleuth] in the latest SAJAforum.org post.

I'll be a little more suspicious now when I get this sort of junk in my inbox. With deep regrets and apologies to all who signed their name and provided the spammers your email address.

UGH!

I am a sucker for online petitions. They are usually fun, really easy to fill out and well, they usually get the job done. I received a note from a close family friend who urged me to sign what is clearly an annual drive for the US Postal Service to issue a Diwali stamp. Haven't they been trying this for years now?

Given that there are stamps for every other major religious group in the world, I think it is high time the US recognized Hinduism. So do me a favor and sign the petition. It takes all of about 20 seconds and you can choose to keep your email address private [just make it a legitimate one].

The count is now at 329,929. They need 500,000 to nudge the USPS to act on this appeal. Do it here.