Chapter 18

Eighteen

A s Tamara stopped at yet another market stall, Ethan glanced up from his phone, where he’d been reading and reciting facts about Goa from a travel guide. “I thought Goa was settled by the Portuguese?”

Tamara nodded, browsing the stall’s coloured powders for the Holi festival tomorrow. “It was. That’s why you see so many Portuguese inspired buildings, and a lot of the population are Catholic. Thousands of people make the pilgrimage to see St. Francis Xavier’s body at the basilica here every five years.”

Ethan trailed his fingers through a mound of vivid magenta powder and earned a frown from the vendor. “If it’s predominantly Catholic, what’s with this Holi festival? Isn’t that Hindu?”

“Uh-huh. But like most of India, there are so many different religions and castes living side by side that everyone’s tolerant of the different festivals.” She pointed to several piles of powder, smiling at the vendor who began shovelling mini mountains of the stuff into clear plastic bags. “I think it’s great everyone gets involved. It’s such a joyous occasion you can’t help but get swept up in the fun. At least, that’s what mum told me.”

He took the bags thrust into her hands. “So what happens? All I know is from what I’ve read, that everyone goes berserk and throws coloured powder on everyone else.”

Upon hearing this, the vendor frowned again and shook his head, while Tamara handed him rupees and laughed. “Come on, I’ll enlighten you over a cup of masala chai.”

“Sounds good.”

He held out his hand for her bag and she gratefully gave it to him. Choosing every colour of the rainbow for Holi mightn’t be such a great idea if she had to lug all those kilos back to the hut.

“Do the colours mean anything?”

She nodded, instantly transported back to the first time she’d heard about Holi, sitting on her mum’s knee. She’d learned to make her first paratha that same day, had so much fun rolling the balls of dough into flat breads, standing on a stool next to the stove as her mum fried them. She’d been five at the time and after her dad had come home from work he’d scoffed three with jam and pronounced them better than Adhira’s.

It had been a magical day, one of those days when her mum reminisced about India, eager to tell stories, and Tamara had lapped it up. Yet another thing she missed.

“Green’s for vitality, red is purity, blue is calmness, and yellow is piety.”

He squinted through the bag. “What happens when you mix the lot together?”

“You’ll find out.”

She could hardly wait. Ever since she’d first learned about the festival of colour, she’d been entranced. The freedom to play and dance and sing like a kid, flinging coloured powders and water balloons over anyone and everyone, visiting friends, exchanging gifts and sweets, all sounded like a good time.

“Let’s have a cup of chai here.”

They stopped at a roadside café, ordered masala chai, and relaxed, watching the procession of people gearing up for Holi, each weighed down with vibrant pinks, daffodil yellows, peacock blues, emeralds, and crimsons.

Ethan gestured at the passing parade. “Looks like everyone gets in on the act.”

She nodded, delighting in the infectious excitement of the kids skipping down the street, laden with colour-filled bags. “It’s a time when age is irrelevant, and everyone joins in. You can get wild, and no one will blink.”

It was also a time for lovers, where the application of colour to each other was a sign of their love. Wisely, she kept that gem to herself. It was hard enough handling the swift shift in their relationship—and trying not to dwell on the erotic dreams of the last few nights—without adding to it.

He crooked his finger at her. “How wild?”

She laughed. “It’s good clean fun. If you discount getting dirty with colours, that is.”

His devilish grin sent heat sizzling through her. “I’m all for getting dirty.”

“I bet.”

Her dry response had him chuckling as the waiter deposited two stainless steel mugs filled to the brim with steaming chai in front of them.

“What does it all mean?”

“There are loads of different legends, focussing on the ultimate victory of good over evil,” she said. “Holi helps people believe in the virtue of being honest and banishing evil. It helps bring the country together and the tradition is that even enemies turn into friends during the festival.”

She sipped her chai, sighing as the burst of cardamom-flavoured tea hit her tastebuds. “And there’s no differentiation between rich and poor, everyone gets in on the fun. It’s about strengthening bonds between friends, and revitalising relationships.”

“Sounds like the world could do with a Holi festival every now and then.”

She nodded. “Wouldn’t it be great? A sea of colour and a giant group hug.”

“I could do with a hug myself.” He stared at her over the rim of his mug, his blue eyes mischievous. “Similar to that one you gave me at your kitchen table the night I arrived.”

She blushed, trying a frown and failing miserably when her lips curved into a secretive smile at the memory. “Drink your chai. We have about half an hour to get changed before the fun starts.”

“Make that five minutes if we get back to the hut in time.”

She almost choked on her tea. He’d never flirted so blatantly before, never pushed despite the heated kisses they’d shared the last few days. He wanted to take things slow and, while her head and heart were grateful, her body didn’t approve.

Yet something had shifted today. Ever since he’d turned up on her doorstep this morning, and all through their stroll around the market, he’d been pushing the boundaries, flirting outrageously, hinting at something more than a quick, sizzling kiss at the end of the day.

She’d put it down to infectious Holi madness.

With a little luck, maybe there would be some revitalising of their relationship happening later?