I asked Manu Ghosh what it feels like to be a widow in the ancient holy city of Vrindavan, India.
The look on her face told me… nothing.
Because the scriptures solemnly forbid a widow from feeling anything.
The life mission of a widow is to pay for her bad karma.
By trading every little joy of life for lifeless existence.
By marking days, eating bland food, living in bleak surroundings, thinking colourless thoughts of penance.
Manu Ghosh and her band of girls in passionless white.
Resolute in the belief that they are sinners and must not budge from their chosen path of renunciation. But I sensed that underneath all the white there was a hidden rainbow.
And so I brought them colours on Holi.
And with it, an invitation to erupt.
Just for a day. After decades of white.
And as expected, a battle began.
Between spontaneity and the scriptures.
Between childlike desire and conditioning.
Between colours and karma.
In the end, karma lost.