Holi in Mathura — Where Colours Meet Devotion

There are moments in life where you stand still, and the world moves around you in slow motion. Mathura during Holi was that moment for me.

The Journey Begins

I reached Mathura a day before Holi, and already the city was buzzing. The narrow lanes near the Vishram Ghat were alive with preparations — vendors stacking mountains of gulal in every conceivable shade, children running with pichkaris loaded and ready, and the unmistakable scent of gujiya wafting from every household.

The first thing that strikes you about Mathura is how the city breathes Krishna. Every corner, every wall painting, every song drifting from a temple — it all comes back to him. And during Holi, this devotion transforms into something you can feel on your skin, taste in the air, and hear in the rhythm of dhol beats that don't stop for three days straight.

The Colours of Banke Bihari

I made my way to the Banke Bihari temple early in the morning, thinking I'd beat the crowds. I was wonderfully wrong. Thousands had already gathered. The priests were showering the gathered devotees with coloured water from massive syringes, and the crowd swayed and chanted in unison — "Radhe Radhe!"

The gulal in Mathura isn't the synthetic powder you find in city markets. Here, it's made from flowers — the tesu (palash) flowers are dried and ground into a fine powder that smells like earth after the first rain. When it hits your face, you don't flinch. You smile. You close your eyes and you let it in.

Lathmar Holi — The Real Deal

If you haven't witnessed Lathmar Holi, you haven't experienced Holi at all. Women from Barsana (Radha's village) playfully beat men from Nandgaon (Krishna's village) with wooden sticks, while the men try to shield themselves and drench the women in colour. It's chaotic, it's hilarious, and it's done with so much affection that you can't help but laugh until your ribs hurt.

I stood at the edge of the crowd at first, cautious, camera clutched tight. Within minutes, an elderly woman pulled me into the centre, smeared my face with bright orange gulal, and said, "Aaj toh rang lagna hi chahiye, beta!" (Today you must be coloured, son!). That was it. The camera went into the bag. I was in.

The Food — Oh, The Food

Let me tell you about Mathura's food during Holi because it deserves its own chapter in any story.

Gujiya — crescent-shaped pastries stuffed with khoya and dry fruits, fried to a perfect golden brown. Every household has their own recipe, and every household insists theirs is the best. They're all right.

Thandai — this is the drink of Holi. A creamy, spiced milk infused with almonds, fennel seeds, rose petals, and saffron. There's a version with bhang (cannabis paste) that's traditional, but even the plain version is intoxicating in its richness. The sweetness, the cardamom, the coolness of it sliding down your throat after hours of dancing in colours — there's nothing like it.

Malpua — golden fried pancakes soaked in sugar syrup, served hot. I must have eaten ten of them at a street stall near the ghat, and the vendor refused to take money for the last three. "Holi hai!" he said with a grin.

The Evening at the Ghats

As the sun set over the Yamuna, the ghats transformed. Oil lamps were lit along the steps, and groups of people gathered to sing bhajans. The colour-stained faces glowed in the firelight, and for a moment, nobody was a stranger. An old man sitting next to me, his white kurta now a canvas of pink and green, told me stories of Holi celebrations from his childhood — fifty years ago, when the river was clean enough to swim in and the celebrations lasted a week.

What You Shouldn't Miss

• Banke Bihari Temple — arrive early, accept you'll be drenched
• Holi Gate — the old city entrance becomes a massive celebration zone
• Vishram Ghat at sunset — bring nothing valuable, just yourself
• Street food near Chowk Bazaar — gujiya, thandai, chaat that will ruin every other chaat for you
• The temple processions — follow the music, you'll find the celebration

Why I'll Go Back

Mathura taught me that Holi isn't about colours. It's about dissolving — dissolving barriers between people, between joy and inhibition, between the sacred and the everyday. When a stranger puts colour on your face, they're saying, "Today, you're family."

I walked back to my guesthouse that evening, my clothes ruined beyond redemption, colour in my hair that wouldn't wash out for a week, and a smile that wouldn't leave for a month.

Some places you visit. Mathura during Holi? It visits you back, and it never really leaves.

Radhe Radhe.