India, March 2 -- Every year, as spring leans into summer, my mind wanders back to Nani's old house. There, Holi was never just a festival; it was a homecoming. It was the one time of the year when every cousin, near or far, arrived with overstuffed bags and louder laughter.

Preparations began days earlier, turning the courtyard into our lively command centre of whispered plans and playful quarrels. The elders assigned duties with exaggerated gravity, and we obeyed with barely hidden excitement. On Holi eve, the men returned from the bustling market laden with bright gulal, gleaming pichkaris, and heaps of balloons. Meanwhile, we cousins transformed the courtyard with cheerful decorations, setting the stage for the riot of colours to com...