It's a Big Day!

Or Burra Din, as Christmas is dubbed in Calcutta - and it's magical! 

 

Growing up in Calcutta, Christmas was always a magical time of the year for me. It wasn’t just that I went to a convent school or that I had Christian friends who would celebrate this day as a religious festival. It was also because Christmas – or Burra Din, as we called it in Cal – had been transformed into a secular holiday by the denizens of the city, who treated it as a special occasion to be marked by fireworks, street lights, neighbourhood parties and community picnics, in which everyone would wear silly hats, eat, drink and make very merry indeed. 

 

Strangely enough, there was never any tradition of Christmas presents – or, at least, not in my family. And even though there were plenty of men dressed as Santa Claus roaming around the shops in New Market, we children were never encouraged to write to Santa with a wish list of all we wanted. In fact, all we ever got for Christmas was a cake from the famous Nahoum shop (and very delicious it was too). But we did get taken to Park Street, when it was all lit up for the festival, and were treated to a slap-up meal in one of the posh restaurants on the street – a highlight of my year!

 

Perhaps it is all those childhood memories that ensure that I start feeling all festive and celebratory as Christmas comes near. I still draw the line at presents because it seems like a needless commercialization of yet another religious festival. I don’t get in a Christmas tree, mostly because I have no room for one. And no, I don’t attend midnight mass either these days though I have done so in the past and been moved to tears by the power of the choral music. 

 

But I do have some Christmas rituals of my own that I use to mark this time of the year. To recreate the Park Street of my childhood, I string up some fairy lights all around my living room and decorate the dining table with sprigs of holly and mistletoe. I am not much of a baker but I am blessed with friends who send over plum cakes around this time so breakfast usually turns into a calorific feast which I keep telling myself is not sinful because, you know, Christmas!

 

Turkey is not to my taste but you still need a slap-up Christmas lunch. In my house, we go for bangers and mash or lamb and roasted potatoes, with some pasta and risotto for vegetarians, followed up with – what else? – another helping of Christmas cake. Silly hats are optional but everyone must bring a good appetite and memories of Christmases past, which we share around the table along with a few good glugs of champagne or wine. 

 

My stories inevitably hark back to Calcutta and growing up in the city in which Christmas was literally the Big Day (Burra Din). I remember family picnics in Botanical Gardens, where I, along with my childhood friend Kavita, would dance in public with the gay abandon that only children can summon up. And I promise myself that next Christmas I will find my way back there to relive those days one more time.

So, on that note, Merry Christmas to all! 

'Tis the season to be jolly...

Christmas means presents; and this is what I would like to find under my tree this year

I know, I know, being a Hindu and all that, Christmas should not mean that much to me. But what can I say? It does. It always has.

Not in any religious sense, of course, even though I went to convent school where I was educated by Catholic nuns. But as a time of celebration, a time for family and friends to come together, a time to show generosity to one another, a time to embrace the world, the day makes perfect sense to me.

Which is why, ever since I was a child, I have always embraced Christmas. It helped that the city I grew up in, Calcutta, lit up like a bride in the run-up to Christmas, and it was hard not to be infected with the spirit of the festival. And even though we never had a tree at home or even a tradition of Christmas presents, we still marked the day in our own way.

Sometimes it was a friends-and-family picnic in Botanical Gardens. At other times, it was a visit to the zoo. And sometimes it was just a lunch with friends at their home. But no matter where we celebrated, the day always involved lots of food, fun and festivity. And yes, since you ask, we did wear red Santa hats to get into the spirit.

Perhaps that explains why, even decades later, I take a particular delight in the advent of Christmas. It helps that my Christian friends are kind enough to invite me to their parties. And that mince pies, rum cake and eggnog go down a treat this time of the year.

This time around, for some reason, I suddenly felt the need to have a Christmas tree of my own. And once it was installed, sparkling away in a corner of the living room, I began imagining what presents I could put under it for members of my family. And that, inevitably, led to thoughts of what I would like for Christmas.

Well, since you ask, this is what I would like under my glittering fir tree this Christmas.

·       A time machine: That way I could travel back in time and undo all the horrific stuff that happened this year. First stop would be Syria, where countless children have been murdered in their beds by bombs that rain down every day in Aleppo. Next would be the UK, where the Brexit vote seems to have sparked off a fresh wave of racism. And then, there would be the USA, which lost its collective mind and elected Donald Trump (the putative Groper-in-Chief) as its President. (Though perhaps we shouldn’t be too harsh on those Americans; Hillary Clinton is ahead by nearly 3 million popular votes as I write this.)

·       A load of empathy: So that I could share it with all those who seem to squandered their own stash, judging by their complete indifference to the plight of those less fortunate. Never has this lack been more striking than after the government’s demonetization announcement. It doesn’t matter how in-your-face the suffering of poorer people is; it makes no difference how many people die queuing up for hours to withdraw a few thousand rupees; it is of no consequence how many jobs have been swallowed up by the monster of demonetization. No, it’s just a minor inconvenience. And in any case, aren’t these people used to queuing up for stuff? What’s the harm if they do so for their own money? As I said, empathy. Loads of it, so that there’s enough to go around.

·       An Internet connection that actually works: And by that, I mean a connection that runs at the speed at which it is actually supposed to, instead of slowing down inexplicably every time I am trying to watch a Netflix show late at night. A connection that doesn’t disappear when I am in the middle of downloading a movie, so that I have to start all over again when it reappears – only to see it disappear yet again before the download is complete. And yes, for a 4G connection that isn’t actually a 3G connection in disguise.

·       A brand-new metabolic system: Am afraid the one I have currently has sadly been run to the ground. In fact, there are some days when it is barely functional. So much so that I seem to gain 10 pounds just by driving past a bakery. As to what happens when I actually ate the chocolate croissant; well, let’s not go there. So I could really use a brand-new system, or even a system reboot, to kick-start my way to good health (and minimal cholesterol).  

·       A new liver: This one is showing signs of wear and tear after a lifetime of eating and drinking a bit too well. Actually, if I am asking for body parts, here are a few more that could do with a replacement: my dodgy back, which has never been the same since I took a spill down the stairs more than a decade ago; my wonky knees that twitch every time I climb up a flight of steps; and of course, my neck, which no amount of anti-ageing moisturizer can restore to creaseless glory.

I’m not greedy or unreasonable, so I am not holding out for all of these gifts this year. But even two out of five would be marvelous. I do hope Santa is listening…

Happy New Year!

Here’s my wish list for what I would like in 2015

Yes, I know, it is customary to make Christmas wishes and New Year resolutions. But this year, I am going to go all contrary on you and compile a wish list for New Year rather than yet another dreary set of resolutions (that are broken within a month of being made, anyway). So, if you would indulge me just this once, here’s what I would like for 2015.

• The certainty that every child who sets off to school in his or her freshly-laundered uniform, satchel carelessly slung on the shoulder, gets to come back home alive, disheveled and dirty, covered with the mud of the schoolyard – not doused in his or her own blood or indeed, the blood of classmates butchered before his or her shocked eyes.
• The guarantee that every religion gets a place in the sun in our great country. That everyone – Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, Parsi – is allowed to celebrate their festivals without the government muscling in to hijack their day for its own agenda. And that, in keeping with our secular ethos, we take the same pleasure and joy in celebrating each other’s festivals that we do in celebrating our own.
• That women finally get what has always been their right: safety in public places. That they can walk the streets without being jostled and jeered at. That they ride in buses, metros and trains without being groped. That they can drink in pubs without being leered at or propositioned. That they can take a taxi back home and fall asleep in the back seat, secure in the knowledge that they will not be molested, robbed or raped by the driver. (If you would like this too, then check out a movement called Why Loiter, and do your own bit to make our cities safer for women.)
• That the assorted Sadhus and Sadhvis who litter our political landscape realize that they can only use these honorifics if they actually undertake ‘sadhana’. And that is only possible if they renounce the material world and retreat to the realm of spirituality instead. (If that’s asking for too much, I would quite happily settle for some of them just going on a ‘maun vrat’ for the next five years or so.)
• That religious conversions – no matter which faith is being renounced or embraced – are recognized and respected for what they should be: a genuine change of heart that leads to a change of religion. And that assorted religious bodies – be they Hindu, Muslim or Christian – stop trying to shore up their numbers by resorting to bribes, inducements, money, special favours, or simply, brute force and blackmail.
• That we finally call a spade a bloody shovel. Anyone who kills innocents for a political cause is a terrorist, no matter what religion he takes his inspiration from. So, the men who terrorized the city of Mumbai on 26/11 are not ‘gunmen’; they are terrorists. The men who massacred 132 schoolchildren in Peshawar are not ‘Taliban’ (which, rather ironically, translates as students); they are terrorists. The Bodo group which went on a rampage in Assam and killed 78 people are not ‘militants’; they are terrorists. Let’s not mince our words when it comes to violence on innocents.
• The realization that we cannot achieve a clean India – a Swachch Bharat – by just posing with a broom in streets strewn with specially-procured dirt, while the TV cameras zoom in for a close-up. Sanitation and hygiene are incredibly complex issues. We need to discuss not just how to collect the dirt but also how to dispose of it in an environmentally-friendly manner. We need to focus on cleaning not just our cities but also our rivers. But most importantly, we need to work on changing the mindset of our people. Yes, those very people who think nothing of cleaning up their houses and throwing the rubbish on the street outside; those who spit whenever they feel like, wherever they feel like; or those who drive expensive cars but feel no embarrassment in throwing litter out of the window as they speed past.
• But most of all, what I really want for 2015, is peace and harmony. Peace between nations. Harmony between religions. Camaraderie between people no matter what their faith or nationality. And an end to the cycle of senseless violence that we have seen in 2014.

I know. It is a very tall order, indeed. And I know at a subliminal level, that I am doomed to disappointment in 12 months time. But how else do you enter a new year, except with a hope and a prayer? And the fervent desire that this time round, things will be much better.

Ho, Ho, Ho

What I would like Santa to get me for Christmas...

Sometimes I wonder just how stupid we were as kids to actually believe in Santa Claus. Wasn’t it obvious that the fat Indian man (who looked suspiciously like Uncle Chatterjee from next door) with the fake white beard couldn’t possibly have travelled down from the North Pole in his reindeer-driven sleigh? Did we ever stop to think why every shop we visited while Christmas shopping had a Santa Claus who looked completely different from the one before? Or did we just wilfully ignore all these alarm bells because we needed to live in a world where Santa came around annually bearing gifts that we had longed for the entire year.

I like to think it was the latter. And so, in the same child-like spirit, I decided to compile a list of all the things that I would like Santa to bring me this year. So here it is: my own Christmas wish list (in no particular order of importance)

* A longer attention span. I’d like to revert to the days when I could watch a movie without feeling tempted to tweet my views about it half an hour into the show. I’d like to read a book with stopping to dip into Facebook to see what my friends are up to. And I’d really like to be able to finish my writing without breaking off every 15 minutes to ‘research’ something on the Net.

* An internet connection that times out automatically. I often wonder how people procrastinated in the days before the Internet was invented. How did they waste time before the Google search engine came along? And by ‘people’, of course, I mean myself. I have lost count of the number of hours I have wasted on news sites, on following threads that lead me into the darker corners of the Net, and looking through picture albums of people I barely know. And given my complete and utter lack of self-discipline, the only thing that will free me is a net connection that turns itself off when I am unable to do so. 

* High heels that I can walk in without throwing out my back, crippling my knees, and mutilating my feet. Yes, I know every woman always insists that her stilettos are comfortable enough to run in; but believe me, she lies. The pair of high heels – and I mean really high heels – that both look and feel good are yet to be invented. Which is why I am pinning my hopes on Santa.

* A machine that exercises all my muscle groups for me. Come on, admit it. You’d like one too. Just imagine the joy of lying supine, reading a book or listening to music, strapped to a contraption that stretches your hamstrings, tones up your abdomen, tightens your bum, and elongates your legs, without your ever having to make any effort whatsoever. Bliss!

* A new neck: Yes, this one has given me great service for many decades but truth be told, it is beginning to look a bit tired now. So tired, that it can barely keep my double chins in place. (And if I am wishing for things, how about a brand-new jaw-line as well, all taut and jowl-free? And all the hair I have lost since my 20s, in its original black colour.)

* A magic carpet that whisks me away to Venice every January. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Why January? Isn’t it cold as hell? And raining? And flooding, thanks to the acqua alta? Yes, right on all counts. And yet, that is the month that Venice appears most magical to me. There are no hordes of tourists jostling you aside in Piazza San Marco. The streets are deserted so that you can actually gaze on undisturbed at the many architectural gems carelessly displayed on them. And the hotel rates are, relatively at least, affordable.

* A device that wipes my memory clean of all my favourite books so that I can discover them anew. I can still remember the joy I felt when I read my first Elizabeth George or Donna Leon. I had to restrain myself from calling up all my friends late at night and sharing my discovery with them. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about a book (the last time was when I devoured Hilary Mantel’s marvellous Wolf Hall in one big gulp) and I miss that slow burn of excitement that comes with stumbling upon a bright new literary star.

* A time machine to whisk me back to my college classroom. All those great writers and poets I read then in my English literature course – William Shakespeare, Leo Tolstoy, James Joyce, Charles Dickens, John Donne, T.S. Eliot – would make so much more sense to me now that I have lived a little.

Happy Days!

Whether it’s Christmas, Diwali or Id, there’s nothing we Indians love more than a good festival

Unlike most people who grew up in Calcutta and then moved away, I am not overly nostalgic about the city. I don’t pine for Bengali culture or Bengali music. I don’t reminisce fondly about the late, lamented Sky Room (a landmark city restaurant in its time). I don’t hanker after the baked beans of Flury’s or the jhaal muri outside Lighthouse cinema (though I sometimes dream about the puchhkas!). I don’t long for the lawns of Tolly Club. I don’t miss the delights of New Market. And I certainly don’t gaze back on my Calcutta days through a fug of rose-tinted nostalgia.

Except on one day of the year: Christmas. Or as we Cal types call it, Bada Din, or quite literally, Big Day.

That’s the only time I get a bit nostalgic about my Calcutta days. Growing up, Christmas was a huge deal. The excitement would start building up weeks in advance, reaching a crescendo when the festive lights on Park Street were turned on. Christmas trees would crop up in the unlikeliest of locations. There would be a sudden flurry of shopping as everyone stocked up on presents. The city’s clubs would vie with one another to host the most spectacular Xmas Eve party. The more devout among us would head to St Paul’s Cathedral for the midnight mass.

Christmas Day would be reserved for picnics to make the most of the short-lived Calcutta winter. I, for one, still have vivid memories of Bada Din family picnics in the Botanical Gardens, with almost the entire neighbourhood in attendance. Meals would be cooked in the open, the kids would dance along to loud music or play raucous games while the adults amused themselves with a pack of cards while keeping a wary eye on their children.

It didn’t really matter what religion we belonged to or what God we worshipped. When it came to Christmas, we were all believers – and celebrants.

As the saying goes, what Calcutta did yesterday, India will do tomorrow. And sure enough, over the years, Christmas has become a huge deal in the rest of the country as well. Our children believe in Santa Claus as fervently as those in the West. Mistletoe and ornament-laden Christmas trees sprout up all over our public spaces as well. We plan special parties on Xmas eve. We enjoy the day off on Christmas with our families and friends.

Of course, the cynics among us will say that it’s just that we Indians love nothing more than a good old festival. And Christmas, with its message of good cheer, its gleaming fairy lights and its lilting carols, fits the bill exactly. It’s a festival after our own hearts, with its emphasis on family, friends and feasting. Rum-laden fruit cakes, stuffed turkey with cranberry sauce, eggnog, mulled wine – who could possibly resist?

But I think there’s more to the way we have made Christmas our own. If you ask me, this ‘secularisation’ of Christmas is, in a sense, a triumph of Indian secularism itself.

As someone who spent her entire childhood in convent school, I grew up with a sense that Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary were just two more idols to add to the Hindu pantheon that I worshipped at home. Before every major exam, most of us would slip quietly into the chapel to have a quick word with God. It didn’t really matter if it was Mother Mary of Ma Durga we prayed to. Even as kids, we knew instinctively, that God was one even if She was called by many names.

And it is in this spirit that we in India take to celebrating each other’s festivals with as much gusto as we would our own.

The most obvious examples are Diwali and Id. Both have religious significance for Hindus and Muslims respectively. But the celebrations that mark them cut across religious lines effortlessly. Diwali parties are not all-Hindu affairs, just as Iftar gatherings and Id dinners are attended by people of all religions.

Hindus may mark Diwali with a special puja to Goddess Lakshmi, but there are many Christian and Muslims families who will light up their homes and burst crackers with as much fervour. Practising Muslims may celebrate Id with prayers in the mosque and exchanging idi gifts with family and friends. But their Hindu, Sikh and Christian friends will join in by cadging invitations to homes where they are guaranteed the best biryani and seviyaan.

And so it is with Christmas. Christians may mark it with a midnight mass or a early morning service on Christmas day, but the rest of us will celebrate the spirit of the day in our own way.

And that, if you ask me, is the greatest triumph of our syncretic Indian culture: that our festivals retain their religious significance even as they are celebrated across religious lines. Contrast this with the West where political correctness now dictates that you should say ‘Happy Holidays’ instead of ‘Merry Christmas’’ for fear of giving offence to some minority or religious group.

Strange, isn’t it? Especially when in secular India we have no problem in wishing one another Shubh Diwali or Id Mubarak. And in keeping with that spirit, here’s wishing all of you a Merry Christmas. Enjoy the Big Day!