It's Christmas!

It's Christmas, and it seems almost sacrilegious to talk about anything else except Christmas. But this year, it's just me and H, in our tiny, albeit cosy hostel room. We have two Christmas cards between us, and the room is so far devoid of any decorations. H thinks it's folly to buy more stuff when we already have so much to take home next year. And I suppose he's right.

Everywhere you go in Delhi, it's Christmas big time. The newspapers are full of it, recipes for cakes and goodies, what gifts to buy, etcetera. In the markets, it's the same. Shops are decorated in red, white, greens; even petrol station attendants are wearing Santa suits. The non-Christians overwhelm us with their fervour for the Christmas season. I guess everyone is cashing in on Christmas.

So as it is every year, and as it will probably be every coming year, we have to yet again make a conscious effort to remember what Christmas is about. It's easy to get caught up in the lights and the Christmas sales, the cakes and the glitter and the songs, but all Christmas signifies is the birth of Jesus after all. I'm a fine one to talk, but here's a poem from Gerrard Kelly...

The gift
We were so glad to welcome him
On Christmas day;
It was like having a new member
Of the family.
He looked so small and helpless,
It made you want to pick him up
And cuddle him.
We made promises, ofcourse,
Said we'd make room for him in our house,
Said we'd alter our routines
To fit him in,
Said we'd take a walk with him
Each day.

But the novelty
Soon began to wear off.
By New Year,
We mentioned him less often.
Daily chores were less of a thrill,
More of a reluctant duty.
By February he was unwanted.
By March we had abandoned him.

We should have read the warnings,
We should have counted the cost.
A God is for life,
Not just for Christmas.

Oh well, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone!!

Christmas past

Christmas had flavour then, it had an aroma, a magical essence of festivity. It had something to do with the smell of baking cakes in mom's rusted oven. The ornaments were simple, ribbons of coloured paper strung along the ceiling, a few clusters of balloons at strategic corners. My mother's fir tree in an old tin pot stood in the corner, brightly done up with gold and silver strings, a big star ceremoniously stuck at the top of the tree. Christmas cards arrived daily, from relatives and friends and well-wishers. My brother and I would collect the ones bearing our names, a childish competition to see who receives more.

I was, as a child, even more gullible, lead hither thither by an elder brother. I believed fervently in Santa Claus, but my brother put an end to that. 'There is no Santa Claus, it's only mom and dad pretending' . And before I could recover, 'Let's look for the gifts while they are gone'. And so my innocence ended at the tender age of 5 years. I learnt to deceive too. 'Look, mother! Santa got me exactly what I wanted'.

I did not know those Christmases represented phases of my life. Because every year, there were changes. Some were subtle, some struck closer to home. You could tell from the decorations how progress was happening. Cards are passe, real trees replaced by bigger, greener plastics. You could see how dear ones slowly disappeared from Christmases, some died of diseases, some in accidents. I remember a new year's eve spent mourning an uncle. The elders cried, we children huddled together, uncertain what to do when New Year arrived.

Every year, a little more numb,a little more pain, a little more smarter, a little more cynical, a little more adult. I mourn the death of childhood, the glee of being alive. Our worries were so small then, and our joys were so simple. Everyday was an occasion, Christmas and New Year were only the icing on the cake.

(Lungleng thut, inspired by Caliopia's post).

When words fail

A slighlty overstated title. Just a few pics to keep the old blog running:)









It was our institute's golden anniversary recently, so our campus got a major makeover, including putting up an Amul kiosk, complete with swings and garden chairs.






The already existing Nescafe too got a facelift, with a pretty red roof. Just a tiny picture, it's too blurry to be any bigger.





And I went for a seminar in Ludhiana, Christian Medical College last month. The Christian-ness of the college was always vividly palpable, the conference being started with a benediction and a choir. They had a bookshop on campus, I got a Bible as a souvenir. Overall, the college seemed to be well-run, no frantic patients etc. But I could be biased too :p Anyhow the place looked mighty clean.


At dinner, some undergrads entertained us with songs and dances. This pic was for the guy in yellow satin lungi (lungi not v visible tho).








Lastly, a pic of a humungous mutton leg. We had dinner at Karim's near Jamma Masjid. The area left a lot to desire, but the restaurant is top rated in Delhi. But Too much meat will kill you, me thinks.

It's time

It's time..

To take out the blankets, to dryclean the unworthy, to snuggle with the clean. It's time to bugger the caretaker, 'Fix the old geyser, or else........' Or else I shall suffer a minor a heart attack, when the cold jets of water fall, or else, I shall simply stop having my baths. The latter is easier, but my colleagues may have something to say.

It's time to restock on body lotions. 'Body cocoon' sounds so inviting, tho I'd never buy it in summer. It's time to hybernate, atleast till 9 in the morning. It's okay to say you're down with the flu, because it's that time of year again. It's time to snuggle, switch off the alarm. Because this year, you're not flying home, come rain or shine, on rickety planes nor on reindeer sleighs.

This year, you're stuck here, with the cold, with your books, with your frowning turbanated gods. This year is the last year, this time, it's going to be a blue, blue christmas.

And it's time to close the old blogger, because I never had that much to say, and it was anyway mostly just a lot of yarn. And I need the yarn for a nice old sweater. It's time I hit the books, because, time, my friend, is ticking away.

(pic from landscapedpic.com)

Happy Birthday to H !!!

October 16th, Happy birthday, dear H!!