What I learnt this Holi:

1. There is such a thing as too much good food. Yes.

2. There is, on the other hand, no such thing as playing 'a little' Holi. You either play or you don't.

3. A chubby, curly-haired eighteen-month-old dozing off in your lap, her fists clutching your sleeves - the biggest rush of affection on the planet.

4. If you are given to dancing in rage, do not do it on the staircase.

5. Wilde had a point. People are not to be classified into good or bad. They are either charming or tedious.

6. I have more willpower than I credit myself with. Hooray for me. :)

7. I have developed a propensity to talk in bullet-points. I'm going to have to tone it down.

Hope you had a great Holi, World! See you in a bit.

Mothballed

Now, when I wrote last March about the winter gone by, remarking that it hadn't quite been the real thing, the season probably took it to heart.

Because this year, it seems eager to hell-bent on outdoing itself.

The sun appears and disappears at will. Fog appears - and does not disappear. Chilly winds go tearing down the streets at sixty miles an hour. Every time I uncap my little jar of Vaseline, I end up digging my finger into petrified petroleum jelly. And last evening, my roommate spent twenty minutes on the terrace, and returned to the room sporting a dewy halo around her curly brown head.

The first couple of times that the mercury dipped to (below?) record levels, the media took to prowling the streets and accosting already-harried passers-by with questions on how it feels to live in a cold, cold city like Delhi. Then, as the mercury stayed put where it had fallen, the microphone- and camera-wielding folk lost interest. At least we have been spared the chagrin of being reminded of our North Pole-esque circumstances on national television. Brr.

But I'm still in love with all you seasons, Winter, so, try as I might, I can't hate you.

Basant Panchami slipped by in a haze of fog and muted sunshine. Saraswati Puja. Pushpanjali, sarees, marigolds, camphor. A silent, fervent prayer to the deity of Knowledge and Music. A trip with friends to the Bengali School grounds at Civil Lines. The remainder of the day spent at the Book Fair at Pragati Maidan, or somewhere on campus.

This year, the prayer was the only part of it all that happened. Memories followed.

Of Christmas, sandwich spread and solitude

Eleven days to Christmas! :)

It's that time of the year again - fairy lights, holly and mistletoe, cottonwool snow and tinsel. Tree ornaments glinting merrily in candlelight and warm, reassuringly sonorous brass bells. Candles that burn all night and faith that insists on re-asserting itself. Plum cake! A rotund, red-faced Santa who shakes his belly like a bowlful of jelly. Ho ho ho!

Christmas makes me think of chapels with choirs singing in perfect co-ordination. It makes me think of wreaths secured with ribbons, and of poinsettias in vases. Christmas is about carols at midnight, and the most vibrant shades of red and green the imagination can conjure. It is about believing, even at 23, that I will find something in my stocking on Christmas morning. :) It is about the beautiful message in Dickens' A Christmas Carol (I end up re-reading this book every Christmas, somehow). It is about decorated trees and lots of streamers in every store window. I have never really been sold on bling...but I can never have too much tinsel on Christmas. I can't get enough of the warm, spicy smell of pine cones. I can stare endlessly at a little church with light streaming out of its windows; and sit for hours inside cathedrals. Christmas is probably one of the coldest days of the year meteorologically - and the warmest in every other way imaginable. Why do I love Christmas so much? Because everything about it is about giving...and about belief. On Christmas, you believe.

Of course, the fact that it is just the beginning of a week of festivities and anticipation is the icing on the (plum) cake. :D

Talking of warmth and belonging, there's something incredibly wholesome about the friendships that spring up amongst an assortment of people thrown together by chance. Friendships that are cemented over late-night chats over everything under the sun; study sessions that, surprisingly, often work out as planned; meals had together - at conventional mealtimes and otherwise; heartbreak and tears that stand a very bleak chance against comforting by buddies; laughter and shared inside jokes and running gags that only the aforementioned assortment of people knows about; tiffs with and without rhyme and reason - and the way they melt away so soon, nobody knows or cares what they were about. Friendships that go beyond the ambit of the ordinary and become relationships. Bonds that, delved into, would reveal intuitive understanding, shared confidences, bars of chocolate and jars of sandwich spread, and the blessed security of the knowledge that things will definitely start looking up once you get back to the gang.

I have, on different occasions, celebrated Christmas alone, and with friends and family. This time, it will be with family. I'll miss the enormous wreath outside my school principal's residence, though, and the sight of lights twinkling within and outside the college chapel (and I can't ever forget Dr. Wilson's Christmas parties!). And I'll miss the impromptu Christmas bashes thrown in the hostel, when our supplies included five bottles of Coke, one big eggless cake, and multiple packs of Maggi. Ah well, we can't have it all.

Except that sometimes we do...and Christmas is one of those times when we should thank our lucky stars for it.

Merry Christmas, World...Happy Holidays! :) Ho ho ho!

P.S. This post is dedicated to all the people I have ever celebrated Christmas with.

P.P.S. This, Blogger tells me, is my 99th post. I like the sound of that! Maybe my New Year post will be my 100th! That would be doubly nice. :) :)

Wistfulness

In all these years away from home, I have learnt to handle practically everything on my own. Everything - bad food, homesickness, illness without having someone to fuss over me, devastating grades, heartbreak, loneliness, bhang-induced highs on Holi, packing and unpacking - and practically moving house - twice a year, doing my own laundry (and learning, the hard way, that whites and pastels are best not bought), living on a budget, cooking my own meals, fretting over my decisions or patting myself on the back for them. It hasn't all been uphill, though...I've celebrated my proficiency at changing light bulbs, my confirmation after six endless months of probation, danced in joy over an assignment that fetched a 23.5 on 25, dealt with the impact of vague crushes, grinned like a maniac at my phone when Citibank sent me their first text, informing me that my salary had been credited to my account, felt superhuman after having negotiated three peak traffic hours to get home, revelled in the bliss of travelling alone and being officially incommunicado, been trusted with responsibilities and (heh heh :) secrets, and learnt how to tie a saree, not to mention some micro, macro and development economics, and human resource management, all by myself.

And you know what, it's tough to deal with a rough patch alone...but it's tougher still to have something to celebrate and have the people you most want to share it with, not around. I've managed both - all said and done - with decent aplomb. Oh, give and take a few inexplicable-to-the-world blue moods or hyper-excited happy dances.

But the one thing I'm still not used to is having to be away from home and family on festivals. In six years now, I haven't celebrated Holi, Diwali, the Pujas or New Year's Eve with them. And much as I am capable of handling everything else, this one thing still leaves me a little wistful. A phone call - or several - is not much of a substitute. That is not to say I haven't had some very memorable celebrations with friends in College and at work. I'd be supremely ungrateful if I said I didn't have fun and stow away some beautiful memories. Yeah, now that those friends are far away, too, the memories just get more intense and the festivals just a tad more lonesome :) I was brought up in the sort of family where Friday evenings and Sunday mornings and afternoons were earmarked for something special. Simple, but special. Holidays meant time with the extended family. Dinner time was for conversation and laughter...and festivals meant celebration. Small rituals - spring cleaning, food particular to the occasion, having the gulal or crackers ready, planning the drive around the colony - went into the making of beautiful Holis, Diwalis and Dussehras. And if something like that has been part of your life for as long as you can remember, it's part of who you are.

Which is why I still give my room an especially thorough cleaning before a festival. Also why I make it a point to go shopping for garlands, diyas and sweets, and then spend a couple of hours doing up my room. It's why I stand in the balcony and watch families celebrating, and thank my lucky stars for having had the chance to know what that kind of celebration is like. It is also why, in spite of the nostalgia and the homesickness, I know I will enjoy the festival and be happy and thankful, because that is what festivals are all about.

Diwali is around the corner, so it is time my room got that spring cleaning I was talking about. And there is something so eternally beautiful about a lit diya, it is hard to put into words. It's my favourite festival ritual - lighting diyas. So here's thanking all of you - family and friends - who have given me reasons to feel festive...and here's thanking you, God, for the aforementioned family and friends! Happy Diwali, everyone...and have a beautiful year ahead! :) :)

Checking In

I haven't been around for a while...though, would you believe it, I've written some five posts in my head in the last month or so. They just never materialised into anything here. But, this afternoon, I want to write. The last ten days have been a change from the routine - even if so in superficial ways. The Saturday before the last was exciting - one of the three occasions a year that I dress up in a saree for. The saree is my favourite garment...but I wish I had enough grace for it. Trying, trying :) :)

This weekend was interesting too - the annual convention, a two day long affair. Blasphemous though I may sound, I enjoyed the International Business chapter better than the Human Resources part. Trussed up in a black business suit for the better part of two days (and feeling like a penguin, if I may add), I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the discussions on red and blue ocean strategies and financial engineering...AND the 20-cover lunch. ;)

What else...I'm happy because I was finally able to give someone a piece of my mind (I sometimes have very misplaced notions of niceness). I'm glad that a long-term project is beginning to yield results. I'm astounded at the number of people falling in and out of love around me, and thankful that I've managed to retain my sanity so far :)

The Pujas are here. Today is the third day, and I'm homesick like I always am at this time of the year. I miss the smell of dhoop and fresh flowers and bhog, and the sounds of the dhaak and cymbals and the conch and chants. I miss the colours of autumn and the vibrant hues that the Goddess comes decked in. I miss the camaraderie and the anticipation surrounding the festivities, both those that are happening and those that are on their way. I miss the peacefulness of the mornings, the golden afternoon light and the pulsating energy of the evenings. I miss the feeling of crisp new fabric against the skin. I miss the smell of camphor.

There's so much that I want to write about. I'm just grappling with a writer's block of sorts. I'll be back soon :) Till then, have a great autumn! :) :)