Friday, 25 December 2015

Another Christmas

Another Christmas



Year after year December brings in the cold wind and the anthems that waft through it. Gone are the days when we visited those lovely bookshops that were  tastefully decorated with thematic festoons of Christmas, and cards of different colours and sizes lined along the shelves that obviate age old books that invited the attention of avid readers. Choosing the cards while humming through carol melodies was a sheer excitement indeed. And sitting with the family, signing off the cards and stamping them in a crowded post office - all these went along with the December routine but relished with the anticipation of an annual ritual that unites friends and family together. It is time to renew the contacts, say hellos, share gossip, and air music. But of late, thanks to the technology that was meant to make life easier, all these little sparks of domestic joy have vanished. You sit like an animated doll in front of your system, type and blink onto a monitor that makes you a zombie. I suddenly  mumble the couplet of Wordsworth:
Whither is the visionary gleam? / Where is it now, the glory and the dream?  Either I am too old to sustain the joy of yester years or the busy modern lifestyle has robbed me of these pleasures. I wonder how others feel. When one of these days I mentioned to someone that we should revive the old customs, no body spoke in favour of it nor anyone seconded my old fashioned opinion. I couldn’t help recalling my visit to Frankenmuth in Michigan where all through the year Christmas was alive with all the credentials, code, chord and colour. Hats off to those unceasing fervor and fascination of  those German ancestors who could cherish the mood all the twelve months without the least sign of boredom  in merriment. 
 The arrival of a newcomer has of course changed the scene considerably. You regain your vitality when you succeed in evoking a baby smile exercising all your buffoonery. May be we should tirelessly pass on the   energy and enthusiasm to the next generation. Long live the artless champions of innocence.

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