Monday, December 20, 2010
In light of the holiday season and my annual holiday fervor, it seems only right to say something about this time of year. The Christmas Season. It deserves the status of proper noun capitalization.
Christmas was a big fucking deal where I grew up. And it should be, because it is such a fun holiday. I love the legends, the stories, and the traditions. And all made so grand by the massive commercialization of it all. Oh, God bless those capitalist bastards and their proclivity to prey on the headiness of the foolish populace in this spirited season. Building on the tradition that Christmas is a time of goodwill and generosity, they go to great lengths to suck out every penny from the hordes of mad holiday shoppers. And in doing so, they make everything so awesome. Christmas decorations go up everywhere, fat men in Santa costumes invade various stores, beautifully decorated trees coming up, the air is filled with the smell of various baked sweets, toy ads have gone mad, images of the season are omnipresent, and people generally are filled with good cheer.
I love the stories. The birth of Christ. A Christmas Carol, in all its brilliant avatars. Home Alone, Die Hard, The Santa Claus... I love 'Twas The Night Before Christmas, forerunner to the modern legend of Santa Claus. I love the eight reindeer and sleigh thing. The Grinch. I love all the songs and carols which are all too many to list here. And I love the cold... makes everything so lovely.
By contrast, in the subcontinent, the feeling is somewhat subdued, in comparison. Which is why I counted myself lucky to land up in Goa (or at least ONE of the reasons), where people actually give a damn about the holiday and are arsed enough to make it merry. I would attribute that to the majority Catholic population and residual European traditions. It doesn't feel so merry and bright in a place like Pune, although the capitialist bastards here are catching on and trying their best to make the mood as festive as possible in a very Western way, but I couldn't be arsed enough to go to fucking Landmark in Camp just to see a small tree and some empty decorations and hear hollow Christmas tunes. Fucking wannabes.
I guess in all the excitement, I'm forgetting one very important dude: Jesus Christ. Old JC. This is, after all, His birthday. Except, of course, everyone that read The Da Vinci Code knows that that's not exactly true, and in fact that modern religion is an amalgam of all the old pagan religions and various stories and traditions that have been handed down from generation to generation getting changed along the way. But I won't get into all that lest I get a papal hit out on me (and tomorrow's headline would read "Local Boy Shot In Heart With Silver Bullet; Vatican Denies Involvement").
I have been quite merry and jovial in the lead up to Christmas, and done what I can to spread that joy, even though no one really cares. I'm just caught up in the mood of the season, and the nostalgia of seasons past when it really was done proper. I feel much happiness and anticipation, and in the very spirit of the season, I feel peace and goodwill towards my fellow man. However, the actual day has never been anything that great. In fact, at best, they have been average. I would call a Christmas when I wasn't just bloody dissapointed as a success. I guess that's (my) life, eh? C'est la mutherfucking vie.
But the best part is not the actual day anyway. It is the build up to it. The best part is the anticipation, the adandonment, the gorging on Christmas goodies, the telling of tales, the seeing of friends and family. What's Christmas this year, a Saturday? And that's all it will be, another fucking Saturday. But fuck it. I'm going to enjoy this lovely, warm feeling while I can. Because I know come Dec. 26, I am once again going to revert to being one angry mutherfucker. Allow me to feel this heady bliss while I may. Let us all enjoy the season of giving.
Peace and goodwill. Be merry. Give. Love. Share. Eat and drink heartily. Forgive. Show compassion. Show kindness. Show generosity. Blow trumpets, hearld in the new year, and spread the joy.
And maybe one day I'll have that perfect Christmas. That beautiful, white Christmas, cold as ice, but warm on the inside... with a gorgeous tree, and stockings up by the fireplace. Hot cocoa, and presents piled up high. Cookies and milk for Santa. All that stuff.
Maybe a Christmas miracle of my own?
Oh, what the hell. Maybe that's all just same damned fool idealistic dream.
But there'll always be cake and cookies. Sweet.