Christmas Cometh!

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.

This Is My December

I realize I have been writing a lot of depressed stuff. Well, my writing does reflect my overall mood. Not that I'm some morbidly depressed wight that mopes around all the time, but let's just say there has been a lot on my mind... for a long time. But there are better things to write about.

There's a beautiful song by Linkin Park, one of my favorite bands, by the name of "My December", which can be heard here. I heard it for the first time during the monsoon of 2004, Until then, Linkin Park to me had meant angst driven, violently melancholy, poetically destructive, scream-out-your-lungs music. This song, by contrast, was slow, reflective, and filled with a lovely remorse. It reminded me of something, of Decembers long past, and how the current weather reflected that. Allow me to elaborate.

First of all, the song is about mistakes that a man has made, and perhaps people that he has lost as a result of those mistakes. He wishes there was someone at home for him to come back to, but he has pushed them away, and he feels like there was something, somewhere he missed, and wishes to hell he didn't feel that way. So this is "his December". It doesn't even literally have to be the actual month, it could just be a metaphor for the end of things, as December is the end of the year. It is lonely, cold, and barren.

Now the words did not have much particular meaning to me at the time. The first time I put the song on, the very first thing that hit me was that sweet piano melody... inexpliciably reminiscent of winter. I was reminded immediately of elementary school, where one day in the deep of winter, a rare occurence took place. It started to snow. We were young and innocent, decked in thick sweaters and jackets, and were allowed outside to play. I remember stretching my hands up to the dull sky, my breath visible in the air, sheer joy in every breath. Catching snowflakes, and watching them melt immediately in my hand... And that sky. One particular characterisitc of winter in that region are the steel grey clouds. Endless and unbroken, that beautiful grey sky stretches from horizon to horizon all day.

 

It was a time of great innocence. There was a mean bite in the air, one that defeated the most sincere attempts to keep it out (in the form of quaint jackets and caps) by attacking the vulnerable and exposed ears and noses, rendering them quite numb. It was heaven to enter shelter from the bitter cold and feel the warmth return to those facial extremities. It was the Christmas season, and it was a season there that was celebrated with much fervor and excitement. And yes, I loved the commercialization of Christmas. Its not the holiday season unless every store and house has their decorations up, until the Coca Cola commercials come on TV, until the Christmas specials start to play. Evergreen trees dropped their needles, the deciduous trees had long since shed their browned leaves, except for the stubborn few that hung on, as if they were likely to see next spring. The smell of pinecones filled the air. It was a time that meant to me Christmas cookies, sweet and mundane with stupid frosting on it. It meant cake and candy, even those damn peppermint candy canes that are nice to look at, but a pain to eat (particularly for someone who is not particularly fond of peppermint). It was a time of songs and carols and the story of Christmas. Anticipation. Endless love and joy. Holly and wreaths and mistletoe. Greeting cards. Hot cocoa. That sweet, simple charm of the suburban holiday season. Winter and December brought with it these feelings that I adored so much, and this song reminded me of them.

Ironic then, that it was in the month of June that I first heard this song. And ironic that I felt like it truly was December. "My December" soon became the most played song ever on my Winamp. The play count definitely crossed 133 at one point (and that too in a short time). December in the subcontinent is quite different, particularly in Goa. Though it gets relatively cold, you don't get endless grey skies. However, in June you do. The monsoon was in full splendor. The sky was an endless grey sheet, ravaged and torn, and extremely lovely.

And then this song comes on, and I am transported to a time and world far away. I listened to the song so much, I almost felt like it was December. It was that sky... and of course, the fact that it gets cold during the monsoons helped too. Not to mention 2004 was a great year... I was not as young, but probably just as innocent then. It was a time when there was much hope and love. Not for any reason, but there just was. Those grey skies stretched from horizon to horizon. I soaked up the thick, cold drops as I went out to meet friends (going to school was just a formality). The beach was a frequent destination... those sandy shores in all their monsoon grandeur. To me it meant friends. Physics practicals. Hitman 2. The Bourne Identity.

Vegetation burst forth. Life was renewed. An infinite draught of fresh water from the seas was fed to the thirsty Earth, and she bloomed with variegated flora. Green was the order of things. All wild. And I stood there, at my window in my home, comforted, in nostalgia of the past and in the joy of the present, not caring for the future. Blissful. Unconditional happiness. For no reason.

So its a funny thing about this song... it actually reminds me of two places and two seasons. First of all it reminded me of December so far away, because the season complemented and reflected that old season in many ways. And later, I was reminded of the monsoon in Goa, when evenings become deep blue. A time of innocence, a time of joy. And most importantly, home.

Now, of course, I have left the notion of "home" behind. I'm not being cynical, I'm being pragmatic :). So I am not reminded of home so much, but I am reminded of the feeling. I can still sense a vestige of an emotion, of something great and comforting that I once knew, in two times and two locations, and all brought together by one song. I will remember trying in vain to catch snowflakes on my tongue in that lovely freak snowfall, I will remember fogging up my breath on a cold, rainwashed window while the world outside was grey and green. And now that is mine to have forever, me and this silly little song.

Nice, eh?

It is December now, and I must say I'm warming up to it (get it)? I really am getting into the spirit of it. It has suddenly got cold (and it can get really cold in Pune), and I am loving it. I am in the Christmas spirit, and doing everything I can to enjoy the holiday season in that heady spirit. If no one else cares, I still shall be the messenger of Christmas. Ha.

This is a few mornings ago. Awesome fog. Thick as hell. Now that's winter stuff.

I really am warming up to this December.

Left My Heart In Goa

And I'm back. From the trip to Goa that would change everything. Or so I thought. And correctly. Well, sort of.

It's all rather complicated.

Ah, how I do love ambiguous answers, I love the sweet simplicity of vagueness and the loving shield provided by plausible deniability, like a mother dove's wings protecting her children.

But I digress. With all due respect to ambiguity, the thing is, it is not actually complicated, but at the same time it would be chasing a lie to say it was simple.

I find it odd that mankind would attribute this madness to the heart. The heart is simply an organ that pumps blood. And occasionally, depending on diet and stress and build up of disgusting plaque in one's arteries, stops working, and causes its host to experience myocardial infarction, which is nothing but the scientific name for a "heart attack" (praise Google, now even I can sound smart at the click of a button).

Right, so the heart is simply an organ that pumps blood. The rest is all in your head.

So in essence, when I say I left my heart in Goa, its just a metaphor for a change in my thought process that I conciously brought about. But of course, you knew that.

The question is, why?

Ah, its been a long time since I've been "free". I have long been shackled under an intangible yoke, the guilt I feel being the cross I must bear for my sins and foolishness. Lets put it this way; to quote Crosby, Stills, and Nash, "its getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore". Or rather it was so.

And its a pain in the ass to feel that way. All the time. I mean its excrutiating as it is, but to be under that stress every second of every day? To not be able to enjoy a single thing... and on top of it all, to be powerless to do anything about it? Is that any way to live?

I don't know about you, but I can't do that. Not anymore. So I did what I had to... and then I left my heart behind. Cut it out, and left it. And hey, maybe one day I'll be able to reclaim it. But until then, perhaps I can have a life pattern that bears a semblance to something normal.

Just call me Davy Jones.

Diwali

So I've finally seriously started a blog. And what better day to start it than on Diwali. The day when good overcomes evil. Supposedly. Well, historically. Er, mythically anyway.

I wonder who is actually going to read this, if anyone. I wonder if I'm going to keep this is up or its just going to melt into the ignomy of oblivion like everything else I start. I guess we'll see.

So like I said, its Diwali. I have always loved Diwali, it has always been a fantastic and lovely time of year. The monsoon is over, and the air is getting chilly, and I think its something about the angle of the sun at this latitude at this time of the year that makes evenings absolutely golden. Its incredibly beautiful, and warming. Then there is the atmosphere of the festival of lights. The quaint little flame-light of diyas, the smell of things frying, and little fingers sticky with sugar from all the fattening sweets. Ah, hell with the fat. If you can't indulge during the holidays, then when can you indulge?

That being said, I think I'm starting to hate holidays. Blah. Diwali, Christmas, my favorites. And then there's New Years, Ganesh, Dussera, and birthdays. I hate birthdays. Especially my own. I hate that the most. I don't know why. I guess it is because these days are traditionally supposed to be happy, and pleasant, and altogther lovely days. But on more than one occasion, something seems to fuck up. Oh, I've had birthdays, Christmases, New Years ruined. And more. So I came to the conclusion a long time ago that these are merely days, and I should not have any expectations of anything special.

You call me a cynic.
I call me a pragamatist. If that's even a word. And no, I'm not going to look it up.

Oh feck it. Maybe I am a cynic. Maybe I'm an optimist; because every time, I can't help but get into the spirit. How heart-warming is it to see those aakash-diyas and rangoli. Who can deny winter's cold bite and the rush of the holiday season as Christmas approaches. And who can help but begin to hope for better on New Years Eve.

Sigh.

Okay, so this year, I am going to Goa, much to the consternation of my parents. However, I have to go to Goa this time, it is very important that I do. Now on the subject of Goa, I don't know what to say. I miraculously and very luckily moved to Goa from half the world over. It was a sheer stroke of brilliant fortune. My dad could have taken us anywhere in India, but we ended up in Goa. I'll admit, I didn't take a shine to it at once. Hell, I was a kid. Even moreso than I am now. But the realization dawned on me later. Slowly but surely, I was falling in love with Goa, and one day, it hit me: I loved that place. There is much detail to be gone into, but at a later time. Suffice to say that I even wanted to be buried in Goa.

But alas, such things were not meant to last. I left Goa over 5 years ago. And since then, things have changed. One day, I finally realized that I can no longer find a home in goa. It was one of the great heartbreaks of my life. I was shattered, and yet at the same time I felt nothing. I do feel a vestige of some feeling, some longing still in my blood. I still feel like I want to rush and see the beach. But I don't know. It is not only that I have grown apart from Goa, but that Goa herself has changed so much. I would sum up how I feel about it by a verse from an Audioslave song:

          "The open mouth of the city swallowed up the town

          On that same old concrete that I still walk down

          And it seems they put a shine on this place when I was young

         Well maybe I just don't see it now"

Ah, Audioslave. Why did they break up? And what nonsense is Chris Cornell upto now?

Anyway, I've had a 2 day holiday from work. Holidays now seem like godsends. Good Lord, I do need them. Not that I am overburdened at work or anything. But I needed this one specially. 

It's an exciting time. And a perplexing time. And an anxious time. Change always is. That last day of work before the long weekend felt really weird. I was on a high. I felt like I was going away for a long time. Or that I was leaving the company. I felt, in fact, like a kid on the verge of summer vacation, just counting down the minutes on the last day of school, waiting to be released. Walking out of there late in the evening, the place seemed deserted. A lot of people had already left early. And everything felt so different, so alien, like I had never been there before. The atmosphere of the flagging year had some influence on it. But also, in a way, I felt like I was not coming back. Not as the same person anyway.

No, this trip to Goa would change many things, I feel. I will find out where I stand. There will be Redemption, or there will be Finality. And why should it be a choice between these two things? Why should it have had to come down to this? Paritally, or rather mostly, it has been my fault. But fuck it, I'm a child. I mean, I could have used some guidance. But now is not the time to make excuses. And why have I set these two things before me, if I myself cannot even choose which one I shall recieve? I don't know. I guess I want all the colors of life or black and white. But I'm tired of the gray between. Oh, the way I've lived, the torrent of emotional turmoil, that's no way to live. I don't think I can do it anymore. And its all so fucking hysterical.

So this is it. I'm anxious, yet I'm calm. What the hell... I don't know what I am. But I will know in just a few days. The triumph of good over evil? We'll see. I just hope, as always, I have a lot of fun.

Hmmm... Cynic? Pragmatist? Optimist? Or........... Hedonist?