Many years ago; far more than I care to remember, Christmas was the grand finale of the year's festivities. Usually Diwali would have just gone by and Delhi turned on its cool winter charm. Our father would have received his Diwali bonus and everyone at home would be a lot more cheerful and magnanimous than usual. Money mostly has that kind of intoxicating effect , if you know! On a Sunday just before Christmas, I would don my very fashionable( or so I thought) double breasted green and brown woolen sports coat ;a hand- me- down gift from a generous aunt; my locally made light blue jeans and spit polished black school shoes with white nylon socks. Mismatch never troubled me ; not that I knew any better. No one else pointed it out either and I would take a bus ride on route 317 to famed Christmas bazaar in the background of white colonnaded colonial architecture of Connaught Place.
As I said it was a long time ago. There were no Maruti cars on the roads. In fact there was a small fraction of today's two wheeled traffic around. Charles Correa had yet to design the iconic LIC building and that abominable monstrosity - underground Palika bazar had not yet been unleashed on the landscape. There were a lot more trees;at least you could see a lot more than you see today. Delhi mornings could be foggy once in a while in winter but the air was crisper and nobody knew what the word smog actually meant.
I would be in possession of a couple of one rupee notes , two or three quarters and a few five paisa coins. There were a few gold toned twenty paisa coins in my possession too. I was enthralled by them and would never spend those coins. They were kept at home. Christmas Bazaar was a magical place. Vendor after vendor offering this or that. Toys, luggage, clothing, household items and books. Yes, you heard it right. There was a time when people bought books and I would browse through a mountain of them. Luckily there were vendors selling second hand books and books published abroad without cover and old magazines and comic books. They were cheap and I bought as many as I could. Till my money ran out. It really felt like a partridge in a pear tree. My very own personal Christmas!
And I bought Christmas/ New year cards. The one's you put in a paper envelope; lick a postage stamp on and use your best handwriting to write an address on it. Something that would let the recipient know who the letter is from just by looking at the writing. Crowning glory of the day was to fork over some coins for a foaming espresso coffee with a liberal sprinkling of chocolate powder. It was quite an achievement since drinking coffee at our middle class home was reserved for when we had special guests or when we attended a marriage feast.
Delhi is many miles from home today. It's air is choked and roads are not pedestrian friendly. Christmas Baazar folded up years ago . A book means an E-book and no one really sends a printed card any more. Everyone's hand writing is exactly like everyone;on the keyboard anyway. And on this Christmas Santa left me gifts under the colorfully decorated tree. I also had the privilege of being served a full course turkey dinner accompanied by a very decent full bodied wine and an absolutely divine rum cake for dessert. I received dozens of messages,cards, video's and greetings on my smart phone too.
Merry Christmas and happy new year my dear friends and family. I am much obliged and thank everyone for their efforts on my behalf but if anyone sees my partridge and my pear tree, be kind enough to let me know.!
I would be in possession of a couple of one rupee notes , two or three quarters and a few five paisa coins. There were a few gold toned twenty paisa coins in my possession too. I was enthralled by them and would never spend those coins. They were kept at home. Christmas Bazaar was a magical place. Vendor after vendor offering this or that. Toys, luggage, clothing, household items and books. Yes, you heard it right. There was a time when people bought books and I would browse through a mountain of them. Luckily there were vendors selling second hand books and books published abroad without cover and old magazines and comic books. They were cheap and I bought as many as I could. Till my money ran out. It really felt like a partridge in a pear tree. My very own personal Christmas!
And I bought Christmas/ New year cards. The one's you put in a paper envelope; lick a postage stamp on and use your best handwriting to write an address on it. Something that would let the recipient know who the letter is from just by looking at the writing. Crowning glory of the day was to fork over some coins for a foaming espresso coffee with a liberal sprinkling of chocolate powder. It was quite an achievement since drinking coffee at our middle class home was reserved for when we had special guests or when we attended a marriage feast.
Delhi is many miles from home today. It's air is choked and roads are not pedestrian friendly. Christmas Baazar folded up years ago . A book means an E-book and no one really sends a printed card any more. Everyone's hand writing is exactly like everyone;on the keyboard anyway. And on this Christmas Santa left me gifts under the colorfully decorated tree. I also had the privilege of being served a full course turkey dinner accompanied by a very decent full bodied wine and an absolutely divine rum cake for dessert. I received dozens of messages,cards, video's and greetings on my smart phone too.
Merry Christmas and happy new year my dear friends and family. I am much obliged and thank everyone for their efforts on my behalf but if anyone sees my partridge and my pear tree, be kind enough to let me know.!
