Homecoming of the delightful sort: Christmas in Kolkata

As I neatly fold the last piece of woollen clothing into my oversized backpack, I cannot but resist the familiar feeling of euphoria creeping into me. It’s time to go home to the twinkling fairy lights and baubles hanging off the artificial fir trees, the heady aroma of freshly baked plum cakes, the bright Christmas star dangling off a nondescript window and the festive fervour that grips my city, in ways that intrigue me. When I say my city, even the Malayali Syrian Orthodox Christian within me smirks with pride, because I am talking about Kolkata, the city I grew up in and wilfully call my own. As I indulge myself in thinking about my version of ‘true homecoming’, reality hits me smack in the face.

So what if Kolkata loves its frenzied Christmas celebrations? So what if hordes of people, irrespective of their caste and creed, throng St Paul’s Cathedral on Christmas Eve to participate in the midnight mass, which, over the years, has been more than just a religious affair? The beauty of a bedecked Park Street might soon be a thing of the past, the Christmas revelry at Bow Barracks, Ripon Street and Sudder Street might only feature in the tales I will narrate to my grandchildren, years down the line. All this because certain right-wing organisations have given a horrific twist to the otherwise innocent meaning of ‘homecoming’ that I have known.

Now, sinking into the harsh world of my so-called blasphemous existence (according to the RSS outfits), I wonder how much more hostility is yet to be thrust upon me. Although I love my city, I have also learnt to take the stray incidences of rejection with a pinch of salt. I will admit there were moments when suppressed rage got the better of me, especially when a Brahmin family acquaintance refused to step into our house on the day of his auspicious religious ceremony, citing a ridiculous excuse. Yes, I felt slighted, when a temple priest refused to accept a glass of water from my house — although he seemed perfectly fine with me attending a religious function he presided over — minutes before the event. I have fought the identity crisis I faced as a rebellious teenager, unable to decipher the need for glaring differences between a majority and minority community.

Just when I felt I had outgrown such juvenile fears, comes another shocker, the ludicrous concept of ‘Ghar Wapsi’ or re-conversion of non-Hindus, being propagated by factions of the saffron brigade.

If the campaign has not wreaked enough havoc in both houses of Parliament already, it sure has set off a riot of questions in my head. Moreover, the curious silence of the Prime Minister for so long has been disconcerting, to say the least. Especially when the issue has triggered heated discussions nationwide. True, we have made it a point to emphasise and reiterate in our words and actions that religion and ethnicity were and continue to remain the pillars of Indian society, yet I cannot help but go down  memory lane one last time to relive the moments of ignorant bliss of my childhood. Where tiffin boxes were meant to be shared by all, irrespective of the house they came from, where Durga Puja and Christmas were not religious festivals but cosmopolitan celebrations and where the word ‘homecoming’ had no outrageous connotations.

The author is Assistant Manager, Digital Content, at iamin.in