Colleen Braganza

The little red envelope: Happy Chinese New Year

Yesterday was Chinese New Year, marking the start of the year of the water dragon. I wanted it to be special. But somehow it just turned out to be just another ordinary day. That’s perhaps because there was no one around to hand me a little red envelope embossed with Chinese script in gold, filled with some money.

When I was a child, Chinese New Year would be the day my mother would give us, her brood of five, little red envelopes. That was always a moment of thrill. We didn’t exactly follow a pocket money system at home and any money we got was very welcome. That was not all. In the evening, on her way back from work, she would pick up some goodies and the whole family would enjoy high tea that day.

Some years, we hit the jackpot. This was when a generous uncle, my Chinese great-grandfather’s youngest son, living in Hong Kong visited India on work. No matter how rushed the visit, he usually left similar red envelopes at the hotel reception for us kids and our cousins. They usually contained $20, a very generous amount for me and my siblings those days. We hurriedly converted that money and did what we wanted with it. I usually spent it all.

My mum followed the red-envelope tradition because it was part of her childhood spent in Delhi’s Connaught Place. Her father, my grandfather, was half-Chinese and half-Khasi. His father, my Chinese great-grandfather, lived close by with his extended family. Chinese New Year was perhaps always special for my mother and her brothers. And even though my father is Goan, she made sure that Chinese New Year was celebrated, even just a teeny bit, at our home.

I don’t think my sisters celebrate Chinese New Year with their kids, I haven’t asked them. I think they should, even if it’s just for the joy of giving my nephews and niece a mysterious red envelope with strange golden script to remind them of where their forefathers came from.