Column

The Spectator

I do not know what it is about me but all major festivals — Christmas, New Year, Diwali, etc. — make me a little sad.

I suspect it’s because in the midst of all that conspicuous consumption, that ho ho ho and good cheer, I can’t help but think about the little people, the people who fall outside the golden circle, who watch it all from the outside, their noses pressed against the window panes.

The sight of all the urchins on Mumbai’s roads hawking Christmas decorations to passing cars, waving Independence Day Flags, and selling Diwali lights, is so suffused with irony that it never ceases to amaze me that we can proceed as if we did not notice it.

Waiters who stand behind banquets on New Year’s Eve, watching people celebrate with their families and friends, while their own are miles away never escape my eye.

One part of me is acutely conscious of their presence even as I get on with the festivities at hand.

Of course, there will never exist a world in which there is absolute equality, total homogeneity and all-inclusiveness. There will always be those who celebrate and those who serve, those whose plates are filled high and those who do the serving, those who dance till the night is old and those who stand on the sidelines just doing their jobs — but it does not make it easier.

What do they think of us- the little people — as we wiz past them in fast cars on Christmas Eve while they sleep on pavements? What must they feel when we keep them up all night on New Year’s Eve, the drivers, the cooks, the waiters? What thoughts pass through the head of the chauffeur delivering heaps of mithai on Diwali?

A wise woman I know has made it a practice to first celebrate each festival that she has to, with the little people in her life: distribute sweets at the beauty salon she frequents, buy thoughtful gifts for her servants on Christmas, send crackers and toys to the lift men’s children and the watchman’s families in her building, order a cake for the peons in her office.

“Forget what it does to others, you can’t imagine the happiness it brings to my life.” She said to me the other day. “When I do such things, include people who least expects it in these festivals — rather than being meaningless, socially-imposed rituals — they suddenly become real reasons to celebrate and festivals of real happiness and joy.”

So am I suggesting you suddenly turn in to Mother Teresa and invite every urchin you meet home this Christmas?

Nothing so radical. Just remember to bring some joy to one human being who least expects it today.

Then, yours will really be a Merry Christmas!

s_malavika@dnaindia.net