No, definitely not a December 2.0, more of a December 0.2 rather.
This xmas is not as festive as it should and I have noticed that the prices of chocolate boxes in the supermarkets are going down week after week, people in no rush at purchasing any. Instead they stare at them as if lost in thoughts or like items completely stranger to them. Aside undertakers business is bad for everyone this year.
I have almost finished decorating my Christmas tree and at night I sit on my own in my living room and talk to it from the corner of my eye as I would to an old friend. Decorating a Christmas tree is a sacred ritual observed in so many households, something warm and special. It yields that feeling of being a child again and enjoying the glitter around. Your fingers accidentally stumble upon the gingerbread man handcrafted in 1999 and all of a sudden you fly back to that spectacular year where you still had hair, -30 pounds and your skin tone glowed like a xmas ball.
Christmas trees mesmerize me all the time. Sometimes, when just thrown around the corner of a room with tasteless garlands, they hold me in horror. Last year I was jokingly telling whomever would care listen that I was about to create an association against 'la maltraitance des sapins de noel' after being literally traumatized when my feet graced the reception areas of many offices. Those poor things looked sad, disarmed and vulnerable and my disparaging remarks could unfortunately not save them.
The week preceding xmas, nothing delights me more than sitting cross-legged on the floor right in front of my tree sipping a glass of red wine and thinking about my people and how I would love spoil-rotting them. I light a candle, watch the drips around the edge of the taper melt and this slowly carries me into a meditative state. It is undoubtedly the best state ever where I see images of my father giving us kids, a fifty rupee note at the doorstep of Prisunic in Curepipe, asking us to get whatever we wanted. I also recall mum coming back from Rose-Hill exhausted with a present for each one of us, something simple and inexpensive. I remember her expression of joy. Even when we became better-off along the years, I can't recall ever buying any costly gift. It was always something meaningful and cute rather than bling-bling or tacky. Even being of hindu origin, the family gathering on Christmas day, just like for catholics, has always been part of our DNA. I even remember how respectfully we all followed the mass on tv one year.
My brother recently confided in me that he has converted to Catholicism and took baptism a few months ago. At first that took me aback but rather shortly after I felt relieved and understood that he, too, needed to be on a path which would bring him solace and serenity. My nephews Vincent, Christophe and Romain, born catholics have hindu blood running through their veins from their mother’s side. They took janeu when they were kids, meaning that they performed a rite of passage that hindu males usually go through so as to study under a guru and observe hindu values. I live in a family with so many mix and match that at times, it all becomes a bit confusing... Back to Christmas I am sad at how unchristmassy it feels this year with the current context. It kind of leaves me with the thought whether I need to fetch my Charles Dickens and a hot chocolate to make the magic work zing-o again.
