Christmas means a week of fun, ribbon-wrapped gifts, partying for nights till it climaxes to a whole night bash to usher in a new year. Public display of merry-making is on; dancing and drinking are, sure, an add-on.
I went to Santiniketan on twenty-fifth December almost a decade back. As I and my friend went around the fair ground, a faint voice came in from a distance. We followed the voice. After losing our way a couple of times, we were headed towards the right spot.
It was found that in a clump of Sonajhuri trees, close to the khoai, almost a mile in from the main road, some elderly people, ex-ashramites, gathered and narrated their past experiences to each other over a low-volume mic. Their narration brought out vividly those days of Viswabharati when nature cradled life in Santiniketan. The Sonajhuri trees and their rustling leaves were a perfect backdrop to the assembly.
After sharing their experiences, these octogenarians stood up and sang out “Amader Santiniketan,” clapping their hands happily.
No more Santa. No more exhibition of inebriated ecstasy. But a natural way of bonding between people coming from different places, including overseas, and nature. And yes, the very decorative Christmas tree was replaced by the upright Sonajhuri. Quaint and cool.