Let the christmas bells ring

Christmas eve in Kolkata is a fabulous affair and every Kolkattan actively take part in the celebrations. Dating back from the British times, Kolkata has been the center of fun, frolic and celebrations of alien festivals, though one doesnt really know as to how Kolkata draped itself in international colours even more than three hundred years ago. Whatever be the reason, my attempt here is not to find the genesis of such festivities in Calcutta. As ususal the entire city was adorned like a newly wed bride with colorful lights and balloons all across and one could smell the sweet fragrance of joy and gaiety. The daily news papers were full of mesmerizing advertisement of Christmas celebrations in Park Street, the epicenter of Christmas celebration. My wife exclaimed- " look we have been in Calcutta and Kolkata for brief periods ,but never have been to Park street on Christmas eve, lets all make it this time as no one knows when we move out of Kolkata". Being a claustrophobic, the very thought of jammed streets, honking vehicles , no parking space and crammed restaurants made me already feel nauseating, but frankly did not have the courage to contradict or oppose. At around eight in the evening, me ,my wife and teenage daughter set off for the much touted destination. Driving through droves of joy walkers who had everything except little or no respect for traffic rules, it took me almost an hour to reach Park street, only to be told that no parking slots are available. As a good samaratarin, I dropped off my family promising them to be back after parking the vehicle. Almost half an hour , a lot of argument, cajoling and paying four times the usual parking fees is what it took to find a place termed as parking slot. Battle half won and a sense of accomplishment, I waded my way through the teeming crowds, growing by every minute and now looked like an ocean of humanity. Young boys and girls in colorful dresses, most of them barely dressed in spite of the biting cold and chilly winds,were descending in scores from somewhere and it was now difficult to advance without brushing against each other. Strong perfumes and gadgets all over the place reminded me about our illustrious gen next, their love for branded goods and their proximity with each other spoke about their openness in relationship. I was already feeling exasperated,partly by the crowd and partly by the thought that everything has changed over the last couple of years and was changing faster than imagination, towards a better or worse situation was definitely not in my mind. Taking a short cut through one of the dark alleys in order to reach faster, I was walking on the foot path when I noticed a little girl holding the hands of a small boy and trying to console him. The boy was crying loudly and telling" Didi, do we get something to eat as I have not eaten anything from the morning and look Didi ,it is so cold that I am shivering " . The little girl trying to give her some consolation was telling "Babla, my dear brother- today everyone is celebrating Burradin and I am sure we will find someone to give us little money so that we can have food, and now instead of breaking down and crying,it would be better if you try again for begging and listen, just rush to the cars when they stop at the red signal".  The boy wiped away his tears and sternly said " I dont know what this Burradin is all about, but cars are not allowed in Park street and huge crowd is walking down the road. I have been begging from the evening but not even one person has looked up to me, leave apart giving me anything".

"All hotels in Park street are full of people and long queues, every one seems to be in a festival mood but none of them has got the time to look down and give me something. Even the Darwan chacha of Moogambo restaurant, who manages to get us the left over food on other days ,shooed me away from the hotel and told do not come near the hotel today, it is Burradin".

Didi, why does this Burradin come and even if it comes , why dont people think about children like us. I will pray God to make this Burradin a Chhotadin so that atleast our Park street will remain as usual and Darwan chacha will give us the leftovers neatly packed in a box.

The child's conviction about his argument infront of God to convert  Burradin to a Chhotadin amazed me and as I walked past them I put my hands into my wallet and took out a few currency notes, stuffed it into  the boy's hands  and before he could look up at me ,I had already mingled with the crowd. I turned back and saw the boy running back to his sister with a large smile on his face.