Here Comes the Sun

So the winter solstice has come and gone, the days are growing longer again, and the snow has finally melted after my first ever white Christmas. I'm used to Christmas being primarily a religious holiday, rather than the annual traditional family gathering; where I'm from, this happens at the secular harvest festival near the full moon at the end of summer -- although the weather is more like spring then, with blue skies, blossoming flowers, and butterflies everywhere at the end of the two-and-a half-month monsoon -- everyone overseas flies home, government offices close for three days, there are dances, pageants, parades, games, and crazy sales, and people stuff themselves silly on meals with countless courses. Even so, when 95% of my classmates drove or flew home for the break, I felt a pang at spending my first Christmas away from home. And then it turned out to be the best one ever.
 
First of all, there was the snow. I will try to spare you more details of my continuing besottment with the white stuff...but it's magical to me, who has grown up closer to the sun, near the warm Gulf of Mexico and Bay of Bengal. I recently discovered though that snow can also clean things off -- no sooner had I gotten inspired to do a random act of kindness, and enjoyed scooping a nice amount of it off the neighbors car and then using it to scrub a nasty spot off before it was too late, than she walked up and caught me (Big smile..."keep going!!")! Then, there were the lights around town...cheesy designs in all colors, which still managed to make it look like fairyland. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

The spell began with our Christmas Eve supper, which those of us remaining gathered for at my house (except for one classmate and his family, since he got sick). This helped to dispel the unnatural quiet of flatmatelessness, and was preceded by a massive frenzy of baking: applesauce, new potatoes, squash with molasses, chickpea salad, steak, peas, corn, green beans with bacon and without, plum jam, carrot cake, pecan pie...store-bought Christmas cake, mulled wine, Ribena & lemonade, Coke, tea, etc., assorted chocolates & biscuits, and ambrosia (well named) aka Devon custard. We also had Christmas crackers, Christmas music, paper crowns, transatlantic Skype connectivity, and gigantic smiles.  After supper, we all, of different countries, cultures, and faiths, went to Midnight Mass together, which was extremely moving.

As we were waiting for the service to start and whispering about things like how beautiful the candle arrangements were, someone leaned over in the pews and said to us, "The turkey goes in at 6 and comes out at 12." We looked at each other with a wild surmise, thinking this must be code for  'it's six minutes till midnight so you really need to be quiet now.' It turned out he was just confirming the query of one classmate, who had remembered from previous years that the church across the street held a Christmas day lunch celebration. As we parted afterwards, she and another student convinced me to join them there the next day. I reluctantly agreed, even though I was still getting over the flu and just wanted to spend my day sleeping in, Skyping overseas relatives, and sitting around my warm home with the leftovers, rather than sliding across the frozen town again, in my new wellies and hot pink thermal Secret Santa gift socks, to sit around being shy among strangers.  So, the next day I arrived at the church precisely at twelve (a feat for me...I was raised on IST), poked my head in (OK, peered through the glass), realized almost no-one was inside yet, and sat on the porch catching my breath at the snowy scene unfolding across the road -- the sun breaking through pine trees that shielded gravestones, squirrels leaping through bare branches that stretched just taller than the church tower, and a stark blue sky filled with flocks of doves whiter than the snow taking wing.

And it is a good thing it was breathtaking because I waited on that porch for almost an hour, during which I would have texted the people who had gotten me out there in the first place if I'd remembered to bring my phone, and also during which three kind people and probable church elders asked me several times if I wasn't too cold/would like to join them inside, two kids ran back and forth, and multiple senior citizens crossed the threshold and smiled at me, especially when I helped hold the door for them, which was preferable to trying and failing to sink through the floor. Finally, they started the announcements inside, and I decided to quit being ridiculously rude and bite the bullet, picked up my cold feet (get it?) and went in.

There was one spot left at one of the tables, so they seated me between a man in a suit and woman in a sweater held together by a safety pin. It turned out it was a charity dinner, attended by the town mayor, church members, patrons, locals with mental disabilities, and homeless guests. Being none of these I spent the first few minutes at the table literally clenching my fingers and curling my toes underneath it, feeling embarrassingly like a fraud even though I'd contributed, until I realized that I was unconditionally accepted by the simple act of just showing up and spending my Christmas lunch with my disadvantaged neighbors, albeit by grudging accident. A few days earlier, my pagan cousin had posted for Christmas on her Facebook page "Remember, the day is not about you," but it was only sitting there surrounded by totally selfless people that her meaning hit home. My mother reminisces about one Christmas where she and her best friend decided to spend it with a group of orphans and took a tree, decorations, food, and presents, and had the best gift ever when they saw their faces. I had a similar experience, surrounded by people who were happy whether I was listening or talking; from the chemotherapy survivor and mental patient, who spent less time speaking of her battle than jokingly complaining that her head was too small, and swapping paper crowns as she tried to get hers to stay atop her patchy hair; to the Welsh actor, who spent more time helping me complete my puzzle and trading jokes with our table ("you're a-maze-ing, get it?) than describing his study under Sir Anthony Hopkins.

After spending the rest of the time listening to poetry and piano recitals, a skit, and speeches by the mayor and Santa, complete with chocolate bar gifts (at last!), and helping with the washing-up (industrial dish washers rock!!), I wasn't quite ready to go home yet, so I walked the longer route back through the riverside park and gardens. This is where the snow and the lights come in. The sun was just setting, and a family ahead of me threw snowballs that their dog tried to bite, while elderly couples strolled across the bridge, ahead of a young father pulling his daughter's doll on their sled. As the horizon glowed, and the trees and river darkened, a shadowy V appeared in the distance, growing until it covered the sky, and a loud honking conversation broke the stillness. A crowd of geese splashed down in noisy synchrony, shoving the ducks aside to get at the crumbs being scattered off the frozen jetty. As dusk deepened, flock after flock flew over and under the bridge arch picked out in lights, shattering their reflection as their wingbeats made the air hum. Dogs off their leashes barked across the river at the echoes of their own voices, as I stood in the small bankside gazebo on a floor of ice and watched the white smoke rise from the snowy roofs opposite, trying to pretend my feet weren't frozen too.

When I finally went home, full to the brim save for a faint regret at the missed opportunity of my first snowball fight, I found waiting for me six missed calls, and one Facebook message informing me that my classmates and I had been invited to Christmas lunch, at the house of the earache sufferer who had since recovered.  It turned out that earlier they had come by and poked their heads into the charity lunch looking for me, right when I must have been in the kitchen (drying spoons and checking out the trifle). It must have been before Santa's arrival, because my classmate, who was wearing a Santa hat, said he'd seen everyone's face momentarily brighten when they spotted him.

By the time I returned the call(s), everyone had finished eating but was still there watching a movie, so our host came and collected me and the leftover carrot cake, in the car his family had rented for their guests, who had since cancelled, being stuck in Austria in the snow. So I ended up eating my third giant meal in 24 hours, then sitting in front of their fireplace in their 5-star apartment ("I know it's crazy but nothing else was available, we'd just sold our house, and we were tired of looking! Our neighbors include a couple who live in Monaco, another who summer in South Africa, and one of the twelve remaining British WWII Spitfire pilots!"), nibbling gourmet Farmer's Market chocolates and drinking sparkling elderflower presse, and watching the end of Home Alone and then all of A White Christmas. And if that wasn't enough to erase any lingering doubts of my spending a sunless Christmas, our host recruited his teenage son to help properly initiate me into the ways of snowball combat (pack, duck, and strike!).

Then I went home by myself, but not really alone, and Skyped my overseas family till my voice went hoarse, including sharing a detailed conversation with my niece-equivalent on the merits of the Barbie I sent her, and college survival tips with my high school graduate cousin. 

A year ago today, I was flying from home alone for the first time, in the middle of the night. I'll be back some day, like the geese after the snow melts and the world tilts toward the sun again. Meanwhile, those crumbs I put out that froze in the snow have, since it thawed, been eaten by a robin and a blackbird. And things like the following remind me of what I've left, why I'm here, and what I look forward to returning to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z65T-ENUYf4&feature=related  (from the movie Taare Zameen Par, about a dyslexic child who shines with the help of his art teacher, cliched yet brilliant. The end is the best part)

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(Translated lyrics, from bollywoodthadka.com/taarezameenpar.com)

Kholo kholo darwaaze, parde karo kinare

(open these doors, and draw the curtains open)

khoonte se bandhi hai hawa, mil ke chudao saare

(the breeze is tethered, c’mon you all, let’s set it free)

saare, saare …..

(all of us)

aajao patang le ke, apne hi rang le ke

(come with your kites, and all the colours alike)

aasmaan ka sham-e-ana, aaj hamein hai sajaana

(because we have to paint the sky, and decorate its canvas)

hai sajaana, hai sajaana

(oh! we have to decorate it)

kyon iss kadar hairaan tu

(why are you so worried, my friend)

mausam ka hai mehmaan tu

(you are the child of myriad seasons)

o duniya sajee tere liye

(this world awaits you, all dressed up)

khud ko zara pehchaan tu

(discover yourself, know you are the star)

tu dhoop hai, chamm se bikhar

(for you are the sun, radiating light with sheer joy)

tu hai nadi, o bekhabar

(you, the unknown, are the river full of life)

behe chal kahi, udd chal kahi

(so flow like the stream, and float like the wind)

dil khush jahaan,

(for where your heart finds its happiness)

teri to manzil hai vaheen…

(is your true destination, after all)

ho…kyon iss kadar haeraan tu

(oh, why do you worry so?)
mausam ka hai mehmaan tu

(you're a guest, at nature's behest)

baasi zindagi udaasi taazi hasne ko raazi

(even the stale life, is desperate to laugh out loud, afresh)

garamaa garam saari abhi abhi hai utaari

(ready like hot cakes, fresh from the oven)

ho…..zindagi toh hai bataasha, meethi meethi si hai aasha

(life is spun sugar, filled with sweet hopes and dreams)

chakle rakhle hatheli se dhak le isse

(taste it, hoard it, and protect it in the palm of your hand)

tujh mein agar, pyaas hai

(because if you feel thirsty)

baarish ka ghar bhi paas hai

(even the rain Gods will come calling)

o …roke tujhe koi kyun bhala

(why should anyone come in your way)

sang sang tere aakash hai

(when the sky itself walks besides you, with the like endless potential)

tu dhoop hai, chamm se bikhar

(for you are the sun, spread your rays with sheer joy)

tu hai nadi, o bekhabar

(you, the unknown, are the river full of life, don't you know?)

behe chal kahi, udd chal kahi

(so flow like the stream, and float like the wind)

dil khush jahaan,

(for where your heart finds its happiness)

teri to manzil hai vaheen…

(you'll find your purpose after all)

ho…kyon iss kadar haeraan tu

(oh, why do you worry so?)
mausam ka hai mehmaan tu

(you're a guest, at nature's behest)

(repeat first verse)

khul gaya …aasmaan ka rasta, dekho khul gaya
(it opened up, the path to the sky is revealed, full of endless joys)
mil gaya …kho gaya tha jo sitara, mil gaya

(and so, was found the star, which got lost in the mayhem)

roshan hui saari zameen

(and so the world celebrated with the land flooded with starlight)

jugmug hua saara jahaan

(and so the world celebrated with the universe aglitter, filled with light)

udne ko tu azad hai

(you are free to soar, wherever you want)

bandhan koi ab hai kahaan

(for there is nothing which can fetter you now)

tu dhoop hai.....

(for you are the sun...