|
|
 |
 |
| Sunday, 28 December 2003 |
 |
|
 |
Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
|
A time for reflection by Carol Aloysius It is almost midnight, Except for the monotonous ticking of a clock and the loud snores of my faithful old man William, the house is very quiet. With my three dogs comfortably spread around me to keep me company we wait to herald the New Year; 2004. I can hardly believe it is exactly an year ago, on a moonlit night such as this, that I had sat in this very room, listening to the strains of well loved songs and melodies of yester-year on my radio as I carefully wrapped my New Year gifts. Today, the table is already laid out with silver candle stands and decorations to greet the New Year. I look at the old grandfather clock that has been in our family for nearly fifty years. In a short while my children will be coming to take me to church to attend the midnight mass. But before I leave the house there is one thing I have to do. I have to put time on hold, and go on that nostalgic journey down memory lane, as I have done over the years. That is the only way I can re-capture the true spirit of the Christmas season and New Year, now forgotten under the weight of commercial advertising and other mundane gimmicks. I can already hear the first burst of fireworks, a prelude to the storm of crackers that will greet in the New Year. In a flash my mind goes back to those serene years when we celebrated New Year in the country side one memorable year, when my parents decided to show us how this festive season was observed by simple village folk.
As the clock struck twelve, we, like our friends Soma, Rupa, Tilak and Ananda, rushed to greet, first, our parents then our elders in traditional village style, kneeling at their feet to receive their blessings for the New Year. Over the radio I hear one of my favourite New Year songs "Auld Lang Syne" being sung by a group of young choristers. My mind lingers on a time when we as a family would sing the same well loved song standing together in our hall, holding each other's hands as my father led the singing with his rich baritone voice accompanied by my mother's sweet soprano while we children joined them, singing out that popular New Year number lustily. Our voices were often out drowned by the loud sound of crackers from neighbouring homes, but we would continue to sing until the clock struck twelve. On the stroke of midnight, my father would grab my mother's hands and rush upto the Christmas tree still standing near the doorway with its decorations of mistletoe and bulbs and kiss my mother, and then hug all of us as he handed out our New Year gifts. Cake and wine would be served with the traditional Kiribath and Kavum and gifts were given to all the servants and friends who dropped in even in the early hours of the morning. At nine in the morning, we would dress up in our New Year finery to attend the morning service at the Methodist Church at Kollupitiya returning home for a festive home cooked lunch. New Year Resolutions (who makes them nowadays?) were a 'must' in our family especially for us children. Our parents insisted we make a list of these resolutions and hang them in our rooms. "Remember to keep these promises you have made to yourself" my mother would remind us at different times of the year while my father took it on himself to `monitor' our progress- especially in areas such as keeping our rooms tidy and neat, being punctual and helpful around the house, helping one another and sharing our books and toys with others less privileged. The years go back to the time when carol singers visited our home on Christmas eve. One unforgettable year they decided to visit our home on New Year's Day instead. It had rained that particular Christmas day and our choristers from the Deaf and Blind school at Ratmalana had been unable to make that trip due to bad weather. So my mother came instead just as the New Year had dawned and awoke us with their delightful rendering of New Year favourites. When they had finished, my mother invited them indoors for a hot cup of coffee and Christmas cake. A further surprise awaited us that special New Year's night when hot on the heels of the Blind School choir arrived the Salvation Army band complete with their brass instruments to give us a delightful rendering of well loved melodies of yester-year, ending with Auld Lang Syne. Naturally we were thrilled since they had paid us a visit at Christmas time as well allowing us children to play out tunes on their polished heavy musical instruments before they left us. A more recent New Year's Day comes into my mind, when we listened to the radio announcement giving us the happy news of a ceasefire to the prolonged ethnic war. This meant and that the people of the North and East would be able to enjoy Christmas and the New Year in a spirit of peace for the first time after twenty years, while we residents of Colombo and the suburbs could get about our daily work without fear. It was news that gladdened even the hardest heart and we prayed that Peace would continue to hold. It is almost twelve o'clock now and the New Year will begin soon. Outside the air is already filled with the sound of crackers and fireworks. With every fresh burst of crackers, I seem to hear the explosion of bombs and the voices of thousands of innocent men, women and children crying out for peace as they hide behind rubble and crouch in ditches to escape the bullets and bombs that can snuff out their lives in a moment. In Africa, in India, in Pakistan, in Israel, from east to west, the swelling cry for peace, for justice, for equality can be heard everywhere. I hear the voices of children orphaned by war, by AIDs, and deprived of their childhood by poverty, child abuse, by bonded slavery. Joining them are the voices of young women, victims of rape and domestic violence, sexual harassment, gender inequality, urging all world leaders to stop the abuse, stop the violence and end the stigma and discrimination that makes them lesser mortals than their more privileged counterparts. And above their collective cry, I catch a glimpse of a light that breaks the darkness of despair. It is only a candle light but it is to me a symbol of hope. I then hear the first cry of my new born grandchild a symbol of new life and hope . In another minute it will be 12 midnight. I have one last chore to complete. I pull out my notebook and write out my new year wish in large letters... "PEACE to All and a Blessed and Joyful New Year to Everyone." |
|
News | Business | Features
| Editorial | Security Produced by Lake House |
There were no expensive fireworks , just a few boxes of `nila' and of
course crackers- mostly home made ones like the noisy batta crackers that
the village boys excelled in making.As children we joined in lighting
these fireworks and sat with our country friends to greet in the New Year
with baila dancing, Kavum and Kokis.
