Ever since I can remember, Christmas with my family has been spent in our ancestral home, with no exceptions. As kids, me and my sister were furious with this idea of our dad, especially ever since my grandparents passed away, it seemed irrelevant. We would watch over television how the modern world celebrated this day and feel envious for not being a part of it. Our efforts to convince dad didn't yield any dividends. He never budged and still refuses to celebrate it elsewhere. So every single year we fail to realise any vacation plans during the last week of a calendar and pack our bags for a 200 km drive.
Witness to the past
Coming of age, now I see this small family trip as an opportunity to explore the places where my parents had been in their childhood and most part of their adolescence. As the villages of my both parents happen to be on the same route, we always pass by those primary schools they visited, those Banyan trees my father climbed with his friends, those small hamlets which have now disappeared into history due to the urban outgrowths and those agricultural fields they had seen their parents work in the sun. The conversations in the car about their past which was "filled with struggles" and a new anecdote every time just overshadows the ordeals which every millennial considers today. Ordeals related to lack of connectivity and technological infrastructure in the villages. Plus it also makes me overjoyed to witness the historical and present landscapes through my parent's eyes. With few mandatory stopovers for tea and ration we would reach our village just in time to attend the Midnight Mass of Christmas.
Growing realisations
Christmas day and the next day or so are mostly spent either roaming around or staying at home. Spending some hours with the native kids will make you realise that how much we always complain of not having enough. These kids never get a Christmas present, let alone the Christmas cake. But they greet you with a genuine smile, a smile that's now largely missing in our so called civilised urban society. These kids don't cry foul over power cuts on the day of Christmas or not having savoury meals or not having new toys or dresses. They never complained of any missing decoration in their houses. They were happily engaged in celebrating the festival with their friends with minimal crackers. One time they took me to the village's common assembly ground where people were celebrating the night with folk dance and folk music under a battery- illuminated lamp. There was no exotic wine or fine cuisine but they all seemed genuinely elated and certainly without complaints. The celebration went long into that night. Though my experience highlights the glaring disparities prevailing in our society yet it provides us the time for introspection.
In the hindsight I see how much we are blinded by and addicted to materialist worlds that actually don't matter. And how much we spend our time and energies behind our obsession for attaining perfection in things that are futile.
Being grateful
Every experience has its own lessons to take. The village visits have offered me to ponder over the joy that lies in the little things of life and being grateful for every reason. That the glittering life of the cities and fancy posts on social media weigh less than the clean landscape and satisfying attitude of the hinterland. The urban mask of smile behind the envious character, fails to develop the camaraderie that the people of countryside have developed, with their genuine intent. And finally, experiencing your roots through such visits, not only makes you feel better as a person but more humane. So never hesitate on making those trips you're prejudiced about, it might just be a beautiful lesson in life's chapter.
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