The Christmas tree is said to have its roots in the mysterious concept of the "tree of paradise". Of the more credible stories I have heard about it, one relates to Saint Boniface. Saint Boniface was the patron saint of Germany, a missionary who preached Christianity during the 8th century in the Frankish Empire. A legend of the Christmas tree, perhaps the earliest, relates to the time St. Boniface (Apostle of Germany) was sermonizing against idolatry to a tribe of Germanic Druids. To prove that oak tree was not sacred and inviolable, he fell one on the spot. As the tree toppled over, it crushed everything which came in its way, except for a small fir sapling. Saint Boniface conjectured the survival of the fir as a miracle, and proclaimed it as "Tree of Christ". It thence became a tradition to celebrate Yule Tide by planting and nurturing fir saplings.

As a child, I did insist on buying a glitzy little replica of a Christmas tree which I would decorate with shiny bells and stars humming away "Star of wonder, star of light." I knew many carols in my innocent days, which are now fading away from my memory. One which I remember distinctly still is

Long Time Ago In Bethlehem
So The Holy Bible Says
Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ
Was born on Christmas-day
Hark now hear the angels sing
A new king born today
And man will live forever more
Because of Christmas-day.

This carol has a nice chime to it, which recreates all the memories from my school days, where our teachers genuinely endeavoured to inculcate in us the spirit with which the festival should be celebrated. Whether it was those innocent 'Merry X-Mas' cards we made, or the repeated story telling sessions of 'A Christmas Carol'- there is much I miss as I type out this post with my fingers freezing over the key board. Yes, a nice family dinner, complete with a ritualistic plum cake will form a part of my celebrations. What I do not have this year, though, is a nice Christmas Tree- which I really wanted to decorate and which would have added a glow to the otherwise blanketed by winter, lazy atmosphere of my home.

However, not having the tree is not really making me morose for now. In fact, thanks to the plethora of wonderfully positive statuses I have read since oooo hours on facebook, conveying wishes from virtual unknowns to more unknowns, I have this feeling which has begun to grow on me with surprising intensity. I'm being lulled into believing that occasions like Christmas are to step back and invest time on counting one's blessings and making efforts to preserve and cherish them. The wonderful charisma of the Yule festival does, for some signify the impending close of a year- for others, it brings with itself the optimism of preparing and planning for an altogether, yet untouched new year with promises and opportunities we neither know nor can guess about. More often than not, life becomes pretty or ugly simply by what we choose to see in it. Said a very smart man once- 'Twixt the optimist and pessimist/ the difference is droll/ the optimist sees the doughnut/ the pessimist the hole.

Alright, so now I am happy, and looking forward to not just a day, but a whole week of fun, optimism and celebrations, till I settle down into a new year with some new responsibilities and some old dreams firmly planted in my heart and mind. What is the most beautiful thing about Christmas for me? It is the description defying aura which this festival builds around itself. So powerful is the spirit surrounding the festival, that it ensnares all- who own this festival and those who simply choose to flow along with its bliss. I began my Christmas by making a wish- a secret and seemingly impossible, but a wish nonetheless. Baking a cake is next on my agenda. Calling friends, catching up on missed details will form a sure part of my day today. And when I am done laughing and sharing this festive mirth, a Christmas movie, tucked away in front of the tv in a warm quilt on my couch, would just be great to end my day with. Should it be Its A Wonderful Life? Or, no. Since romance is the flavor of the season, may be Serendipity, with all its lucky coincidences, and faith igniting madness would be a better prescription for my romantic health.

And for all the lovely people I know, and who know me- I wish you a very happy holiday season! I hope you all have the best time of year today, and still better times as more days and years go by. May you create the happiest memories for yourself and others, and learn to value everything of value in your life. Count your blessings, if you are to celebrate the day as I will. May be, share with me what are the things that make you feel blessed, or simply happy for existing. The love and blessings of our parents, the warmth and comfort of near and distant family and the infinite care/concern/love showered on us by a few close friends are the common blessings we all should be happy about. I know I can witness life's largesse in the small blessings it bestows on me. I can imagine my whole  elusive tree in a little fern which serves me more than that tree as a favorite bookmark surviving all the seasons of a year. I'm sure with a little effort you all can see God's infinite  grace too.

Psst...for all my special ones, and you all well know I am talking about you, I do remember you all in my prayers. No kidding. I actually do. 

To end, the SERENITY PRAYER

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference."

The book cover- quite inviting

When the subject of a piece of writing is as rich and extraordinary as the much hailed actor Om Puri, a reader's expectations from it shoot right through the sky. Not only the reader, but the writer too should feel blessed for getting a chance to take an intimate peek into his life, and winning an opportunity for leaving  a permanent mark in the literature of Indian Cinema.

Alas! This biography does nothing to enthrall the reader, or increase the esteem of the biographer, or of the subject of the biography itself. Om Puri has been one of the most admired Indian actors now since an era. His acting skills boast of an almost preternatural glow, which accord to him an immutable hallowed status in the history of not just Indian, but world cinema. He has been one of my firm personal favorites. I had, for long, been watching his movies without any specific admiration for this glorious character actor he is, but it was a chance viewing of Govind Nihalani's Droh Kaal which left me completely enamoured of both, Om Puri, and his equally talented co-star, Mita Vashisht. There after, his cameo in Gandhi, his riveting performance in East Is East and My Son The Fanatic, his brilliant cop-act in Ardh Satya and his powerful baritone- all drew me towards discovering with awe one of the finest and most consistent of character actors ever.

Naturally, I was expecting a lot from this book. Visually, it fulfilled all my expectation. Interspersed in to the biography are a large number of photos, both from Om's personal and cinematic life. Though not placed in any logical order, they still aid the reader to help translate perspectives into lucid images in his mind. As far as the story of Om told in the book is concerned, it tells you that he was a child born and brought up in extremely adverse and perverse environments. He was the last born, and one of the very few surviving children of his parents. He grew up earning his own bread from a very early age, and diligence and sobriety were permanent traits of his character, especially as far as his devotion to his art is concerned. He studied at NSD, and subsequently at IIFT- Pune, in the august company of some of India's best known parallel cinema actor and directors like Rohini Hattangadi, Naseeruddin Shah, Saeed Mirza, et al. His looks did not fit the the conventional criterion for an 'actor, villain or a comedian', thus he had to work extra hard to prove his mettle, and establish himself as an extremely bankable character actor. Today, he is well recognized face in India and abroad. In fact, the finesse he brings in each act of his got him more fame abroad, specifically in the UK, than in India. This is ironical given the fact that Om could barely speak Englisjh as a student and carried a heavy Punjabi accent when he could. He is settled at present in Bombay with his wife Nandita and son Ishaan.

With Smita Patil-the queen of art cinema, in Sadgati. His portrayal of an untouchable , Dukhi, won his instant acclaim from film aficionados far and wide.

I am late in mentioning it, but Nandita C. Puri, his wife, is the author of this book. Unlikely Hero- the title was coined by Shyam Benegal, and Nandita was the one trusted with telling Om's story to the world. I must've forgotten mentioning her, because she does an extremely disappointing job of giving words to Om's tale. The tone of the biography is patronizing, to say the least. While I wanted to read a biography, I ended up reading a critique of Om's life, which spent more time delineating on the amorous escapades of a young Om (highly interesting, if I may confess) rather than providing perspectives on Om's nuanced growth as an actor and expounding on his relationship with his art, and fellow artists. Professional relationships I mean.

Om Puri as a rickshaw puller in the City of Joy.

Nandita is 16 years younger to Om, whom she met as a reporter in Calcutta. Their love took flight there and then, as Om battled a crumbling marriage back home with Seema Kapoor. She might have been a good reporter, and this I say because even the honeymoon phase of their relationship she has 'reported', with a glaring lack of any emotional appeal to it. What she does well in the book, the only salable  attribute perhaps, is the job of peppering the narrative with inconsequential minutiae which titillate the gossip friendly nerves in the reader's system and help him keep turning pages. Two pages in the book are penned by Om's son Ishaan- but like the rest of the book, they too are disappointing, for they talk not of much else but Om's addiction to smoke.

Saving grace- the sections in the book penned down by Om himself. He reflects, albeit concisely, on each of his film projects; something which as an Om Puri fan you look forward to. Also, tidbits of a lecture he gave at Whistling Woods make for a worthwhile read. The prologue by late Patrick Swayze is perhaps the highest point in the whole biography; its appropriate placement at least helps a reader to start on a good note.

Concluding gossip- Om Puri's married life, ever since the release of this biography has been on the rocks. It has been reported, rather recently, that Om wants to divorce Nandita and return to his ex-wife, Seema Kapoor. Speculations are rife that the sleazy revelations of Om's life, which include his 'curious caressing of his maternal aunt's exposed tummy', his teenage 'deflowering' at the hands of an old 'toothless' maid, inter alia , made by Nandita in the Unlikely Hero are the cause behind Om's decision. For me, more important than this gossip is the hope that Om gets another biography to his name, which does justice to his persona as it is remembered on the pages of cinematic history.

Ishaan, Nandita and Om at the book launch. The happy family in the picture is not going through tough phase, and this very biography is rumoured to be the cause.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred. 

(- Lord Tennyson, 

The Charge of the Light Brigade)

In this blog post, I have nothing original to write, but a personal inspiration to present. The Blind Side, starring Sandra Bullock, is one of the best movies I have ever seen. I caught the first show of this movie with my little sweetheart, Aavika, and I can only thank her for endorsing this movie when I had a dozen others to choose from. The plot runs around the relationship shared by a white mother and an adopted black son, who has not so pleasant a history to cherish as on his memory-scape. A keen essence of the movie is how in the most unlikely of relationships can one locate an identity for oneself. Personally, the valuable lesson I learnt was that when we extend our hand to someone, we when offer help, or support to those in need, it is not them we should expect to feeling grateful. It is us, who should feel grateful, for having been capable and privileged enough to help. In the pragmatic world, often a lot of us forget this thing.

Another very, very dear thing this movie left with me is an essay. Little, but worthy. The protagonist of this movie writes this essay, extremely critical for his grades, the base of which he chooses as the poem an excerpt from which is quoted at the beginning of this post. The Charge Of The Light Brigade is an oft quoted, classic poem written by Lord Tennyson themed on the Battle of Balaclava, which took place during the Crimean War of around the 1850s. The extrapolation of the poem is a thought invoking one, and made me think and think deep. Even those who claim to be genius at pansophy could not have extracted and applied the meaning of a poem on a theme as anachronistic and difficult as a war to the common life of an ordinary youngster who has battles to fight everyday and a world beyond his reach to understand. And yes, an extrapolation glazed in the beauty of simple words of a below average, struggling student. I made use of the pause button to note it whole down; that is how twisted I can be at times. But with due selfishness, I am glad I did. Here it is.

"Courage is a hard thing to figure. You can have courage based on a dumb idea or a mistake, but you are not supposed to question adults or your coach or your teachers, because they make the rules. May be they know best, but may be they don't. It all depends on who you are and where you come from. Didn't at least one of the 600 guys think of giving up and joining with the other side? I mean, Valley of Death, that's pretty salty stuff. Thats why courage is tricky. Should you always do what others tell you to do? Sometimes, you might not even know why you are doing something. I mean, any fool can have courage. But honor, that's the real reason you either do something or you don't. Its who you are and may be who you want to be. If you die trying for something important then you have both honor and courage and that's pretty good. I think that's what the poet was saying, that you should hope for courage and try for honor. And may be even pray that the people telling you what to do have some too. "

In the most basic of ways, this piece elevates my spirits when I am on the verge of giving up on dreams and wishes the realization of which seems to be an arduous uphill task. If the dream seems difficult, its realization will be worth it. It is easy to take the easy path, isn't it? I mean, I did many times settle down on the easy course and allowed the comfort of that route to shape my future. My problem is with uncertainty. It is a condition I can't handle. Often I feel pressured when the conduct I observe and the decision I follow come imposed from above and are not a product of my thoughts and discernment. But my dreams have flowered in that very framework. And now, they are my dreams. They seem difficult, but that just about makes them worth it. I am still not comfortable with uncertainty, (which now for me with last a mammoth 3 months) but then, who is? We just develop strength and faith to deal with it, and diligence to overcome it.

So while the passage above me teaches about courage, an interesting caveat it adds is about honor. Dreams, goals, aims, are a universal phenomenon. But at times they are relentlessly pursued. Foolishly pursued. I mean, any fool can have courage. We can aim for the stars, but may be sometimes its important to bear in mind that humanly, it possible to go only as far as the moon.

I appeared for my last Civil Services (Mains) Exam on Wednesday, and now I have simply no idea what to do with life. About that I will ponder later. For now I could do with thanking a few close ones

1. Dad, for the cups prompt cups of lemon tea served night and day.

2. Ma, for being the best Sanskrit teacher in the world. 

3. Maitreyi and RLA college libraries, for supplying books which have vanished from everywhere else.

4. Vijaya Ma'am and Dr. Sales, for showing the first streaks of confidence in me.

5. Twishmay Shankar and Anup Bishnoi- for telling stories that helped me draft perfect essays.

6.Pallak Jagga and Mayank Saroha for staying connected and sending ceaseless confidence boosting wishes.

and,

7. Cheistha Kochhar, for not just answering random, esoteric, perplexing questions all along, but for also being an inspiration for perfection.

I do not know the news I will hear in February, but all you people, are enormously special. Thank you!