The Journal of a Journeyman Journalist

Park Street, Kolkata

11:45 pm

December 24, 2021

The hordes of Tata hatchbacks whizzed past the traffic bots, their drivers a bit over excited by their single day’s reprieve from the stringent traffic control measures. The occasion for this relaxation of rules was the eve of a major festival: a festival whose joyous celebration has become as much a deep rooted part of Bengali culture as the ever popular Robindra Sangeet or the much loved Rosogulla.

Traffic policemen lay lazily in their jeeps, oblivious to the fact that the news reporter on their mobile GPRS televisions was barking away about increased drunk driving around Christmas time. Park Street was, as always, overcrowded with cars, all passengers having braved the traffic just to catch a glimpse of the famous Christmas day decorations.

They were not disappointed.

The streets were full of blinding lights,

Sleighs and reindeer filled the sights.

White and red flooded the eye

The decorations stretched for many a mile.

While the travellers enjoyed their sight, company- sponsored ‘Santas’ moved along in their “real” reindeer sleighs, handing out provisions to the needy, and getting some free publicity in the process. The hustle of the cars merged seamlessly with the relaxed pace of the various Santa Clauses. Only in Kolkata could such a scene exist.

But there was one different camp in the vicinity, distinct from those around.

For, despite all of Kolkata’s Bada Din charm,

There existed those who meant it harm.

For them Christmas is not a festival;

It is but an import, as American as McDonald’s.

One of the many results of evil Capitalism,

A Communist society must not bow down.

I sighed. Some things never change.