festivals tend to spring into focus more when one is compelled to celebrate them without ties. this is when you are forced to look at them afresh, unencumbered by the laughter of family and friends. and so, for the first time in years, i found myself far from home, on what has always been my favourite day.
the morgan library and museum, madison avenue
there are a number of things that drag me to this place on christmas eve. the promise of fewer people, for one. there are three exhibits i have come to see. one on the hedonistic french artist jean-honore fragonard; another celebrating the 250th anniversary of the birth of wolfgang amadeus mozart; and a third on charles dickens.
the exhibits are worth my long walk to the museum. they are, in fact, worth a great many such walks.
i notice crowds on the first floor, and take the elevator for a peek. i am told they have gathered for 'bob dylan's american journey, 1956–1966', the first comprehensive exhibition devoted to dylan's early career.
mozart and fragonard on the ground floor, and they flock to look at schoolbook photographs of zimmerman. sigh.
maybe, then, the cultural differences between america and india aren’t that great. after all, in my country, the death of r k narayan gets a few paragraphs on page 4 of a leading daily. and rahul dravid becoming only the twentieth person to catch a ball so many times makes it to the front page.
times square, 42nd streetit's hard to say whether it's christmas eve or not, when one walks down here. it's lit right through the year, so a festival doesn't really change things.
i know this is a place i must avoid on new year's eve though. for, that is when a few million people will cram themselves into enclosures from noon onwards, waiting for a crystal ball to drop, telling them that another year of their lives has faded into oblivion.
it takes a lot more than bright lights to impress me. i come from mumbai, see? not delhi.
b b king blues club and grill, 42nd street
screaming on top is the neon sign: james brown live, new year's eve! on the street below, near the entrance, is a poster mourning the passing of the godfather of soul.
a man stands before it, holding a young boy in his arms. they stare at the poster. "who's that, daddy?" the boy asks his father, who says nothing, and simply shakes his head sadly before moving away.
words don't come easy when you realize that funk just died, on christmas morning.
st. patrick's cathedral, 49th streetit is a little past 6.00 pm, but you'd never know it without access to a wristwatch. winters in new york are dark, and the christmas lighting has taken over most streets.
outside the cathedral, chaos. officers of the nypd move back and forth, trying to keep in check the seething mass of humanity struggling to walk past the cathedral. thousands stop by the huge christmas tree at the rockefeller center, immortalized more by macaulay culkin in home alone 2 than anything else. the fact that britney spears was spotted here a week ago doesn’t help.
the only difference between this place and midnight mass at any of mumbai’s biggest churches is this -- the folks here wear warmer clothes.
all in all, a rather interesting christmas. and still my favourite time of year.
