Page 23 - Seniors Today - January Issue
P. 23

First Person













           A sepia-toned


         turn of the year













         There’s a kind of magic in a child’s experience of New Year’s.
         By Vandana Kanoria

         Most of my childhood is stored in the taste        coloured packages we would drive around
         of Quality Street chocolates, the smell of         the glittering fairyland that was Park Street
         dewy green grass in winter, the feel of hand-      where Santa ruled from Christmas Eve till
         knitted sweaters…                                  a few days after the New Year’s. There he
          The best part of New Year’s Day was the           sat in his enormous sleigh, piled with gifts,
         New Year’s Eve, that day of feasting and           beckoning and tantalising; where colourful,
         fun, merriment and loud countdowns, late-          twirling tinsel curled around Christmas
         night adventures, and being so happy for           trees laden with shiny baubles. If we had
         tomorrow that I could not sleep at night.          behaved ourselves, we would be taken to           S Kumar
          December 31 was always marked by a big            that place of love and longing - Flury’s, or to
         shining ‘P’ - presents! It was the only time,      the tony and posh Skyroom, and be treated
         other than birthdays and Diwali, that elders       to pastries, Baked Alaska and a brightly
         bestowed their largesse upon us. Excitement        coloured iced drink poetically named
         knew no bounds as we cousins piled into            Orange Blossom.
         the convertible Chevrolet, with my normally
         strict grandfather who indulged us every           Priceless moments
         year on that day with a trip to Paragon, a         Were these little things? Small moments?
         toy- and bookshop on Calcutta’s swinging           They weren’t little at all. They were the stuff
         Park Street. We were expected to behave            of childhood memories.
         and conduct ourselves with propriety, good          It was perhaps the only day we were
         manners and choose just three things. I lived      allowed to stay up late –beyond 12o’clock; to
         in Enid Blyton land and always chose books,        wait for our parents who were celebrating
         three being a painfully small number for           the end of the year in glamorous and ritzy
         thin paperbacks. Laden with our brightly           night clubs like the Blue Fox, Moulin Rouge


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