Culture & Society

Christmas In Another World

Boudhayan Mukherjee writes two poems on Christmas, one celebrating at a Jain temple and the other on a brown Jesus.

Kashmiri Muslim artisans paint the final touches to products before sending them for Christmas
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HARMONY: Christmas at Jain temple

Nestled amidst the verdant slope of formidable Pareshnath hill
The Topchanchi lake below
A place often frequented by us, the De Nobili Boys of Dhanbad
Draped in their usual khakee and white school uniforms
With the overwhelming frame of Father Dietrich in high boots leading our pack

Standing at the crest, the marble white temple of the Jains
The German Jesuit also bent in prostration before the holy shrine.
His caressing voice still echoes
as he said to the priest 
Pointing at us 
"Please forgive my langoor kids
I've brought them here to celebrate Christmas..."
While we were busy watching the innumerable monkeys flocking the trees like a pearl string.

Clouds shrouded the temple spire
As Father climbed down the crag with all of us following him
The old saint waited a while and touched his holy cross on the temple pillars
It was always easier to descend than climbing up. "Amen," we said in a chorus.

How alluring it looked from the top
Limpid flowed the lake waters infinitely placid 
The shooting of a movie was going on
The Bengali romantic film Sankhabela starred by Uttam and Madhabi
Embracing each other in an adult love scene on a narrow boat in full turmoil
We were not allowed to see at the theatre later.

My Jesus Is Brown Skinned


The birth of Jesus..........                              My thoughts are numb as I failed to discern why the night is so dumb
That frozen nip is yet to arrive under Kashmiri blanket 
The melted icy thrill also not stilled in my city, there is not much cheer
As the war is still on in Palestine, Jerusalem...

I decorated my house like an Abbey of Jesus  
 My Jesus is not like the usual European sketch, albino and bearded
But a bronze-hued complexion with crew-cut hair like the desert dwellers
Very similar to our familiar dark-skinned Krishna 
Slightly tilted head, crucified lord of every nun, their love

We will soon watch his resurrection at a desert hovel 
Once this quiet night 
high jumps the darkness.

(Boudhayan Mukherjee is a bilingual poet, author and translator who started as a student editor and literary secretary at Tagore's Visva Bharati University.)

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