The winter morning embraces us with her white muslin fogs as we stand in the golden sunlight, and listen to the sounds in the air. Beats,music,children's voices and laughter. Fathers and mothers walking by, taking children with them, to the church. A rustic church which adorns itself with candles,bells,glittering papers,balloons,stars and balls. Hawkers sit on their temporary stalls and sell cakes. Big cakes, small cakes, burnt cakes, plum cakes, thick cakes, thin cakes, fruit cakes, branded cakes -- cakes of all creed, all breed, all shapes, all size. Oranges, joy-nogorer moa and picnic people screaming their lungs out. Joy flushes the morning air as sweaters, monkey-caps, chadars, mufflers, gloves and socks all walk by, run, tease, laugh, smile and smile and smile. Sorrows and sufferings cringe their existence all through the year, but one day, one winter morning becomes so different. Tell me, do you see their faces, their simple joy at spending quality time with family and friends? Do you really think that they are the sinners suffering for a sin they have been tied to? The sin lies at their feet and redemption laughs. Yet I see some slimy presences that would again rise their monstrosities and gulp down such simple pleasures.
The baby is born. We look at his face, his chubby baby face, his tiny fingers and wonder .... His sacrifice hasn't gone waste, the rebeller, the man who created a movement of Love, like Sri Chaitanya did. His Love exists in the happy faces that laugh on a Christmas morning. The baby smiles in his cradle as others look on.
Come, let us close our eyes and make some wishes.
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