“Do you remember what day is it, today?”, when voiced in a sweet feminine voice, this seemingly innocuous question has many a red-blooded male leaping to his feet as if scalded, the blood draining from his face, the fear of God in his suddenly-thumping-in-terror heart. No, I do not take sadistic pleasure in unnecessarily needling the opposite sex. All that I am trying to do is drive home the fact that far too many days of the year have been awarded ‘special status’ these days. It is as if diplomatic passports have been handed out en masse to everyone who got lucky, despite them having nothing to do with an Indian Foreign Service (IFS) qualification.
When people of my generation were younger, we did not have to tax our memories very much. Important days of the year glared out at you from the calendar, proud of their ‘red letter’ status in a uniform sea of black, which marked the other days of the week, except Sundays of course. At the start of the year, there was a special joy in turning the pages of the calendar to check these ‘red letter days’, (mainly important festivals of all religions which made India, India) because they spelt holidays. Imagine the pleasure that we, as school children felt when we saw them adjoining the much- awaited Sundays! Other important days were of course birthdays (which were mostly low-key affairs) and the beginning of the vacations. Adults seemed to take unholy glee in the days devoted to exams and results, much to our chagrin. Of course, Granny had her own calendar for various festivals, rituals and the like, but life flowed around them, uninterrupted, except that we made it a point to seek special blessings and feasted on special dishes. Everything had a quiet elegance, easy grace and a personal touch. Commercialization was not even thought of, let alone present.
Times changed and with a cabal of ‘global citizens’ sprouting in every nook and cranny, many new days sneaked into the calendar. What was an innocuous trickle at first gradually grew into a stream and suddenly became a full- fledged deluge. While they were ignored or branded ‘elitist’ initially, they set up a persistent clamor which gradually got the attention it sought. Added to this Molotov cocktail was the spreading of the world wide web which lived up to its name in more than one way, encircling the globe before you could say ‘Tarantula’. You made friends with people abroad at the drop of a hat or should I say the click of a mouse, went on exchange programs, collaborated on projects and of course, exchanged culture in the form of food and festivities.
Now, there were days specifically designated to people, Mothers’ Day, Father’s Day, Son’s Day, Daughter’s Day, Grandparent’s Day, Women’s Day, Men’s Day, the mother-of -them -all literally, (excuse the pun), Valentine’s Day, Jab-We- Met Day, Anniversaries ranging from a month to a year, Every-Dog-Has- His-Day, etcetera, if you get the general drift. Just to confuse your already befuddled mind some more, there were national days for women and the International Women’s Day and woe betide you if you forgot any of them. Besides, some blessed days like Fathers’ and Mothers’ Days were celebrated on the second or third or last Sundays of certain months like May and July and September, all the better to improve your failing memory, my dear!
And some days, not satisfied with being, well, days decided to claim the whole week for themselves. Perhaps this is where Vladimir Putin came up with his brilliant plan of claiming all of the Ukraine as his own (if Valentine can do it, so can Vladimir being his take on the matter and who can blame him?), but as usual, I digress. What I set out to mean was, the recently concluded Valentine’s Day had now spilled into Valentine’ week with a Rose Day, Chocolate Day, Hug Day, Teddy Day(really?), Silly Day, Crazy Day and the Lord-alone -knew- what- Day. Being a singularly undemonstrative person (and the spouse being one too, thankfully), all that we could say was ‘Rehne De, Jaane De, Chod De and have you recently read Shobhaa De?’ I can already hear the teeth gnashing and the knives being whetted in anticipation of drawing my blood, but I stand firm.
Celebrations are to human life what spices are to food. They bring out the sublime flavor and zest and make all that is seemingly bland and boring so much more palatable. In other words, they are necessary so that we are lifted out of the rut that we sometimes find ourselves during the course of day-to -day living. But there is something called too much of a good thing. Just like spices are merely meant to enhance the taste of food and not replace it, celebrations derive meaning because they are a one off. There of course, is the very valid school of thought that every day ought to be a celebration, but it should be a celebration of YOU, an inherent joy in day- to-day life, which does not require any external prop.
Popular culture and peer pressure, that double-edged blade of course plays a significant role in what can well be described as the blatant commercialization of certain roles which were sacrosanct until not so long ago. Caring? Yes, Sharing? Definitely. Making someone feel appreciated and special is important, but do it as a mundane chore or because everyone else is doing it, and the very sanctity of the feeling is washed away, leaving behind very little meaning. It is better to do what little you can, perhaps on any old, ‘nothing special’ day and see the sparkle in the eyes of those to whom you matter.
It only takes a glance at all the advertising campaigns which form the run up to these ‘Days’ to know that it these merchants of dreams who are laughing all the way to the bank. They know the act of subtle manipulation and play on the most important emotion of all, guilt. What was structured as a cohesive family unit, scattered in the country, but still managing to keep meeting in person until not so long ago has been suddenly cast adrift with the members blown to the far corners of the world like chaff in the wind. Add the double whammy of the recent pandemic, and you are left with lonely people struggling in their own little isolated pockets. And where there is loneliness, can the clink of money being spent be far behind? In the race to assuage the guilt of the time which cannot be spent with loved ones, a gift of remembrance on a specially created ‘day’ seems the only worthier option.
I personally have nothing against gaining from any culture. Being blinkered to the good which anything, (irrespective whether it is foreign or not) has to offer is one of the worst prejudices one can harbor. What I have a problem with is the one upmanship which comes with it. The “Oh, you don’t celebrate this and this!”, accompanied by the slight snigger and smirk is what makes my blood boil. In addition, I think dissing your own traditions to follow something alien just because it is ‘the’ thing to do talks of a distressing herd mentality, which needs to be combated.
Perhaps it is time to introspect on what special days tell us about ourselves and those who are special to us. If we practice equality every day, we can do away with gender specific days. And if we make our loved ones feel special always, NO ONE will remember or remind anyone else of specific day, because each day will be a celebration…