It is ever thus that the years come to a close: with the strong sense of having undergone a beating, and having survived.
My 2014 was an anarchic orchestra led by a wild-eyed conductor who bears a striking resemblance to me, and who has spent twelve months stumbling around the stage, sometimes dancing and sometimes on her knees, trying, with only limited success, to control her instruments. It’s been fun, but it hasn’t all been easy. At some point the pianist went off to take a leak and never came back, the drummer sometimes used his sticks to beat the crap out of the violinist, and one of the horns malfunctioned and played the same one note no matter what the musician did. Everyone has been drinking heavily to get through it all. Yet, one recognises the result as music, some of it okay.
As December 31 draws near, the maestro, now totally shit-faced, gets ready to trim her frenzied baton into one last hysterical wiggle and then a final great, exhausted down-stroke. Then she will turn to the audience and take her bow—dripping sweat, clothes torn, with a red nose, a black eye, and a huge grin.
And as she does, a giant trapdoor on stage will open and the whole act will fall into its maw, un-mourned by the audience of herself (it’s all too meta for words), who will already be transfixed by the entrance of the fresh new musicians and shiny new instruments of 2015, prancing on from the wings, all hopeful and excited.
It is ever thus that the years begin.
My expectations are rather tempered—though keep in mind that my big takeaway from 2014 was that cleaning your laptop screen once in a while makes a huge difference, so it’s not like I’m some kind of intellectual racehorse.
Here’s all I want from 2015: Just stop beating up the world so hard, okay? I don’t care if not one new gadget comes into being, as long as we start managing our resources better. I don’t care how many Indians are on a list of the wealthiest people and biggest corporations in the world, as long as increasing numbers of the poorest and sickest get food and healthcare. I don’t care whose book or film or play is better, as long as they all come out and are all received peacefully.
I don’t care which school the kids go to, as long as they get to come home and do their homework without blood on their uniforms. I don’t care who anyone sleeps with, as long it is based on consent freely given, and I definitely don’t care which god anyone worships as long as they don’t try to make anyone else worship the same one, the same way.
I don’t care if you want to call Christmas ‘Good Governance Day’, as long as you don’t expect everyone else to take it seriously. I don’t care if you protest for or against things, as long as you are allowed to protest peacefully. I don’t care if you live in sin or by yourself or in a huge joint family, as long as you have love in your life. I don’t care how much we yell and scream at each other, as long as nobody picks up a weapon or assaults anyone with their bare hands.
So all I really want for Christmas—like any other red-nosed, black-eyed, grinning orchestra conductor, I suppose—is world peace. Is that so much to ask for?
I can see 2015 peering out, fresh-faced, from the wings, itching to get on stage. It hasn’t the faintest idea, the poor little sod.
By which I mean, happy new year!
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