midnight turmoil

The strike of 11:59 pm on 31^st December marks the finale of the sun’s expedition around planet earth. When the clock chimes after the 60^th second proclaiming 12 midnight, it is the dawn of a new day and another new rotation for the sun. This is when all hell break loose on planet earth. The people in the pacific islands neighbouring New Zealand are the first to start the race of another year with those in Canada and US West Coast being the last to join. Almost seven billion human beings are awake, waiting as they always do on the 31^st of December every single year to welcome another year.

A new year that will direct and produce many more tales of hope, joy, agony, crisis and disaster, a year that will cut short the lives of some but bring forth more into the planet, one that will snatch children who will not grow up to hold a bat or dance in the rain, but will preserve those who have crossed the 100^th milepost in life.

The birth of another year makes some to wonder if this one too will set out to spur a quiet volcano bringing out her fullest steam or make the earth to choke up some of its inhabitants by rumbling violently as it did in the year gone by ?

Planet earth has turned to be extremely revolutionary putting Che Guevera and counterparts to shame. Some days she is coughing, actually wheezing badly and that’s when the scientists call it a hurricane or tornado. There are times when her nose drips continuously; that’s when somewhere we see helpless human beings wading through waters that have hit their roof levels. When her tonsils turn sore, somewhere some people trudge a couple of kilometres looking for water while their livestock struggle to stay alive. Her head that acts as the cooling point to her entire system is gradually giving away with all the icebergs melting. The protective sun hat she wears has been punctured and the damage increases daily, even as talks are being held around tables in Copenhagen and Rio De Janerio

In the name of industrialisation and technology the earth has been harassed, massacred, and is being tortured and raped every hour somewhere across the timezone. With each passing year she has dished out her dose of getting even with all the discrimination through catastrophic events that has grabbed thousands of human lives and left many more homeless. Her lessons have not taught the human creature a lesson but only turned him into being more evil and grotesque.

We see this so well through the marking of more boundaries on earth. East Timore, Serbia, Erriteria became the new boundaries and the results that marked the end of wars fought over many years. More are being fought over and there will be new reasons to fight for, leading to more wars. The earth is bruised and smitten with blood. New saplings refuse to sprout from the earth where the organs of ammunition have left their trace. Millions of her children whose lives were snipped off with bullets, air strikes, bombs, missiles withered away to dust. Millions more survive but deprived of being able to walk, sing or see their children grow.

Why do we continue to rape planet earth and celebrate the sun’s new journey on January 1st?

Life on planet earth itself is no easy game. Some are fortunate to begin from 1,2,3 and end up with trigonometry and physics, others from a simple alphabet that will construct the words, sentence of a daily conversation to the pinnacle of linguistics and art. To some being able to read and write is as good as waiting for manar to fall from above. Some strike it big, create a name that many can connect to human beings from Argentina to Australia while the rest will continue to dig another’s ditch for a pittance and shrivel away when his time is up to part from this earth. Despite all these, its amazing to observe the turbulence caused by all human creatures when the clock chimes at 12 proclaiming to the world a dawn of another year.

In Sri Lanka the doors of every temple, mosque and church will be open wide to welcome the people who will swarm in, lighting incense, candles, burning camphor, kneeling, sitting, prostrating on the floor, begging virtually with outstretched hands to the skies, sometimes weeping, pleading all the gods and goddesses, the saints and martyrs for a better job, strength to carry on, intelligence to pursue education, recovery from an illness and many more reasons that will cushion the hardships of their lives.

Everyone will be attired in spanking new clothes and shoes. Shimmering bright colours with hope spread on their faces. The tills in every holy place will be clinking most times with many hands diving in to put in their gift to the divine. The air is filled with incense, camphor, newly dripping wax, jasmine strands from long hair and the fragrance of turmeric mixed water that has swiped the floor clean.

Older men and women stand solemn eagerly absorbing the chants and prayers of the clergy while the children try hard to stay focused. Young men and women remain in deep thought either their mind flying to thousands of miles away wishing for a faster climb to reach the pinnacle of success.

The sprinkling of blessed water breaks the solemnity letting loud recitals of chants and prayer fill the halls of the temple. At the entrance of Hindu temples coconuts are raised to the skies and thrown back to the earth with full force, wetting the floor with its juice and bits of shell flying all over. In the Buddhist abode, saffron robed monks sit in a single line chanting over several strands of white thread that will hug the wrists of many devotees who have turned up. In the sacred souvenior store in churches, people scramble to buy medals and prayer beads and jostle to get them blessed by the clergy.

In the city and suburbs, beggars on the streets flock to the gates of religious shrines knowing that not releasing a coin to their outstretched hands on the 1^st of January, would only create guilt pangs in the minds of devotees walking out.

While all these go on, wild urbanites who have been occupying the city’s night clubs and hotels return home, high after a night of singing and dancing. Scantily clad young women cling to their tuxedoed young men and walk towards the rows of Mercedes, Volvos and Prados. Older men and women dressed in their finest garb head on haughtily contemplating on the evening spent. The residents of Cinnamon Garden, the new urbanite residing in the outskirts of the city, non resident Sri Lankans achieved better things in life in the West now back at home to let their hair loose-these are the figures that shape Colombo’s high society existing in a world of their own.

In the several sleepy hamlets dotting the island, the revelry is carried out with a different flavour. Young men set up the fireworks while their female counterparts prepare the delicacies for the day. The village taverns have a high customer turn over and many of them either end up in a brawl or sleep when their alcohol high bodies refuse to carry them any longer. Every house witnesses the boiling and spill over of milk in a clay pot lit on 3 bricks with firewood stuffed beneath.

As all these rituals wind up and the excitement of another year settles down, life returns back to its normal monotonous grind sans the rituals until the call of another January 1^st. Until then the cycle of life continues, wretched for some, wonderful for the rest.