Christmas in Dhaka


though I try to ignore your cheerful approach you will not be overlooked,  a song plays in my mind, a Danish Christmas hymn that walks arm in arm with memories around tall decorated trees,  candles reflect in dark windows, cat puffs at silver stars and family gather around the smell of roosting goose

I’m here in a land of odd shaped religions, of mosques and temples and pagodas, dark-haired people, eastern architecture and odd ways of doing things, still Christmas, in your red hat; you pop up and will not be ignored as the passing days of December drag me reluctantly closer to your glimmering reflection

As I walk down the bleak office stairs, across the dusty cityscape I see the white smooth dome crowned by a cross that I daily ignore, today presented to my eye with memories of cool interiors lit by candles and jule-tide songs that my father sang loud, my mother harmonized and I felt fluttering inside

With a sigh, I embrace you, Christmas, and turn up the tune in my head, and seek out the gatherings of people singing your songs and wearing your colours and think about who I miss and shed a tear for years I cherish and Christmases past and let the warmth of a sentimental candle light my logical interior