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A
NEW DAY
Neeman A Sobhan
For today's column to be ready
for the New Year, I wrote it during the sunset days of last
year. In fact, even as I write this 'New Year' piece, it
is still December 2003 in Rome, and around me the countdown
to Christmas and the 'Capo d'anno' ('start of the year')
has just begun. I won’t be here to see either Natale or
the New Year being celebrated in the Italian idiom because
I'll be in Dhaka.
Actually, even as the countdown to the end
of the calendar year has started here and everywhere, I
have already begun my new year, privately! Yes, I decided
not to wait for January the first. Today, I awoke to a brilliant
Roman winter's morning, crisp and fresh, like notes of newly
minted money. I decided to splurge it and get myself an
early New Year's Day feeling. As I stepped into the bracing
air and onto the sidewalks strewn with the gold of falling
leaves, I felt the curling fingers of the newly born day
reaching out to me, awaiting my embrace. I decided to adopt
it. "You are my morning of eternal joy, hope and creativity.
I name you my New Day, the first day of the beginning of
my life's ever unfolding newness," I whispered into
its ears, and my year started from that moment onwards.
To celebrate my private new year within
the old year, I decided to go into town and walk somewhere
I had never walked before and discover some secret place
in Rome's ancient heart, which would denote for me, newness
within the old. It occurred to me that in these last twenty-five
years of living in Rome and showing visitors around it,
I had never actually walked inside and around the elliptical
chariot tracks of the Circo Massimo, always showing it from
a distance.
I parked my car on the road close-by and
walked down some steps into the mammoth grassy valley with
the dirt-tracks where in some remote time, real charioteers
less fictitious and heroic than Ben Hur might have hurled
their horses towards victory, cheered by the audience. I
joined the scattering of present day walkers and strollers;
the joggers with their earphones; the dog owners exercising
their pets; the young father playing ball with his three-year-old
son; and the middle aged woman tying a scarf around her
aged mother leaning on her walking stick. As I completed
my brisk second round, I sensed a cheer rise from the audience.
I looked up to find nothing but the horizon with the ruins
of the Palatines etched against the blue sky, and saw only
the noisy flight of birds amidst the pines. Or maybe it
was the voice of spectators from the past.
Warmed up now, I unzipped my jacket and
decided to walk further down, away from the Circo Massimo
and towards the Tiber, then making a detour, to explore
on foot a cobbled street that wound around some residential
alleys facing the backside of the Roman Forum. This was
the other, less frequented side. Here the Forum looked like
an abandoned quarry or a dumping ground of broken pillars
and masonry. I passed an open gate that I had never noticed
before whenever I drove by in my car. I walked into what
looked like a shady, cobbled driveway. Unheralded, the piny
path sloped down directly into a secluded and anonymous
corner within the Forum. Here some benches, and boulders
that were part of some magnificent but eroded building,
lay under pine shadows. The noise of the traffic came from
very far, as did the trickling sunlight, while the silence
accumulated like drops of rainwater. There was not another
soul here except one student of history who stood by, lost
to the present, poring over his guidebook and studying the
three extant columns of a ruined temple in the distance,
where a group of tourists could barely be seen.
I looked around me. This was the ideal place
to bring a book, a sandwich and a flask of tea and lose
oneself in a familiar city. This was the perfect secret
heart of the past within the present, the undying pulse
of time. This was my newfound nook to tryst with my New
Year's Day; my moment to reflect on my future year in the
lap of the fading one. I sat quietly, absorbing the green
moment, knowing that on the official New Year morning I
would be in another environment, another winter's morning,
in Dhaka. I would celebrate the calendar day then with the
others, but today, I would rejoice in my own calendar's
beginning, now, in a special corner of my Rome.
From
my seat on the broken stones, as of a shattered cathedral,
muffled by the green-gold speckled silence, I remembered
imperfectly a passage that had once struck me in one of
my favourite books, John Fowles' The French Lieutenant's
Woman, describing a walk in the woods:
"It seemed strangely distinct, this
undefiled dawn sun. It had almost a smell, as of warm stone….On
the slopes above his path the trunks of the ashes and sycamores,
a honey gold in the oblique sunlight, erected their dewy
green vaults of young leaves; there was something mysteriously
religious about them, but of a religion before religion;
a druid balm, a green sweetness over all…."
And this green sweetness I wish for all
my readers, praying that they find within themselves just
such a fresh start this year. If it coincides with the first
calendar day of the year-- with January first-- fine, otherwise
the truth is that each day is a brand New Year in itself,
an undefiled dawn, our chance to create ourselves afresh,
to renew, rethink and re-live life.
For
each of you, may 2004 be the year when every single day
is a newly minted gold coin waiting to be spent towards
the secret treasures that you have inside you. So, a happy
New Year, and a happy New Day, everyday! |