<b>Kishore Singh:</b> Yearning for simple pleasures

A chilly winter's day with bright sunshine, a large pot of coffee by the side and a dog snoozing at one's feet - Governance Day is just what one needed as a break from a busy week in which more number plates than cars were sold in the capital, political parties hurled abuse at each other, and New Delhi spent its most polluted day stuck in another interminable traffic jam. Last year, this time, there was a great hullaballoo around the rites of Governance Day, but this year it's been given a quiet burial perhaps because of a visible lack of governance in our public sphere. Which is why Governance Day feels like another festival we used to celebrate till a year ago. There have been trees with lights and gifts in homes we have visited; and mulled wine - which I do not like, but can't say so, because it was made by my son who occasionally dons the chef's hat, on this occasion accompanying it with a Goan fish curry in which the only recognisable ingredient was the fish; oh, and Secret Santas, plum cakes, gifts, emailed greetings, bonfires and music on the iPod that everybody knows the words to.

If politics found itself unequal to the task of making Christmas disappear, it's trying damn hard to wish 2015 away. Governance aside, it's made us wonder about the company we sometimes keep, with acquaintances being accused of horrible, premeditated crimes involving murder, incest and graft. Sitting at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, sipping an expensive but hardly impressive cappuccino, I wondered what New Yorkers thronging its designer shops would make of its owner's two-year incarceration in jail, or whether they would even care, seeing how so many enjoy Donald Trump's vituperation and admire his stand.

Increasingly, I leave the morning pile of newspapers unread. There is no longer civilised debate, or even debate, on countries at war with each other that are no longer labelled world wars despite bombs raining down on civilians. If intolerance was India's word of the year, we have to ask why Indians remain tolerant of bigotry, poverty and hate. Rape has entered our daily lexicon, a mere number on the city pages. Maybe we'll have an index soon, like the scoreboard at a busy crossing that gives us the number of daily accident deaths. At Leopold, the other night, I was disgusted to find that trophy tourists vastly outnumber diners looking for chilled beer and chilli-prawns. Insensitive? We've learned to mind our business and drive past any sign of trouble instead of calling the police.

So what does 2016 bring? Ennui, apathy, dread. It's one reason why friends who celebrated Christmas - or Governance Day, if you still please - are seemingly less enthusiastic about ringing in the New Year. But to wallow in dispiritedness is to give in to the forces wreaking vengeance on the world. Which is why we've decided to host New Year's at home come what may. Invitations are not going out, but friends are welcome to a BYOB and potluck. We'll provide the sigris and music, and even though the children will be away, there's room for some traditional good cheer. Perhaps there'll be a ceasefire that night and maybe the world will take a break from its senseless mayhem, or perhaps not. But if I could make a wish for the world, it would be the bliss of a sunny winter's day, a cup of coffee in hand and a dog snoozing by one's feet.