By Karan Thapar

You hardly need me to remind you today is the 21st of December. For us in the northern hemisphere it’s the shortest day of the year. Of course, if you live in Australia, New Zealand or South Africa, it’s the longest. But those are just calendar details. The fact is I’ve always been fascinated by this date or bewitched and bewildered by it. For the truth is the strangest things seem to happen on the winter solstice.

For instance, it’s on the 21st of December in 1972, when I was just seventeen, that I met my first witch. It was at the Christmas fair on Hampstead Heath, a sort of mini winter wonderland. Clutching a hot chocolate, I wandered into a little igloo-like cubicle marked ‘Occult Powers’. Sitting behind a small wooden desk, with a crystal ball in the middle of two conical shaped witches hats, was a man in a dark grey suit. He was in his 50s and quite out of place in this setting.

“I’m a warlock”, he said proffering his hand. ‘What’s a warlock?” I responded, unfamiliar with the term. ‘A male witch’ he spat out and started to cackle.

I turned on my heels and attempted to flee. But his voice stopped me. “I know your name” he said. Stunned, I halted and turned around. I challenged him to tell me what it was. “It’s a girl’s name he said.”

That stumped me because Karan is pronounced by the British as if it’s spelt Karen. And the latter is definitely a girl’s name. But how could he have known?

A very discomforting experience happened a year later on the 21st of December. I was flying to Delhi with my sister, Kiran, on one of her Air India free tickets. This meant you fly if there’s room on the plane, what the airlines call subject to load. In those days the Air India 747 flight was a bit like a bus journey. After leaving London it stopped in Paris, Frankfurt and Beirut. The first two halts were the danger points where you could expect fare-paying passengers to board. If that happened we’d be kicked off. But it was in Beirut that the pilot announced would all free passengers off-load. Unknown to us there were twenty-seven free passengers on board. All Air India staff, all going home on leave. And none of us had anything other than hand luggage. Kiran’s was a carton of cigarettes. Mine a silver-plated candelabra I’d bought for my parents. But we had no clothes, not even a tooth brush and tooth paste, and, practically, no money.

Thus we stayed in Beirut for three days. Till the next Air India flight came along. “I wonder if this happened because it’s the 21st of December?” Kiran questioned. She may well have been right.

A decade later Nisha and I were honeymooning in Kathmandu on the 21st of December. After dinner we decided to visit the Oberoi Hotel’s casino. Nisha was keen on roulette. Initially our luck was out and we lost every bet. Then Nisha decided to place all her chips on number 21 because it was the 21st. And we won. Not a fortune, admittedly, but a pleasing sum nonetheless. I popped the winnings in my pocket when we decided to try our hand at Backgammon. But that was the last I saw of the money. Someone picked my pocket and I only discovered it had been stolen when we got back to our room later that night.

Now, it’s not every 21st December that something bizarre happens. But it’s often enough. In 1997 I discovered termites had eaten all the shelves in my TV room. In 2005 I spent hours on the flight to London before it was cancelled because of fog. In 2020 I thought I’d caught Covid for a second time except I hadn’t. All of that was on the 21st of December. Mercifully, nothing happened last year. I wonder what will happen in 2025?

Meanwhile, Merry Christmas.