I grew up witnessing one kind of Christmas in my real world, and conceiving another kind in the world of my imagination.
In Bombay, Christmas was perhaps not as festive as Diwali, because Christians are a minority. Besides, commercialism hadn't crept into festivals then. Only Valentine's Day was catching the attention of retailers, mainly greeting card shops (Archies was synonymous with friendship cards, little heart-shaped stickers and sentimentally worded keepsakes for teenagers. I should know - I was a major customer).
Christmas was like a gentler version of Diwali. The Catholic Colony in my neighbourhood would have star-shaped kandeels lit up in almost every home, as would homes here and there in the rest of the neighbourhood, including my upstairs neighbours, the Chars. Monginis and Birdys would have festive cakes. I didn't quite understand why some of them looked like a log of wood, but who cares when the log is so chocolatey? Then there were the home-made 'foreign' sweets made by my Christian friends' families, oh, and the home-made fruit wine. It was so exciting to share in a slightly dissimilar, yet mostly familiar celebration.
And then there was the Christmas I would read about, see or hear of. Charles Dickens' story, A Christmas Carol, was one of my earliest insights into Christmas in a foreign setting. The cold, the gloom, the roast and pudding, the fireplace, the fur and woolen coats - it was all so alien and so delicious to imagine! The movie Home Alone 2 was among the many Hollywood movies that further fed my imagination about Christmas in cold countries. Oh, the snow, the mittens, the ice-skating, the soaring cathedrals, the toys, the cakes and cookies, the twinkling fairy lights and shiny ornaments on giant Christmas trees!
When I moved to Australia, I had another new experience - some of the elements of a Western Christmas, but minus the cold and the snow. In fact, soon I got used to the fact that Christmas was not just warm as in India, but it was positively hot. Christmas got associated with heatwaves, barbecues, ice creams, beaches and Santa's cap alongside shorts and thongs (or flip flops if you're not Australian, or Hawaii chappals if you're Indian).
Now last Friday, we went to Central London. It was freezing cold. When I emerged from the Leicester Square station subway onto the street, a beautiful night welcomed me. The streets were lit with endless shimmering designs. People thronged the place, dressed up in warm, snug coats, hats, scarves and gloves. Some people were dressed in Santa costumes. The moon was playing hide-and-seek behind some wispy clouds. At last I was experiencing what I'd only heard about. It felt like my first Christmas once again.
When we were walking back home that night, I saw that the leaves fallen on the ground were glittering. It was below zero, and so the the leaves had frosted over. I just couldn't have enough of it. The street was lined with leaves encrusted with pinpoint diamonds. No Swarovski ornament could produce anywhere near the fine sparkle of the glittering frost.
I think Christmas this year is going to be anything but humbug.
In Bombay, Christmas was perhaps not as festive as Diwali, because Christians are a minority. Besides, commercialism hadn't crept into festivals then. Only Valentine's Day was catching the attention of retailers, mainly greeting card shops (Archies was synonymous with friendship cards, little heart-shaped stickers and sentimentally worded keepsakes for teenagers. I should know - I was a major customer).
Christmas was like a gentler version of Diwali. The Catholic Colony in my neighbourhood would have star-shaped kandeels lit up in almost every home, as would homes here and there in the rest of the neighbourhood, including my upstairs neighbours, the Chars. Monginis and Birdys would have festive cakes. I didn't quite understand why some of them looked like a log of wood, but who cares when the log is so chocolatey? Then there were the home-made 'foreign' sweets made by my Christian friends' families, oh, and the home-made fruit wine. It was so exciting to share in a slightly dissimilar, yet mostly familiar celebration.
And then there was the Christmas I would read about, see or hear of. Charles Dickens' story, A Christmas Carol, was one of my earliest insights into Christmas in a foreign setting. The cold, the gloom, the roast and pudding, the fireplace, the fur and woolen coats - it was all so alien and so delicious to imagine! The movie Home Alone 2 was among the many Hollywood movies that further fed my imagination about Christmas in cold countries. Oh, the snow, the mittens, the ice-skating, the soaring cathedrals, the toys, the cakes and cookies, the twinkling fairy lights and shiny ornaments on giant Christmas trees!
When I moved to Australia, I had another new experience - some of the elements of a Western Christmas, but minus the cold and the snow. In fact, soon I got used to the fact that Christmas was not just warm as in India, but it was positively hot. Christmas got associated with heatwaves, barbecues, ice creams, beaches and Santa's cap alongside shorts and thongs (or flip flops if you're not Australian, or Hawaii chappals if you're Indian).
Now last Friday, we went to Central London. It was freezing cold. When I emerged from the Leicester Square station subway onto the street, a beautiful night welcomed me. The streets were lit with endless shimmering designs. People thronged the place, dressed up in warm, snug coats, hats, scarves and gloves. Some people were dressed in Santa costumes. The moon was playing hide-and-seek behind some wispy clouds. At last I was experiencing what I'd only heard about. It felt like my first Christmas once again.
When we were walking back home that night, I saw that the leaves fallen on the ground were glittering. It was below zero, and so the the leaves had frosted over. I just couldn't have enough of it. The street was lined with leaves encrusted with pinpoint diamonds. No Swarovski ornament could produce anywhere near the fine sparkle of the glittering frost.
I think Christmas this year is going to be anything but humbug.
No comments:
Post a Comment