This is the story of a girl—how her Christmas was then and what has changed now…

CHRISTMAS had always been the most cherished time of the year. Despite the evident haze of change surrounding her, she could not help but question whether Christmas would ever be the same again.
During their childhood, she and her brother were taken on this fantasy adventure. It might not have been as elaborate as one might imagine, but it was a modest and acceptable affair for their small family of four, consisting of her father, mother, and brother.
Both children were born overseas, where their father was employed. By the Indian standards of the 70s, they were affluent and enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle. Their parents endeavoured to create lasting Christmas memories for their children in the form of pictures and traditions. Throughout the past 50 years of her life, as far back as she can remember, there has always been a Christmas tree at home. The difference is that now stands a solitary tree with no presents underneath.
As kids, she and her sibling each wrote letters to Santa, explaining how well-behaved they had been and why they merited the gifts they requested. Her brother was always the more daring one, with longer lists, asking for pricier toys, and eager to be the first to hand his meticulously crafted letter to their Dad (as Dad was responsible for sending the letters to Santa). She, in contrast, was more reserved, hesitant to express herself, and never felt she deserved much. Her lists were relatively shorter, and her asks were very basic. Nonetheless, she did receive a few pleasant surprises on some past Christmases.
Preparing Christmas sweets was a shared family experience, with each day dedicated to the preparation of a different treat. Their dad was in charge of the rum cake, meticulously soaking the nuts and other ingredients almost six months in advance. Their mom handled the rest. They assisted her by shaping the kulkuls on forks or a special comb. Together, they made neuris, rose cookies, marzipans and a few other sweets. She made it fun for the kids by adding colours to the marzipans and encouraging them to creatively shape them into various fruits, vegetables, animals and more.
Christmas Eve marked the culmination of the month-long preparations leading up to the main Christmas celebration, where all their plans came to fruition. The highlight was Santa delivering the gifts they had earlier requested in their letters to him. As the children eagerly awaited Christmas morning, they pondered who among them would receive the gifts from their lists, all the while hoping they had pleased Santa enough for him to favour them with their choice of presents.
Waking up on Christmas morning felt like heaven (not that any of them had experienced heaven), but it was truly magnificent. The morning was filled with the sound of Christmas carols (Jim Reeves was mostly the chosen record on the turntable) and the aroma of Christmas breakfast paired with hot chocolate; the surprise was unveiled — numerous boxes appeared under the tree that were not there the night before. The entire room appeared to come to life, reminiscent of a scene from a fairy tale. They had been instructed to be asleep before midnight because they were told Santa was always in a rush and a bit shy, so he wouldn’t come if the kids were awake. And they believed that tale!
After several years, the family’s move to India kicked off a new set of traditions. From their ground-floor apartment, they observed people rushing to the nearby beach, eager to secure a good branch from the pine trees lining part of the shore. The cut-off branches were fastened to cycles or scooters as people rode past, pedalling all the way to their final destinations, hauling their large (as available) trees, and sweeping the road along the way. Their sparsely decorated trees were proudly mounted into pots or some vessel, standing tall with low-quality tree ornaments as embellishments. This served as a testament to the simplicity of people then. That was the charm of the days gone by. Free trees, inexpensive decorations, homemade delicacies, and neighbourhoods coming together to prepare sweets. Neighbours would gather in each house on a designated day to assist with sweet preparations; children would be outside crafting the stars and creative cribs while other groups organised house-to-house carol singing. There was a sense of family and sharing with no expectations of anything in return.
This family was fortunate then to have their own ready-made tree, purchased by their father when he came home to spend his first Christmas holiday in his newly acquired apartment. This was in the 80s, and he was not too happy that he had to pay customs duty to bring the tree home.
Traditions during this phase in their lives included attending midnight mass, waking up the neighbours with post-midnight fireworks, and visiting them post-mass. Although this may have been a nuisance to the neighbours, the party initiator (their Dad) was in town, and no one objected. Everyone expected to be awakened sometime after the midnight mass and welcomed this once-in-a-year disturbance. As for their kids, they disliked the Indian Santa. Seeing Santa at functions and parties abroad made the Indian Santa look fake. The costumes, those silly masks, stuffed-up bellies, and long white beards seemed so fake. The whole ensemble was quite off-putting, but as children growing up in India, they understood this was their new reality.
The brother’s sudden passing reduced the family’s size. Christmas lost its usual spirit, though they continued some of their traditions. After the father’s death, Christmas became a burden laden with memories, a chore. While they still cherished the season, for the mother and daughter, it wasn’t the same. They purchased and gave out store-bought sweets. It was never homemade anymore.
Every year, a week or two before Christmas, the tree was adorned with ornaments. She and her mom hung the first ornament while making a private wish for the future, with Christmas carols playing softly in the background.
Fast forward to 2024, she was resolute in her decision to decorate her hall and set up the tree. The task had become a burden she had to undertake. Her creative streak and her passion for having themed colours and lights had dampened. Gradually, she attempted to make the room feel Christmassy again. If not for anyone else, but certainly in remembrance of her past and the traditions that had faded.
Two years and two Christmases have gone by. She was alone after her mother passed away. As she added a tree ornament to her tree this year, whatever she envisioned was taking shape. However, this time, in silence, without the sound of Christmas carols or any enthusiasm. She added photos of her family members to the tree, including those of their two dogs, who were also part of her family for years. Everyone who meant something to her was long gone, and their memory now adorns the tree that once symbolised joy.
Christmas will never be the same. The tree stands as a memorial to those who will no longer share the holiday with her, and there will never be gifts beneath it again.
She is slowly realising what she knew all along… that Christmas is not about trees, decorations, Santa, and gifts. Even so, she is tormented by the profound pain that hits her every time she sits in front of the tree, which happens often. On the brighter side, she makes it a point to sit in front of the tree in the evenings and flip through albums. She smiles at the precious memories once created.
Christmas is about the One who we celebrate, from 2000 years ago. The One who is always with us (Emmanuel). She attended the Sunday mass on the first day of Advent this year, and as the priest lit the candle of Hope, she felt a spark ignite within her. It’s almost like she was instantly recharged. That day, lighting up the tree felt different. For the first time this year, she reached out for the all-important switch, her sound bar. As it powered on, she heard the first sound of Christmas carols this year and felt the warm glow of flickering lights emanating like rays of hope. The sound of carols took her back to her happy moments, and she realised her family were part of her and would always be. Because of them, she promised to continue to make each year special and desires to share this message of hope with people like her.

Merry Christmas 2024… Till next year.