It’s the season to be jolly! Yes, it’s Christmas again!

TODAY, we see Christmas as “the holidays,” an occasion to put up elaborate Christmas trees and spend exorbitant amounts on gifts, decorations, Christmas treats and meals. Preparations are well thought out, menus are planned, and guests are invited beforehand so arrangements can be made.
On the other hand, there is the other side of the preparations. Parties of the season are planned, churches organising carol singing competitions serenading their members in their own areas, star-making competitions, live crib competitions, skits, and not forgetting the fun element — Santa Claus.
As old traditions continue and new ones are born, it is sad to see how caught up we are in the moment with all of the above, all the while forgetting the real reason for Christmas. It has become fashionable to remove Christ from Christmas. Messages, emails, cards and wishes now have “Xmas Greetings” on them, with the reason for Christmas subtly tossed aside.
LET me tell you about my traditions, or, more appropriately, the ones I lived through, and you can decide whether I am guilty of the same thing that peeves me now.
Christmas, during our childhood abroad, was nothing short of a fantasy adventure. It may not have been as elaborate as imagined, but it was a modest and acceptable affair for our little family. My parents endeavoured to create lasting Christmas memories for my sibling and me through pictures and traditions. The Christmas tree was always the star of the show. Decorating the tree was a family affair, and we made a silent wish while placing the first ornaments on the tree.

SANTA LETTERS
AS kids, my sibling and I each wrote letters to Santa, explaining how well-behaved we had been and why we merited the gifts we requested. My sibling 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 Dad (Dad was responsible for posting the letters to Santa). I, in contrast, was more reserved and hesitant to express myself, so my lists were relatively shorter, and my asks were very basic. Nonetheless, I did receive a few pleasant surprises on some past Christmases.
Preparing Christmas sweets was a shared family experience, with each day dedicated to preparing a different treat. Dad was in charge of the rum cake, carefully soaking the nuts and other ingredients almost six months in advance. Mom handled the rest. We assisted her by shaping the kulkuls on forks or a special comb. Together, we made neuris, rose cookies, marzipans and many other sweets. She made it fun for us kids by adding colours to the marzipans and encouraging us 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 our plans came to fruition. The highlight was Santa delivering the gifts we had earlier requested in our letters to him. As we eagerly awaited Christmas morning, we wondered who among us would receive the gifts from our lists, all the while hoping we had pleased Santa enough for him to favour us with our choice of presents.
Waking up on Christmas morning felt like heaven (not that any of us had visited heaven), but it was truly magnificent. The morning was always 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 was not there the night before. The entire room appeared to come to life, reminiscent of a scene from a fairy tale. The previous night, we were instructed to be asleep before midnight because we were told Santa was always in a rush and a bit shy, so he wouldn’t come if the kids were awake. And we believed that tale!
Our parents would take us to these Christmas parties, where we would see Santa and interact with him, too. Only on Christmas night, he was too busy to meet us.
In our later years, we moved to India to study, and here we started a new set of traditions. From our ground-floor apartment, we 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.
Our family was fortunate then to have our own ready-made tree, purchased by Dad 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. We would put up a star on our apartment balcony and one for our building block. We had elements then, too, because one year, we returned from midnight mass, and the star placed on our building block was torn to shreds. Well, it seemed that someone desperately needed the bulb because the bulb was gone!
Traditions during this phase in our 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 partygoer (my 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 us kids, we disliked the Indian Santa. Compared to the Santas abroad, the Indian Santa had a face that would stop a clock. The costumes, those silly masks, stuffed-up bellies, and long white beards seemed so fake. The whole ensemble was quite off-putting, but growing up in India, we knew this was our new reality.
Back in the boarding school, traditions included a Christmas party for the boarders just before the Christmas break. The nuns would slaughter a pig for some delicious sorpotel. Hearing the screams of the piggies were sounds I couldn’t get out of my head, and I stopped eating pork until years later in life. The party was held on the grounds, where we had party games and, of course, someone dressed as the dreadful Santa. It was almost scary. We all questioned who was made the Santa Claus of the Year because we found it hilarious that a nun would get into one of those costumes to entertain us. Most of the time, it was a hushed affair, so we never found out who did the “Ho, Ho, Ho.”
There was this other part as well, where we had to do a live crib and enact the Annunciation and the birth of Jesus. Well, we all wanted to be important characters in the scene, like Mary or Joseph. But those parts were reserved for the prettier ones, with the prettiest getting the Mary part and the second best getting to be Joseph. The other better-looking ones got to be angels. I would normally get a shepherd and sometimes even a sheep where my face was covered. To be fair, I once got to play the angel in the Annunciation. And because of that, those lines remain in my head to this day… (Luke 1 30-33).
College was a different experience. Once, we were forced to perform something for Christmas. So we decided that carols were the best way to go. One of our classmates, dressed as Santa, had to throw candies to the audience while the rest of us sang. Our enthusiastic friend, instead of throwing the candies gently to the audience, began to aim and hurl. The principal, teachers and audience seated in the front rows had to duck to avoid the chocolates being flung at them, and the rest of us could not help but giggle in turns amidst our singing.
I have had my fair share of traditions and experiences. But every time we strayed from the actual reason for Christmas, our parents, nuns, and those in charge brought us back. There were some Santa moments, for sure, but there were also many Jesus moments.
Christmas carols have always been a beautiful way to bring in the season of Christmas. Joy to the World, Hark the Herald, Silent Night, O Holy Night, The First Noel, etc., were the types of carols that got you into the Christmas mood and still do. There are the fun ones, like Santa Claus coming to town and Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which is also fine to throw into the mix. Then, one day, the duo Wham (George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley – I loved them, by the way) came up with a song titled “Last Christmas” with a catchy and memorable tune. This track is now considered in the Christmas carol genre, which I find silly because it is just a song with the word Christmas in it, about a broken-hearted person telling his love that she/he broke his heart. Ugh! There are some beautiful renditions of the earlier carols by some awesome groups now, which would be a better choice for one’s listening pleasure.
CHRISTMAS is not about trees, decorations, Santa, and gifts. It is about the One who we celebrate from 2,000 years ago. The One who is always with us (Emmanuel). I wish we understood this first and celebrated the season with Him as our focus. Not everyone will feel the way I do, and that is okay. All I wish is that people remember that it is Jesus over Santa, it is Christmas and not Xmas, it is a crib more than a tree, it is helping others instead of gifting people who do not need it, and finally, it is not a broken-hearted love song, but it is the carols which have a much deeper meaning.