jennie george | a peek into my christmas
I spent 25 Christmases in Bangalore, India. Early on in the month, on a cold December morning (and by cold I mean 18 degrees), my sisters and I would wake up excited to decorate the house. Our tradition demanded that the 1963 Jim Reeves cassette ’12 Songs of Christmas’ be played on an old cassette player. I’m not sure why we didn’t use a CD, or just play it off of YouTube, but bringing out the cassette player and the cassette was just as important as bringing out the tree and its trinkets.
As his gentle, rich baritone filled our living room, my sisters and I would dance around, using the tinsel as fancy scarves, and baubles as sparkly jewelry. Cotton balls were gently pulled apart and fluffed so we could pretend our living room had just encountered the first snowfall. Our tiny 3 foot tree had to be beautifully trimmed, and placed upon an ornate wooden ottoman, delicate tree skirt in tow. Under the tree, in front of the ottoman was a rustic little nativity scene, which had to be carefully reassembled every year. One year a wise man almost lost a leg, but emergency surgery was swiftly and efficiently provided. We never placed gifts under the tree, we weren’t really a gift kinda family, we were all about the food.
Oh, the food. My mum would bake her special cakes every Christmas. In the days leading up to Christmas, my church youth group would go caroling every night, up to the wee hours of 2 or 3am. You’d think people would be grumpy to be woken up in the middle of the night by loud music, but every home welcomed us with sleepy looks of joy and laughter, and as is the case with any Indian holiday - lots and lots of food. I was giddy as a kid, getting to stay up way past my bedtime, hang out with all my friends, shout-sing LOVE CAME DOWN AT CHRISTMAS in 3 part harmony, and get unlimited yummy snacks and sugary drinks.
After consecutive nights of caroling and very little sleep, we’d wake up early on Christmas morning for the 6am service at church. My church in Bangalore was famous for its 25 foot Christmas tree - every year designed in a new eco-friendly way - one year it was made entirely of CDs donated from members of the church. It was the most sparkly tree I ever remember seeing. After the service and greeting all our friends, our next big tradition was Christmas breakfast at grandma’s. We called her Ammachi, which means grandmother in Malayalam. Ammachi was an amazing cook. You could always taste love in her cooking. Every Christmas we’d have soft appams (think if a savoury pancake and a cloud had a baby) with delicious hot coconut chicken curry. And of course, there was dessert after breakfast, because why not? It’s Christmas.
During the day, wishes would pour in from friends and families of all religions. We’d distribute sweets to our neighbours and everyone on the street was wishing each other a Merry Christmas.
6 years ago, I moved to Canada, and that’s the first time I recognized all those Christmas traditions. I never thought about them before, they were just always there. Do you remember
what your early Christmases looked like? Can you picture your tree, or your favourite ornament? Can you breathe in and smell your favourite Christmas dish? What was your favourite tradition?
To everyone spending Christmas far away from home, I know it can be hard to start new traditions. Christmas looks different every year for me now. I’ve spent some Christmases surrounded by friends, carving the turkey and pouring the cranberry sauce; some Christmases at work; some Christmases at the airport, bidding farewell to all the friends that move away; and some entirely online, catching up with loved ones digitally.
It’s hard to start traditions when it feels like the ground below your feet is shifting faster than you can take root in it. But maybe Christmas isn’t just about the traditions? One of my favourite Christmas moments in Canada was when I was alone in my room, saying a prayer and thanking God for the year gone by. I didn’t have time to decorate, and was probably going to order a pizza. At the end of my prayer I whispered “Oh God, I wish it felt like Christmas.”
Suddenly it was as though an angel wrapped its wings around me. Warmth flooded my body, and tiny tears of joy pricked my eyes. I was reminded of what Christmas was really about. In a soft voice, I found that old Sunday School tune on my lips -
Love came down at Christmas And I know
I know that Love is mine.
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