“Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas.”
– Dale Evans Rogers
Huddling over a potted green fern plant, plucked from its usual home in our garden. Impatiently untangling the battery-operated lights that would stay on for days to come. Stray bits of leftover crepe, satin ribbons and craft paper strewn all over the floor and on us. Gold glitter dust mingling with that chilly air that nipped our noses, now red with the winter but cheeks pink with excitement. And finally, going to bed with anticipation of the next day with Santa would come bearing all the gifts that we wished for, and hopefully, more.
That is how I remember Christmas.
Growing up, my parents encouraged me and my sister to celebrate every festival that we came in the calendar year. Considering that the Hindu religion, upon which we were brought up on, itself had numerous days of the year earmarked for festivities and that we also lived in a locality where you could throw a stone and meet someone from a different faith, it meant year around celebrations for us. But then, you grow up and your idea of celebration takes a completely different meaning altogether. Less excitement, more enduring. The Christmas lights got switched off a little early every year. While the impediments of not being a Catholic, and more importantly, not being a kid anymore came my way over the years, but somehow that fuzzy feeling of warmth that I always associated with Christmas has stuck with me all along. It surprised many a friend of mine who got to know how much I loved it. And boy did I!
I love it all – that spruced up seasonal spirit, that familiar surge of warmth within even during peak winter like holiday embers to ward off any work sniffles, that coziness of laughter and merriment. I think above all, I love the concept of Christmas, a season of gifting and giving. I love how it’s a day to be with family and to snuggle with each other while unwrapping the love that they have packed for us. Even just the idea of it kept me warm for many years. But while I couldn’t always celebrate it like I used to when I was a kid, I did take on different angles of acknowledging my affair with the day. Some years it was just immersing myself in the culinary celebrations, baking cakes and cookies for Santa and me of course. Sometimes I used to lend a hand to my grandfather who made a point to go around his town during this time to give away blankets to the homeless, just a small but meaningful gesture to keep to them warn from the inside out. Until recently I also indulged myself in the now trendy tradition of Secret Santa. Started on the nudge of a fellow batchmate, we picked it up as group of graduate students and it quickly became our thing during the last few years. Even after we left college, we kept the tradition alive, delivering our parcels to the randomly paired classmates across the country. I remember the small memorabilia that now resides with me. A heavily creased book of short stories, a much-needed stress ball, a special book that I was longing to buy for myself, a loaded box of cupcakes that I had devoured with much pleasure and a hand-painted, framed picture of me, done by one of my artistic friends that I still look at with embarrassment and elation.
But those memories seem to be many winters ago. Father time seems to have caught up with me and my current celebrations include a mug of hot chocolate, an uplifting production on the iPad and a snug duvet to sneak into. It’s quieter nowadays and I wonder if the chill of the winter has taken over me. But as I browse through my old collection of memorabilia, through the pictures of my bakes, the parties, the touring, and the gifts, I can almost smell the cookies, almost hear the music, almost feel the comforting hands. The memories come rushing back and instill in me the warmth and hope of the Christmas again.
I suppose it Is not the date that makes it Christmas after all, although it does make it tangible. It is what we do. It is all the memories that we collect along the way and all the wishes that we hope to fulfill. It is what we make out of it. And that could be said for any day. We don’t have to tie our whole gala and generosity to this one particular day. We don’t have to wait for Christmas to be filled with kindness and warmth. So maybe just bake a little more, laugh a little more, help each other a little more and celebrate a little longer, be kinder a little longer, spread the joy a little longer.
Leave the Christmas lights on a little longer.
