Santa’s still in town

Can declare, yes declare, with cast-iron certainty, that Christmas is close to my heart, my all-time favourite day of the year. As a child, a night before going out to pick a tree, would find me peering out of my room’s window every few minutes, hoping that the moon was on its way out, and the bright gleam of the morning had spread across. Yet of course, it was a long wait, and a little past twelvish it would still be a starry night, with my eyes gone droopy with sleep…I’d think it was around that time when I would curl back into my bed—the headrest and the footboard painted a sunflower yellow by my Mum—and fall into a deep sleep. Of course, day would eventually break, and while gently woken up by my mother, I’d dash off to take the quickest bath ever, and have my boots all laced up in feet that were quite wet. Bringing home, a Christmas tree, the delight most unexplainable.

The scent of pine made the house feel like a forest, and decorating it, akin to a trip to Disneyland. The precious pines circled with twinkling lights and all sorts of baubles and finally the star atop, its crowning glory. At the backdrop, there would be carols and stuffed stockings hung over the mantlepiece, and milk would now be poured into glasses painted with bright fireplaces. Milk, too, would taste good.I would think that the tumblers had changed its flavour and yes, there were colourful marshmallows— powder pink, cloud white, ashes of roses— poked in skewers and toasted over a bonfire in our small patio.

Yes, Christmas synonymous with magic! Not going to continue spooling out the excitement churning in my tummy at the sight of brightly wrapped gift boxes, sitting proudly, knowing how with an eager rush, they’d be unwrapped, to be cherished by apple-cheeked children and gray-haired grandparents with the same zest; not to forget the sandwich-generation, that too, would break into a dance! I always, on Christmas mornings, do remember how an aunt, who had come over to spend a few days, before the run-up to X-mas, lit up like the tree itself. She, the one, who had, had no shortage of heartaches, suddenly was on the mend, and later I found out, that post that December 25th, she reinvented herself for all times, and as they say, “lived happily ever after!”Yes, Santa Claus had actually come to town! Now while stuffing a couple of bite-sized hors d‘oeuvres—delicious carry-overs (my father took delight in calling leftovers, “carryovers”, and I am more than sure it was his own coinage!) I’ve noticed that I have gone rather poetic, reminding myself of “Daffodils”, the poem prescribed in school, college, university, and that has a way of showing up everywhere, so say, we just make it to the present day, and not let girlhood Christmas, “flash upon the inward eye”?! So, to fast forward, in a split second or to be more serious, in a New York minute, to the present, here in Delhi, St. Nicholas’ day makes most of us upbeat. To go in for some pop-psychologizing—maybe it’s because the oven-hot weather takes a temporary break, and one can, at long last, bring out those blazers, scarfs, caps, that there’s a thaw in one’s worked-up, wound-up stampeding energy.

That you can actually stroll around in an open market without the need of an umbrella to dodge the heat, popping in and out of shops to find the right fabric for those fitted sheets, you intend to get tailored, or buy a few trinkets to gift to your friends during the festive season. No, at last, you don’t have to go to those glitzy (synthetic is the word that comes to mind!) Malls. And with the markets aglow with strings and strings of light and happy cheer, it’s enough to propel a borderline recluse, to step out of the house and take in the sight, perhaps even sit on a bench, watching the chirpy crowds come and go. For some, it possibly is about the time when you sit around a bonfire, savour a glass of brandy or wrap one’s hands around a roly-poly coffee mug while sipping a piping hot cappuccino—the carols sung in the background by young, barely out of high school girls, making one tap dance. Yes, it doesn’t matter that they are usually singing out of tune.

The beauty lies in their knee-high red & green socks, their flat-bottomed buckled black shoes, transporting you back to school, and above all, their clear-eyed faces, where even an attention deficit person, sees the face of God in the smiles that touch their ear tips…No question about shoe horning good cheer—it just slips in like Cinderella’s glass slippers. However, X-mas is not only about eggnog, carols, pies and pastries, pines and jingle-bells and green and red mufflers and the magic of crocheted ear-warmers in the same radiant tones and shades; they simply, wonderfully so, accessorize Christmas day.

It is the day, above all, I should think, for forgiveness, for kindness, for generosity! To touch on Forgiveness. Could you not be pardoned, be absolved, could things not be put behind, with possibly a fresh start?! Nopes! Don’t have any statistics to pull out of the bag, but I’d say only one out of ten just might truly pardon. Grudges, resentments or whatever is clung on tight, like the teddy bear your baby won’t let go of even when, well into school, like sticky toffee that clenches the jaw. Forgiveness might as well be banished from the dictionary. Knock on the doors of Amnesty International until hell freezes over, and you’ll return to your hovel frost-bit. This space, ironically so, can’t accommodate what’s quintessentially Christmas—wiping the slate clean, inhaling a peace pipe, being benevolent as mentioned.

Signing off with Christmas cheeriness still intact! However, just as this pen was about to take a catnap, had to stall it for a wink from doing so, since it struck me that it shall be 25 years since we stepped into the 2000s. Truly makes one feel the years stacking up, when you can glance back at a quarter of a century! 2025 has a balanced look to it—hopefully the mast shall catch a good gale, and the sailing would be steady.