Merry Christmas

Ho! Ho!! Ho!!!

The festive season is not just a time to celebrate and make merry but also one to ponder upon the moments we've shared with our loved ones at such times. It's pure nostalgia to think of the traditions we followed, the sweets we ate, the clothes we wore, the good times had. Here's a look back on the Christmases & New Years gone by and cheers to the ones to come

Text: Farzana Contractor

Excuse me, but I really would like to indulge in some nostalgia. Blame it on Christmas.

Christmas is for me the most special time of the year. It starts with my childhood. I grew up in the then charming Anglo-Indian neighbourhood of Byculla in a cute three-storey building, no elevator and just 18 homes. Most were Christian households, but we had every community represented by a home or two, including Muslim, Parsi, Sindhi, Malayali and a Jewish family too, which migrated to Israel in the early '70s. I still remember the names of the brother and sister, though they were a lot older than those in my peer group; Eleanor and Aaron. They were the only ones who had a gramophone turntable, the rest of us had modern record changers, where we could play six 45s in one go.

Well, and sigh… Christmas was so, so, so special. Our terrace would be decked up, a stage made. Fairy lights twinkled and snacks and cold drinks were served on the 25th. Not colas, but ‘squash’, poured in a bucket from tall glass bottles. Yes, tap water and lots of ice was added. Children love ice, always have, and in those days parents were less mindful of what contributes to good health. Perhaps that is why we grew up nice and strong, immune system in its proper place!

Aunty Bella Fernandes, the mother of Conrad, Angela, Brenda, Daphne and Errol made the best Christmas sweets. As also, that of Joyce, Nancy and Elizabeth. But Ian, Peggy and Valerie’s mum wasn’t too bothered. She lived in her own world. She would get into her bikini, pack her family into their black Morris and the family would drive away to the Marve Beach on Boxing Day. We envied them. This was the most modern family by 'Sangeet' standards. All three went to the co-ed St. Peter’s school, while the rest of us went to St. Agnes, Gloria Convent or Antonio D'souza. Ian was mad about his electric guitar, which he would practise upon even in the dead of night. Can't remember if too many neighbours complained. Life was different in those days. Children were allowed to be themselves in a different way that kids today are. Ian was special, a dreamer who even took off  to the  Indian Woodstock at Malavali, in '71.

But coming back to Christmas. Each year we would enact a play. Always about Jesus. And I was always one of the Three Wise Men. We really practised hard after school to put up our best performances. It was Brenda who told me my first of Christmas stories, including how Santa comes down the chimney and leaves gifts for good children. But here we don't have chimneys so he comes through the window.

Christmas was also about the midnight mass in church on the 24th, where all the Catholic families would go, dressed to the hilt, lace veils and stiff cancans in place. The yuppy ones would go for the Christmas Dance on the 25th at Byculla Mechanics or Catholic Gym. Jiving was de rigueur.

There are other special memories; that  of making an 'old man' and also going carol singing. We would start at Gloria Church and then go to different buildings, climbing up and down, singing carols like, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Silent Night, Away in the Manger, Joy To the World, Gloria in Excelsius Deo and of course, Jingle Bells. Some kind people offered us cookies and  hot chocolate to drink (Bombay was a lot colder those days) and most dropped money into the money box, which I loved to carry. My job was to shake the box at the end of the singing to discreetly remind the folks to drop some coins in it. Now I think all that jingle jangle noise was hardly subtle!

 What was thrilling was making the old man, which would be set on fire in the middle of the road right opposite our building, sharp at 12 midnight on Dec 31st. This signified the passing of the old year into the new. To stitch him up, we would go on a begging spree. See who was willing to give us a shirt, a pant, a necktie and a hat. A pipe would be an added bonus. We wanted our old man to be one who smoked. Then we would go to the ghoda gadiwalas and beg for some straw that they fed their horses. If they were not kind enough to ‘donate’ some, we would go steal it later when rows of horse carriages waited outside the Byculla railway station, the horsemen dozing! That done, and with the contribution money from all 18 flats, we would go to Crawford Market to shop for firecrackers. A happy bunch of children where the oldest may have been 18 and the youngest even five! Making the old man was pure happiness. Depending on how much hay we had managed to acquire, our old man would be that thin or fat. Usually he was a stiff, oversized guy we would all take turns dancing with. But one thing was for sure, he was the richest, the noisiest. We would stuff him with so many rows and rows of ‘bombs’, ours always outlasted those of the two buildings on either side of us. He would burn the longest. It was an unspoken contest and we usually won. And oh yes, before burning him at midnight, we would take him for his last ride. In a truck, engaged for just the purpose. Where all the children and many sporting adults would jump in and we would go to Marine Drive, singing and screaming, wind in our hair, cold and shivering, but our hearts warm and really happy. I can’t remember feeling like that ever, once I grew up!

But the Christmas feeling engulfs me, every time Dec 1 approaches. I wait for December. I love December. I feel swell in December. I decorate my Christmas tree with love and joy and a great deal of attention. I take down the boxes in which I had carefully wrapped up the Christmas hangings the previous year and with childish glee go about the task. The oldest decoration in my collection must be about 40 years old. I have picked up stuff from Christmas markets all over Europe, even Singapore, Hong Kong and Bangkok! Next time you want to give me a gift, remember what will drive me nuts!

The best Christmas cake came from across the Byculla railway station, in the east, Regal Stores and Café. Full of dark plums, moist and oh so divine. To date this is my favourite cake, except Regal is now gone and I have switched to Desiree’s Chrismas cake, which is the closest to my childhood taste memory.

We loved kalkals, too. And the guava cheese, the milk toffees, chocolate fudge, rose cookies, and newries. Gingerbread houses were around but only in Christmas cards. We didn’t really see any real ones, like you see them now in every 5-star hotel Christmas buffet and even the lobbies! In our days, hotels put up cribs. With miniature porcelain figures of baby Jesus and sheep and Mother Mary… Oh, how I miss those days.