Spectator by Seema Goswami: Walking in a winter wonderland
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. In Kolkata, however, it’s a celebration for the whole city, regardless of religion
Growing up in Calcutta, Christmas was always a magical time of the year for me. It wasn’t just that I went to a convent school or that I had Christian friends who would celebrate this day as a religious festival. It was also because Christmas – or Burra Din, as we called it in Cal – had been transformed into a secular holiday by the denizens of the city, who treated it as a special occasion to be marked by fireworks, streetlights, neighbourhood parties and community picnics, in which everyone would wear silly hats, eat, drink and make very merry indeed.
Strangely enough, there was never any tradition of Christmas presents – or, at least, not in my family. And even though there were plenty of men dressed as Santa Claus roaming around the shops in New Market, we children were never encouraged to write to Santa with a wish list of all we wanted. In fact, all we ever got for Christmas was a cake from the famous Nahoum shop (and very delicious it was too). But we did get taken to Park Street, when it was all lit up for the festival, and were treated to a slap-up meal in one of the posh restaurants on the street – a highlight of my year!
Perhaps it is all those childhood memories that ensure that I start feeling all festive and celebratory as Christmas comes near. I still draw the line at presents, because it seems like a needless commercialisation of yet another religious festival. I don’t get in a Christmas tree, mostly because I have no room for one. And no, I don’t attend midnight mass either these days, though I have done so in the past and been moved to tears by the power of the choral music.
But I do have some Christmas rituals of my own that I use to mark this time of the year. To recreate the Park Street of my childhood, I string up some fairy lights all around my living room and decorate the dining table with sprigs of holly and mistletoe. I am not much of a baker, but I am blessed with friends who send over plum cakes around this time, so breakfast usually turns into a calorific feast, which I keep telling myself is not sinful because, you know, Christmas!
Turkey is not to my taste but you still need a slap-up Christmas lunch. In my house, we go for bangers and mash or lamb and roasted potatoes, with some pasta and risotto for vegetarians, followed up with – what else? – another helping of Christmas cake. Silly hats are optional but everyone must bring a good appetite and memories of Christmases past, which we share around the table along with a few good glugs of champagne or wine.
My stories inevitably hark back to Calcutta and growing up in the city in which Christmas was literally the Big Day (Burra Din). I remember family picnics in Botanical Gardens, where I, along with my childhood friend Kavita, would dance in public with the gay abandon that only children can summon up. And I promise myself that next Christmas I will find my way back there to relive those days one more time.
So, on that note, Merry Christmas to all!
