Ghost of Christmas Past

Memories of childhood Christmases in Munnar in the ’50s always make me nostalgic. A sharp nip in the air signalled that Christmas was r...

Memories of childhood Christmases in Munnar in the ’50s always make me nostalgic. A sharp nip in the air signalled that Christmas was round the corner. When mum vigorously shook us awake in the morning, the window-panes would be densely misted. Wiping them clean with our palms, we would gaze, fascinated, at the white blanket of frost on the grass, with myriad dewdrops glistening in the sunlight. The cold would leave our lips painfully chapped, forcing us to smear them liberally with butter as an emollient.

As the temperature dipped, elders — snug in balaclavas and pullovers — would languidly sun themselves on their doorsteps. Christmas stars would colourfully light up the wintry night. At home a fire would crackle crisply in the sitting-room with the family clustered around it, listening to Radio Ceylon’s lilting carols.

Mum would busy herself with pre-Christmas chores. Her mothballed silk curtains, reserved for special occasions, would be dusted off and put up. A couple of roosters would be fattened up for the big day. ‘Culculs’ and other snacks would be mass-produced for four ever-hungry boys. Wine would be brewed from fermented grapes and stashed away, to keep us from sampling it prematurely! And we boys would scout around for a shapely pine for the Christmas tree.

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The carollers usually came late at night heralded by a booming bass drum. Overcoated and swathed in mufflers, the vapour from their breath would be tinged white in the glow of their lanterns as they sang. Rubbing the sleep out of our eyes, we would huddle in the porch, shivering yet intrigued by the accordionist’s skill and the portly, crimson-clad Santa Claus, with beetling brows, whose identity we could never guess.

Ironically, there was little peace and goodwill when it came to setting up our Christmas tree. For we boys constantly bickered over trifles, often leading to fisticuffs that required Dad’s stern intervention. But on Christmas morning, after the solemnity of a high mass, bonhomie prevailed as we excitedly unwrapped our gifts and exchanged greetings, followed by chunks of cake and a generous tot of wine!