There are some months that are not my favourites. October fills me with dread. But the month of December always makes me feel good. Since childhood, it played a very big part of my life. My best friend, Virginia, was Catholic, and I remember the Xmas tree in her house used to be really beautiful. White and full-leafed. It was placed by a window and I remember the morning sun making it glow. I remember asking my aunt, for a tree when I was around 4. I got it and the decorating of it was a family time. 

Over time, December became linked to new beginnings. A new year soon followed. The month itself brought a lot of hope and cheer – especially because i had so many references to it in the movies my family watched. I did my schooling in a convent school. So the theology presented itself easily to me, and I remember being wowed by the story of the kindness of St Theresa. She was the patron saint of my school. Lovely stories that included the quote, “what matters in life is not great deeds, but great love.” That surely left an impression on my mind. 

The school’s church was one of the best buildings I had seen as a child. A high vaulted ceiling. Walls on either side made from stained-glass. An altar that had one of the most beautiful images of Christ. I remember feeling at peace when I visited there. I thought, surely God lived in a place like this. As I grew into my atheism, I still held a place of reverence for that church. There are some places which indubitably speak of the nature of god – and what light should fill one’s being. That was one such place. 

December makes me think of those things. It makes me think of the bright lights of Hill Road, the entire month through. Stars, ornaments, garlands, gleaming at me from every stall and store. Christmas trees standing in regal splendour amidst scenes of the nativity. All of this being said, December has nothing to do with religion for me. It represents a time when things are soft and lambert. Where people generally tend to become light-hearted and festive.

I also particularly remember the winters of December, when the woollies would come out. It became the time for some warm cuddling with my favourite people. The sunsets also become spectacular in December, you know?

Slowly, family time of decorating the tree extended onto friends. As I grew up, the decorating of the tree became a tradition in the household. People would gather at my home to put up the tree, and everyone brought in some ornament or the other. Most of the ornaments now on the tree are brought by someone, and that becomes a story by itself. There are some ornaments that are decades old.

Every year, I make a visit to Hill Road. It’s the place of my childhood. Where I used to visit with my family, so many of whom have passed on. Their loss is bitterly felt and as I roam the streets of my childhood, I remember them. But those streets have changed. Skyscrapers have replaced one-storeyed bungalows and small buildings. The parks are teeming with people. They seem overpowered by the surrounding streets ballooning with luxury sedans and SUVs. But a trip to hill road over one of the Advents is just unmissable. 

I pick up ornaments each year. Pretty ones, bells, stars, fairies, santas, tassels, angel hair, crystal snowflakes and on and on. Everyone I have loved has come on a trip like this with me. That just is tradition, and it makes you a part of my clan. Christmas then isn’t just a festival for me. It’s an amalgamation of all those times I have spent with people I have loved. Who left me or passed on, but the memories linger and become crystallised as ornaments on all those trees I have had since I was a child. It’s not essentially about the birth of Christ, but everything He stands for, compassion, brotherhood, honesty, belief and love. He stood against racism, sexism, oppression and injustice. 

December isn’t just a month for me. It’s the settling down after a tumultuous year of life. Christmas isn’t just a day. It’s the link to cumulative memory and a catalyst to making another happy one. Many may not understand this, even those who love me a lot. But that is alright. I guess that’s what Christmas brings to me, a reminder that all that happened was both good and bad and neither lived on. Because there will always be another Christmas next year.