Unwrapping Christmas: A Journey of Curiosity and Discovery
My memories of Christmas transport me back to the enchanting days of my childhood, where curiosity thrived like a blooming flower in my heart! On my street, there was one Christian family that ignited my fascination with the festive season. George, a constable, and his wonderful family were our neighbours. Their household was a haven of kindness and generosity, with six children — five girls and one boy. I recall Vimala, the youngest, and Saroja, my age; we played together like kindred spirits.
Their elegant attire and an unmistakable air of relaxation made George’s family stand out. The girls had eyes that sparkled like stars, and their graceful movements left an indelible impression. They exuded politeness and often bestowed compliments upon passersby. Every Sunday, like clockwork, they would embark on a journey to the unknown world of the church, clutching black-bound Bibles in their hands. Their departure was a spectacle, with the entire neighbourhood gathering to witness the grand event.
Though I had no idea what the church looked like, who the priest or bishop was, or the intricacies of their religious hierarchy, I eagerly awaited Christmas, driven by my insatiable curiosity.
On Christmas Eve, the girls would don their finest attire and depart for church in a horse-drawn carriage called the ‘Jatka.’ Each held their cherished Bible close. The sight of them heading to worship was a heartwarming tableau. Bakeries were a rarity in our town, but Mrs. George’s homemade Christmas cake was legendary. While I remained oblivious to the cake’s secret ingredients, I did know it contained eggs. My parents abstained from partaking, adhering to their dietary choices, but my sister and I delighted in every morsel.
One day, as I passed the church, I stole a glimpse through its open doors. Inside, a large cross, a small elevated table, candle stands, and rows of wooden benches greeted my curious eyes. A figure in white robes, presumably a ‘guru,’ stood at the table, delivering a sermon. The desire to attend a church service gnawed at me, but none of my friends ventured into the unknown. All I knew was that this place housed a figure named Jesus Christ, the cornerstone of Christianity.
One fateful day, a vehicle equipped with a booming loudspeaker halted near my house. Two women and a man emerged, distributing pamphlets to the hesitant passersby. My heart surged with excitement, and I volunteered to accept a booklet. It bore a challenge — a quiz! If I answered correctly, I would receive a book of Bible stories. I took the quiz, responded to every question right, and got the cherished book that transported me to the world of biblical tales.
When I was twenty-five, Miss Mathew, a kind soul, took me to a midnight mass in bustling Bangalore. By then, I had gleaned snippets about Christianity and its places of worship. The church was a mesmerizing spectacle, filled with many devoted souls. Sitting beside Miss Mathew, I listened to the priest’s sermon, the soothing prayers, and the enchanting melodies — the crescendo of anticipation built as we all lined up to approach the sacred altar. But Miss Mathew’s words pulled me back to reality; I was not to partake in the holy communion, for I was not a Christian.
In a twist of fate, one Christmas vacation led my family and me on a road trip to the scenic shores of Goa. We stayed with a friend in Panaji, and on Christmas Eve, my wife adorned our host’s home with a photo of Jesus Christ surrounded by fragrant flowers. We all sang Hindu bhajans, much to our host’s surprise.
Each Christmas, I take a deep breath and contemplate the enigmatic individual who changed the world forever. His messages, magnetism, and charisma continue to resonate with millions worldwide, fueling my curiosity and wonder. And as I offer my prayers, I can’t help but wonder where this incredible journey will take me next.
