Four Christmases

A compilation of some of my best, warmest Christmas memories, made with the people I love.

Happy Holidays from me & mine :)

2022, UK

A vivid memory from last December - a soft lull from the hall. The faint sound of 90s English music wafting through my walls, my parents' collection. It calls to me like a cozy sweater with open arms twice my size. I walk outside my room and settle on the too-soft, sink-in couch. The evening feels like something trapped in a snow globe, untouched by the outside world. A first-and-last family tradition nothing can tamper with:

In the kitchen, we make carrot cake for the first time. Top it with whipped cream. Then the Christmas cookies, with brand-new silver cookie cutters. From the oven, the sweet buttery smell rises up and we smile at the little victory. Golden-brown Christmas trees and gingerbread men and misshapen Santa Clauses. We bite their heads and arms and legs off and laugh when they look handicapped.

Outside, it is freezing cold. My heart is full and warm and lit up with tiny X-mas lights.

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2021, India

The neighborhood my father grew up in is known for its Christmas decorations. He draws a map for me, slightly shaky lines for the streets with the best lights, on a piece of ruled notebook paper. I still have this map with me.

That day, as I navigated the same streets with my best friend, I refused to do the logical thing and turn to Google Maps. I held on to my father's hand-drawn map at every turn like it was a family heirloom that would part the streets and unveil some ancient legacy. So we stood on corners and crossroads with this small piece of paper clutched between my fingers, an outdated sight to see.

We didn't get lost once.

* * *

2022, UK

I arrived just in time for the snow.

First thing in the morning after I landed, my father slipped my hand in his and led me through the biting cold so he could finally show me the snow I had only seen in pictures yet. It was already whispering goodbyes and had turned into a powdery white coating sparsely worn on patches of the road. In the park, I held a frozen leaf in the middle of my palm. It was tipped with icy edges, its little crevices boasting of morning frost. Wonder rose in my chest.

I had never seen the snow.

In London, on the days leading up to Christmas, we tramp through the always-wet streets. The glittering lights come up like exclamations of joy, surprising us at the turn of every street. We drink hot chocolates and wear hand-warmers in our gloves even beneath three layers of clothing. We draw hearts on foggy bus windows.

Our AirBNB reveals its leaky ceiling and my parents and I have to sleep on mattresses on the floor, cramped up together in the hall. So much warmth in a room so small.

* * *

2023, India

Three misfits at a lame Christmas party. I'm wearing the maroon dress that's been gathering dust in my closet for ages. I turn on the little yellow lights that my father loves and the speaker is booming with Bollywood music. We're dancing (I'm trying to), falling to the floor, chasing each other, throwing pillows. I imagine the sound of our happiness emanating out from the door and disturbing the neighbors passing by. The laughter that spills out of my mouth is, for the first time, cackling and terrible and absolutely embarrassing. Something warm rests in my belly and refuses to leave, like a stubborn tenant. The evening is dipped in something bittersweet and I am ravenously biting off every inch of it, trying to stretch its red, Christmas-coloured cloth to a forever. It's a night to remember. It's a fever dream with our eyes wide open.

We gasp at the twinkling silver skyline from the little window above my parents' bed, and the distorted moon through ochre blinds. We take blurry pictures with real, laughing smiles that have a memory entirely their own. We feel, finally, like teenagers who've got the world at their fingertips and the city at their feet.

In each other's arms on Christmas night, we find friendship so fierce it looks you right in the eye and holds your hand through painful confessions of love and ugly, cackling laughter and everything in between.

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