Bara Din Mubarak Ho!
Supper dishes are washed and put away. The children's eyes close as they drift to sleep. The floors are swept clean. Two cups of tea are brewed and placed on the table. And then we talk. This time it is my Mother and I. My Mother enjoys many types of activities. But I believe one of her favorites is to sit down with a close few and have a leisurely chat. So she begins. Her eyes take on a far-away look and she reminiscences about her childhood days...
My Mother's father, or my Nana, was a pastor. He dedicated his life to sharing the Good News of Christ's birth, life, death, and resurrection. He was passionate about what he believed and he was not ashamed to be called a Christian, even in the face of persecution. He was an intentional man, a man who embraced his life of ministry with zeal. Thus, Christmas was time to reach out and celebrate the coming of the Saviour in the package of a baby.
Celebrations began in early December. All the pastor's children excitedly visited the tailor to be measured and fitted for Christmas clothes. The local Bata store received a visit from several brothers and sister. This was their gift. New clothes. New shoes. Essentially a new outfit, from head to toe. Since the family was large and a pastor's income was small, my grandparents' gifts were practical. And you know what? My Mother and her siblings were thrilled and grateful.
The week before Christmas, Indian-style "baking" would begin. My Nana would purchase all the ingredients from the markets. Then all the kids would get involved in assembly fashion to cook up sweet and salty treats under the direction of my Nani (Grandmother). These treats included "sweet samosas" filled with a delicious concoction of cream of wheat, coconut, raisins, spices, and other yummy stuff! Once prepared, the Christmas delights were stored in locked metal containers to keep out any creatures, including the tiny fingers of little ones! Since ovens were not common in Indian households, my Nana visited the local bakery to ask them for an ingredient list for fruit cake. He collected all the required items and dropped it off. A few days later, a scrumptious fruit cake was created, better than anything my Mother has tasted here!
Christmas day would arrive with much anticipation. Each member of the family would don on their new Christmas attire with pride. The girls excitedly tied their braids with new ribbons. The boys goofily grinned into their polished shoes. And off to church the family would go. It didn't matter if it was a weekday or the weekend. Christmas day meant church. This was the time to gather corporately to celebrate Jesus' birth. After church, a street hawker would stand outside the door with balloons, flutes, pinwheels and other simple pleasures. My Nana would buy items for his kids. Following the morning service, the congregation would come to the pastor's home for tea. The locked tins were opened and everyone would indulge in treats and chai.
The next day was cause for more celebration. Chefs would be hired and a huge bonfire would be lit. Massive pots of beef curry, pilaw (beef and rice), and poori (deep fried Indian bread) would be prepared. The church congregation would feast on plates made from huge leaves. Clean water was available for thirsty bodies along with sweet Indian goodies for eager appetites. And of course, hot chai was always available. A wise street merchant would set up a makeshift shop nearby. My Nana and his children would purchase small items for the infants and toddlers of the congregation. The list included combs, plastic harmonicas, rattles, balls, and other rudimentary toys. The items would be hung from a tree in the courtyard for the children to select. In addition, each family would receive a gift from the church. It was a time to celebrate. Jesus is born! He has come to set us free from our sins.
...The last drops of tea have been drained from our cups. The children are still contentedly dreaming in their beds. My Mother's stories have come to an end for the evening.
"You have never told me this," I commented.
"I know," she pauses, "It has been 38 years since I have celebrated Christmas with my family in India."
"Mommy," I implored, "You REALLY need to go next year."
"I will," she replied with tears in her eyes.
Bara din mubarak ho! Merry Christmas!
My Mother's father, or my Nana, was a pastor. He dedicated his life to sharing the Good News of Christ's birth, life, death, and resurrection. He was passionate about what he believed and he was not ashamed to be called a Christian, even in the face of persecution. He was an intentional man, a man who embraced his life of ministry with zeal. Thus, Christmas was time to reach out and celebrate the coming of the Saviour in the package of a baby.
Celebrations began in early December. All the pastor's children excitedly visited the tailor to be measured and fitted for Christmas clothes. The local Bata store received a visit from several brothers and sister. This was their gift. New clothes. New shoes. Essentially a new outfit, from head to toe. Since the family was large and a pastor's income was small, my grandparents' gifts were practical. And you know what? My Mother and her siblings were thrilled and grateful.
The week before Christmas, Indian-style "baking" would begin. My Nana would purchase all the ingredients from the markets. Then all the kids would get involved in assembly fashion to cook up sweet and salty treats under the direction of my Nani (Grandmother). These treats included "sweet samosas" filled with a delicious concoction of cream of wheat, coconut, raisins, spices, and other yummy stuff! Once prepared, the Christmas delights were stored in locked metal containers to keep out any creatures, including the tiny fingers of little ones! Since ovens were not common in Indian households, my Nana visited the local bakery to ask them for an ingredient list for fruit cake. He collected all the required items and dropped it off. A few days later, a scrumptious fruit cake was created, better than anything my Mother has tasted here!
Christmas day would arrive with much anticipation. Each member of the family would don on their new Christmas attire with pride. The girls excitedly tied their braids with new ribbons. The boys goofily grinned into their polished shoes. And off to church the family would go. It didn't matter if it was a weekday or the weekend. Christmas day meant church. This was the time to gather corporately to celebrate Jesus' birth. After church, a street hawker would stand outside the door with balloons, flutes, pinwheels and other simple pleasures. My Nana would buy items for his kids. Following the morning service, the congregation would come to the pastor's home for tea. The locked tins were opened and everyone would indulge in treats and chai.
The next day was cause for more celebration. Chefs would be hired and a huge bonfire would be lit. Massive pots of beef curry, pilaw (beef and rice), and poori (deep fried Indian bread) would be prepared. The church congregation would feast on plates made from huge leaves. Clean water was available for thirsty bodies along with sweet Indian goodies for eager appetites. And of course, hot chai was always available. A wise street merchant would set up a makeshift shop nearby. My Nana and his children would purchase small items for the infants and toddlers of the congregation. The list included combs, plastic harmonicas, rattles, balls, and other rudimentary toys. The items would be hung from a tree in the courtyard for the children to select. In addition, each family would receive a gift from the church. It was a time to celebrate. Jesus is born! He has come to set us free from our sins.
...The last drops of tea have been drained from our cups. The children are still contentedly dreaming in their beds. My Mother's stories have come to an end for the evening.
"You have never told me this," I commented.
"I know," she pauses, "It has been 38 years since I have celebrated Christmas with my family in India."
"Mommy," I implored, "You REALLY need to go next year."
"I will," she replied with tears in her eyes.
Bara din mubarak ho! Merry Christmas!