Desi Dialogues

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As I see the marketing blitz during Christmas, and the thousands of dollars spent on Christmas gifts, it reminds me that Christmas growing up in India was never about gifts or the money spent.

It was about saying thanks to Cecilia. Cecilia served our family for more than 48 years. Yes, 48 years. As a young Catholic girl from a small village in Southern India, Cecilia came to our Mumbai house five decades ago in search of a job.

And since then has stayed on to raise all of us and even my children.

So when she'd celebrate Christmas, we celebrated it with her.

After all, how could we not?

Cecilia, who I call my second mom, was always there for me - for every play I performed in junior school, in every sports game - always cheering me on to do my best with her uncanny knack of being happy all the time.

She remains, to this date, the only person I know who seems not to be fazed by what life throws her way and is always smiling.

So in my family, it was an unwritten code that we only spent Christmas with her and her family.

Every Christmas we took the two-hour train trek (one way) to visit her house - in a tiny Mumbai suburb called Kanjumarg.

After the long journey, it was refreshing to see most houses had tiny wooden or porcelain statues of baby Jesus in a stable along with the three kings and Mary and Joseph.

Every house also had an electrical star adorning the house and that star outside the house, I believe, signifies the same one that shone when Jesus was being born.

And it was in Kanjumarg that I saw the religious side of Christmas, which is often overshadowed here by the glamour and glitz of Christmas marketing. The midnight mass and the carols - people singing even in the small streets in Kanjumarg made it a beautiful experience.

But it was the true warmth of these simple village folks that I miss during Christmas; as we trudged through the small neighbourhood, Cecilia used to introduce us to every neighbour and we were often invited into their house for a cup of tea.

And when we entered Cecilia's small tiny 300-square-foot house, we'd forget we were in this tiny place as her brother and wife, their three children and almost seven of us shared a Christmas evening together. That's because Mary, Cecilia's sister-in-law, who we affectionately call Bhabi, welcomed us with her excellent fruit cake and port wine and throughout the evening brought out her special flavoured rice, spicy Christian pork vindaloo (made with red chili paste and vinegar) and zesty chicken curries. Often different varieties graced the table, which were supposed to be eaten with fluffy rice pancakes and loads of beer, wine and whiskey.

Over the years, Cecilia invited my in-laws, extended family and friends and Cecilia's tiny house would be the place where one could literally see her family's ample warmth and love.

Over time, Cecilia's brother, Alphonse, started helping out in our house as Cecilia developed diabetes, which cost her the partial loss of eyesight in one eye. But that does not faze her, and if we enquire about her eyesight she asks us to see "the brighter side of life."

And so, this week it wasn't really surprising to hear from her, that she was making all kinds of travel preparations to make sure my father was coming to her house, which shook me; my 84-year-old Dad has Alzheimer's and is almost bedridden. But Cecilia says she will bring my Dad to spend Christmas with her even if it's in his wheelchair!

That's the best Christmas gift I could ever wish for.