Have Yourself A Hindustani Christmas

I spent my last few weeks of school before the break educating my students about the US holiday season. This of course began with a lesson about Hanukkah, and became, in effect, an introduction to Judaism. I began by explaining that I am not a Christian, that for the same reason Muslim students celebrate Diwali as a cultural, rather than religious holiday, I don’t celebrate Christmas in the way they’ve seen in movies and on TV. For many of the kids, this fact was a tough pill to swallow, so, being a visual learner myself, I drew a timeline that looked something like this:

I attempted, with limited success, to help them see that Judaism was a religion way before Jesus was born, and therefore Jesus has nothing to do with the Jewish religion. Then I asked why Christians celebrate Christmas, what the holiday commemorates. Answers to this question ranged from “Jesus birthday” to “Santa Claus” to “Ma’am, Christmas!” I did my best to clarify that the fact that Jesus is not part of the Jewish religion means that Jews are not going to celebrate his birthday as a religious occasion. I then told an abridged version of the Hanukkah story in which I had the kids do different hand motions when they heard certain words such as “Maccabees” and “oil,” and explained the miracle that is believed to have occurred. The good thing about teaching Hanukkah in India is that the holiday has many similarities with Diwali, from the lighting of oil lamps in the entrance and windows of the home, to the general celebration of light triumphing over darkness. I brought in my menorah, which the kids of all ages were fascinated by, explained the purpose of the shamash, and led them in a few rounds of the Dreidel Song and I’m A Little Latke. To hear Indian schoolchildren singing about dreidels and latkes was enough to endear me even more to them, despite the frustrating experience of explaining something so outside their frame of reference.

The next two weeks were all about Christmas in the classroom. Last year’s ETA had taught the kids some songs, and they were eager to practice their Christmas repertoires. What I found was that they knew some different words to songs like Jingle Bells, making the classroom sound like a confused cacophony when some sang the words they knew and others read from the lyrics I had written on posters. Teaching songs to my students is generally a fairly hilarious experience, as they generally have an intense amount of enthusiasm and no ability to regulate the volume of their voices. The melody is seldom distinguishable over the majority of students who just scream the lyrics at the top of their lungs, with or without a rhythm. This was especially true when I tried to teach some of the more advanced classes the Jingle Bell Rock. For kids who are such great dancers and singers, it’s hard to understand why they have such a difficult time following the tunes and rhythms I teach, no matter how much repeating or rhythm clapping I do.

For the second week of Christmas celebration, I cut out large Christmas trees out of poster paper, put a star on top and had the kids write Christmas wishes on smaller stars and circles I cut out of paper. Most students wished for “happiness in all world” or “family happy healthy,” while others opted for BMWs and bicycles. My favorite wishes were the ones claiming a desire to “become a cricket,” missing the crucial “er” that would make this statement less Kafka-esque. 

The icing on the Christmas cake, however, came when Sean, my fellow ETA who works down the street from me, showed up during 8^th period one day dressed as Santa Claus, complete with a giant sack brimming with candy. Though he had told me he would come at some point dressed as Santa, a suit which he had requested his parents in Seattle to send him for exactly this purpose. Sean planned his entrance for weeks, buying speakers and creating a special Christmas playlist to blast music from his stuffed stomach as he walked around spreading Christmas cheer (read: candy). I was sitting on the playground with my 7B class when a whole group of kids came running up, shouting, “Ma’am! Sean Sir! Santa Claus is here! Sean Sir has lots of toffees!” I walked around to the front of the building to see Sean in full Santa getup, swarmed by my students, his beard in shambles around his face and his sack weighing him down like an anchor. He walked around the playground with me, children hanging from his every limb, chanting, “Santa Claus! Santa Claus! Santa Claus!” and a few of them even having the presence of mind to sing the song we had practiced, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” After circling the building, we went inside moments before the final bell rang, teachers and students alike poking their heads around corners to see what the commotion was about, Sean going out of his way to make sure each teacher got some candy. We walked up to the staff room so I could get my stuff, thinking that the kids would still respect the sacred rule of not entering the staff room, but alas, the allure of Santa was irresistible and the kids flooded in. I was nervous that the other teachers would be annoyed, but the way that Sean made sure to get them candy made them smile and laugh at the absurdity of the scene. We made our way out of the school as the bell rang and kids streamed out of their classrooms to join the swarm of Santa sycophants. 

By the time we exited through the main entrance, the entire school, students and teachers alike were abuzz with excitement, gathering round and reveling in the madness. I couldn’t believe how even the sternest of teachers, the men who smack students left and right and have perma-frowns, the shrill women with their sharp noses and annoyed sighs seemed delighted by the presence of this candy-bearing character. We set them up for a photo before Sean was swept away by the principal’s assistant, a man of medium height with a thick black moustache and hair dyed bright red with henna. He had Sean stand in between himself and the principal so I could take a photo, and then proceeded to hound me every day afterwards for a copy of the picture. I don’t think he could have been more excited if the Prime Minister was visiting. As Sean and I tried to make our escape, the kids continued to swarm around us, to the point that some of the teachers had to physically hold them back. Crossing the street to get an auto, the kids surrounded the vehicle, reminiscent of those images of the Beatles or Elvis leaving concert venues, unable to move forward in their cars because of all the screaming fans. We finally moved forward, the auto wallah laughing as the music continued to chime from Sean’s stomach and the happy cries faded into the background.

But the adventure wasn’t over. Up the elevator we went to the metro station, the people sharing the elevator cracking up. When we emerged, the few children in the station came up to Santa with stars in their eyes, amazed and awed by what they were seeing, even more so when toffees were handed to them by Santa himself. We boarded the metro, and Sean gave out candy to all our fellow passengers, kids and adults alike, who were so thrilled to receive it…I couldn’t believe how happy it made these grown adults to receive pieces of candy from a man in a red fat suit. Sean kept the music playing, and we danced when a particularly upbeat song played, to the extreme amusement of the other metro riders. Everywhere we went, people stopped and stared and pointed, but in such a happy and excited way, I felt like I was in the movie Elf.

I love Christmas lights, but other than that, the holiday has never really appealed to me. The music is nice for a while but I always get so sick of it and there’s something about Christmas that always felt exclusive to me. But Indians love themselves a celebration, no matter the religion or tradition. It felt nice to be able to embrace the holiday through the novelty and joy experienced by those around me.