'CHRISTMAS’ IN Shillong opens a vista of memories: Childhood, school, the freezing winters; woollen clothes, fur caps and mufflers to give one sedate company. And of course the ubiquitous cricket matches in the playing fields lit with hazy sunshine, most of the times a relief from the sheer lugubrious winter monotony. It also unwinds memories of green pine trees looking a shade greener in winter's moist and beautiful calm. Winter in Shillong is also synonymous with the advent of Christmas which I looked forward to as a child especially when the haunting carols pervaded the air.

 

From the precincts of my Laitumkhrah House I would run to catch a glimpse of a simulated Santa Clause accompanied by men and women both young and old. The songs rented the air like Shakespeare's immortal words if music be the food of love. I immortalize Christmas in Shillong, as recondite memories suddenly surface bringing boyhood memories of winter, frost in the morning, mellowing sunshine and golden oranges. And how can I forget the evening fire, its warmth, the rush among us brothers to catch the driver's ' seat ' in front of the fireplace- a grand old armchair which reminded me of a coronation throne! Then of course music would waft in with those memorable carols, which etched the mind like winter spreading it's wings over light and darkness. The school report card which usually arrived sometime before it lay on a mantlepiece- forgotten. There was no need to remember how badly or well you did, only looking forward to ' jingles '.

 

My first introduction to Christmas carols came of course in school, but tangibly when we bought an LP record anachronistically perhaps in the month of May! But Christmas songs are there forever. As I grew up I acquired a deeper meaning of Christmas when I observed the solemnity of the church, with people winding their ways to ' celebrate' Christmas in the true sense. Christmas day itself would be quiet, the quiescence of which highlighted its propitious meaning. And I would love to catch a glimpse of the Don Bosco Church.

 

But it is not the noise of Christmas which captivates but those memories of decorated trees, carols rollicking the air, Fire Brigade field with trees lying supine, waiting to be taken to eager homes and not to forget the silent night. The holiness of the night I could sense notwithstanding some revel makers. But those carols haunt me like a leitmotif taking me to time, place, things, friends and people. Also the time when I went to a church to understand what it stands for perennially down the ages, as we are caught in animosity, hatred, and revenge. Of course over the decades things have changed, as people rush to the shops to buy goodies and traffic is insurmountable! But winter's memory continues with one more wish for Santa Claus to appear with Rudolph galloping his way to the glory of the world.

 

Memories of my parents come kicking back, as I would literally beg my mother to bake a cake or adorn the evergreen, charismatic pine tree. No matter how cold it was, and in those days it was colder by far than what it is today; I would supplicate for these. Having a tree decorated in the house would actually mean celebrating Christmas. Or to rush off to Guidetti's for their sumptuous pastries, a stone's throw distance from my house, and the bells chiming. Though I could not relate to snowy evenings as mentioned in some carols I could relate it to Shillong's weather beaten icy mornings. The hands were numb but Christmas was entering the body, soul and mind.

 

Flashes, a piece here and there, imaginings a shade here and there, memories. This is what Christmas means to me every year in Shillong's mesmerising winter. We wish you all a Merry Christmas- clichéd no doubt but meaningful and perennial all the same. Let this be a lasting prayer.