Essay: It’s Christmas Time

Cécile Rischmann shares a nostalgic reflection on childhood Christmases in an Indian household, where faith, community, and festive rituals intertwined with the innocent excitement of new clothes, shared sweets, and neighbourhood warmth.

As kids, we eagerly awaited this time of the year when school would close, leaving us free to prepare for the coming of Christ. 

Honestly, none of us thought much about Baby Jesus—how mean we were—because we were far more concerned about receiving a new dress and a pair of shoes.  

Considering this was the only time of the year our folks would open their wallets and indulge us—a pair of shoes and a dress meant to last Christmas, New Year, Birthday, and Easter (whichever came first)—I’m sure Baby Jesus would have forgiven us. He was generous that way.

In hindsight, our parents taught us the value of money without ever having to deliver a lecture. We treasured that gift so much that we wouldn’t even show it to our best friends. After all, we didn’t want anyone copying the pattern or buying the same shoes. With only a handful of well-known footwear shops, and knowing we’d have to wear those shoes until the following Christmas, we chose wisely: sturdy soles and indestructible uppers, and designs that could survive everything from playground dust to sudden growth spurts.