<p>‘Your Christmas present is on the way,’ wrote my pen-friend from New York. My heart jumped for joy, as Wordsworth’s would leap at the sight of a rainbow. Not that I had heard of that poet when Carol’s letter arrived, over six decades ago. I was 10 years old.</p>.<p>Carol was 12 and frequently expressed her fervent admiration for The Beatles. Since I knew nothing of the lads from Liverpool, I took this to mean that Carol was into insects. As for the spelling and the capital B, I assumed that those (like the definite article before Beatles) were American anomalies.</p>.<p>Anyway, what mattered was not whether Carol collected creepy-crawlies, but that she was sending me something. I had told her that I was looking forward to Christmas, which was fast approaching, and asked what she hoped to get from Santa. I was sure that Carol was as excited as I was about the forthcoming festival. After all, she had a Christmassy name!</p>.Bengaluru’s iconic churches come alive with Christmas carols, masses and festive traditions.<p>Carol replied that she and her siblings, Michel and Sally, were at the start of their Hanukkah celebrations. On each of eight nights, the three of them would receive gifts. My younger brother and I wished that this child-friendly Jewish tradition could be incorporated into our Christian observances.</p>.<p>The countdown to Christmas was the countdown to Carol! More specifically, to her “surprise”, headed towards me across the Atlantic Ocean. Every afternoon, my brother and I lay in wait for our friendly postman, who would shake his head when we accosted him. Finally, he smilingly handed me a parcel. </p>.<p>I must regretfully admit that I did not comport myself with dignity and decorum. I grabbed it, rushed indoors and hastily tore off the wrappings. To my utter dismay, instead of the rosy-cheeked, golden-haired doll I had eagerly envisaged, I was confronted with a box of cards. </p>.<p>Later, I grew to appreciate the game, which Carol believed my family would enjoy as much as hers did. My brother and I took it along on trips, and it <br>enlivened long train journeys. At home, it was a success at parties and get-togethers.</p>.<p>Still, the fact remains that, on the day it came, I much preferred the stamps on the cover to the contents of the package. Password, which entailed guessing words by decoding clues, was probably popular in the US. It was not, however, what I expected from Carol at Christmas!</p><p>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</p>
<p>‘Your Christmas present is on the way,’ wrote my pen-friend from New York. My heart jumped for joy, as Wordsworth’s would leap at the sight of a rainbow. Not that I had heard of that poet when Carol’s letter arrived, over six decades ago. I was 10 years old.</p>.<p>Carol was 12 and frequently expressed her fervent admiration for The Beatles. Since I knew nothing of the lads from Liverpool, I took this to mean that Carol was into insects. As for the spelling and the capital B, I assumed that those (like the definite article before Beatles) were American anomalies.</p>.<p>Anyway, what mattered was not whether Carol collected creepy-crawlies, but that she was sending me something. I had told her that I was looking forward to Christmas, which was fast approaching, and asked what she hoped to get from Santa. I was sure that Carol was as excited as I was about the forthcoming festival. After all, she had a Christmassy name!</p>.Bengaluru’s iconic churches come alive with Christmas carols, masses and festive traditions.<p>Carol replied that she and her siblings, Michel and Sally, were at the start of their Hanukkah celebrations. On each of eight nights, the three of them would receive gifts. My younger brother and I wished that this child-friendly Jewish tradition could be incorporated into our Christian observances.</p>.<p>The countdown to Christmas was the countdown to Carol! More specifically, to her “surprise”, headed towards me across the Atlantic Ocean. Every afternoon, my brother and I lay in wait for our friendly postman, who would shake his head when we accosted him. Finally, he smilingly handed me a parcel. </p>.<p>I must regretfully admit that I did not comport myself with dignity and decorum. I grabbed it, rushed indoors and hastily tore off the wrappings. To my utter dismay, instead of the rosy-cheeked, golden-haired doll I had eagerly envisaged, I was confronted with a box of cards. </p>.<p>Later, I grew to appreciate the game, which Carol believed my family would enjoy as much as hers did. My brother and I took it along on trips, and it <br>enlivened long train journeys. At home, it was a success at parties and get-togethers.</p>.<p>Still, the fact remains that, on the day it came, I much preferred the stamps on the cover to the contents of the package. Password, which entailed guessing words by decoding clues, was probably popular in the US. It was not, however, what I expected from Carol at Christmas!</p><p>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</p>
