Shivering, snowbound Santa
Sleigh stuck in the snow,
Seven, striking reindeer straying,
A sleet-and-shuddering storm show.

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It's December and mum would have started Christmas preparation,

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She’d brush the wooden walls off bugs – hall, room and kitchen,
Dad would do the shopping, marketing and Yule-tree decoration,
While, we, kids got in their way and caused much consternation.

Mum would sew our frocks, shirts and pants matched inside out,
Dad would cut out old Christmas cards and hang them about,
The star, he shaped from silver and gold cigarette packets he got,
While we messed up the house, danced, played and fought.

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Mum was a connoisseur of Indian cuisine and western dishes,
Roasting or frying, she would grind her very own spices,
The aroma of her cooking would pervade the surrounding houses,
While we could barely wait for the days to get nearer to Christmas.

Biscuits, cakes and sweetmeat, we helped mum do the cooking,
Shaping dough with a fork, we’d work till three in the morning,
Shell-shaped biscuits we made, crispy, sugary and mouth-melting, 

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While mum did the frying, we were allowed to do the tasting.

On Christmas Eve, mum had the chicken fried and turkey roasted,
Dad had the altar cleaned, our clothes ironed and the crib perfected,
The table-cloth was laid, the floor swept and the carpet dusted,
While we had to sleep at noon, so that night we wouldn’t be tired.

Getting ready for midnight mass was a joyous adventure,
Dad would comb my tresses parting the hair in the centre,
Mum in sari, dad with bow-tie and coat, an unforgettable picture,
Off to church, by trishaw we’d go, so walking wouldn’t be a bother.

After months of practice, dad was the conductor of the choir,
Gloriously he sang for he had the voice of baritone and tenor,
If one upstart lacked practice and sang tunelessly, it irked dad’s ire,
To dad, hymns were praises to God sung with homage and honour.

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Come Christmas morning, our house would be full of people, far and near,
Dad's urgent whisper “Make sure, there’s some left for our children, dear,”
Under mum’s watchful eye food was enough for family and friends together,
I'll never forget Christmas aeons ago that was filled with joy and laughter.



Click here to visit VoicesNet.com to read the poem called "MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS PAST" by Jacinta Ramayah, Malaysia

On the night after Christmas, the house was a sight,
As though the clan had had dinner, with a cat-fight,
The curtains were all awry and hanging in shreds,
The stockings by the warm hearth were missing some threads,
Greasy pots and pans were stacked high under the sink
With gravy dripping over, the glasses with drinks,
The walls were splattered with custard, pudding and pies,
The table-cloth was stained with soup, curry and spice. 

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