Indian Christmas Memories Under the Pōhutukawa

If you ever met me on the streets of Bengaluru in December, you’d probably spot me darting about like an overexcited elf, trying to capture every warm fairy light glowing on every Christmas tree. I’d be on a determined quest to try as many hot chocolates as possible, marking the beginning of one of my favourite times of the year. My love for Christmas (and those soft, golden December vibes) began long before my earliest memories.

So, when 2024 brought me my first Christmas in New Zealand, it felt like stepping into a new kind of storybook. A sun-kissed Christmas, where people welcomed the season with swims, gentle sunbaths (whenever the Welly weather permitted), and an ease I had never known before.

You see, for me, growing up in India, Christmas lived in a world of (imaginary) snowflakes, hot chocolate, and cold nights. I blame it entirely on the Northern Hemisphere movies we watched on loop, those scenes of snow-covered streets, warm carols drifting through the air, and everything shimmering with a serene, wintry charm. It helped that Bengaluru was always chilly around Christmas!

A shopping mall in Bengaluru is decorated ahead of Christmas in 2018. Image credits - Farheen

South India had no snow, of course. But we celebrated Christmas in the old, glorious, multicultural Indian way - with food, lights, love, and a sense of shared warmth.

Since moving to Wellington, every time someone asks me, “So what do you do for Christmas?”, I feel my heart wander gently back to those memories.

At home, we didn’t celebrate Christmas in the formal, traditional sense — but we celebrated everything around it. My parents made sure we felt the Christmas magic – by taking us it to every Christmas event in the city and encouraging us to participate in every celebration.

Every year, my little sister and I would begin our “December Project”: designing the brightest, most beautiful Christmas card humanity had ever seen. We were about five or six when that tradition began, and every year was a dramatic attempt to outdo the last.

Those cards were always for my dad’s dear friend, Charles Uncle, a priest at one of Bengaluru’s biggest churches. He would visit us before Christmas with a box of cake, and in return, we’d hand him our newest masterpiece. A few years ago, he told us he still has every single card preserved and proudly shows them off at church. We were delighted beyond reason. What touched me even more was how he always brought us chocolate cake instead of plum cake, a small gesture but filled with thoughtfulness and love. You see, the plum cakes would be made with alcohol in it, and we could not have any alcohol. He always went the extra mile to make us feel included!

Every December, I also eagerly waited for the Christmas delicacies our neighbours from Kerala would make. Their home was my childhood’s warmest memory of Christmas. I still wish I could relive those days, not just for one more bite of those magical dishes Aunty made, but for the love with which she shared them.

There was also our little gang of friends, eight or nine of us, who dramatically called ourselves “The RAFT Kidz” (the full name origin is a saga for another day). Every Christmas vacation, we took turns hosting a Christmas party in our family garages. Parents supplied snacks, juice, and decorations, and we brought our tiny music players to dance the day away. Oh, the blissful days before screens ruled the world.

And then there was Christmas in books and movies. We watched Harry Potter religiously, letting out a collective dreamy sigh when the Hogwarts halls filled with snow. That was the cue for Butterbeer fantasies and mugs of hot chocolate at home.

One of our family traditions was visiting the annual Bengaluru Cake Show (like in this photo with my parents from my childhood). This year marks its 51st edition. Thousands visit every year to see life-sized castles, Disney characters, and even Formula 1 cars, all sculpted out of cake. After the long walk across the grounds, we’d treat ourselves to thick slices of cake and wander home with full hearts.

The entire city joined the celebration too. Bengaluru’s Central Business District would transform into a living Christmas tree. Brigade Road, MG Road, and Commercial Street glowing in lights. In India, the streets dressed differently for each festival: Eid, Diwali, Christmas, each with its own colour and magic. It felt like living inside a festival carousel.

As the city grew, the malls joined the sparkle. Every year, there was an unspoken and adorable competition for who had the best or biggest Christmas tree. Some churches even crafted gigantic trees made entirely of recycled materials. It felt as though the entire city, every corner, every neighbourhood, wanted to be part of the magic.

Festivals in Bengaluru always held the same warmth, whether it was Christmas, Eid, or Deepavali. And in our tiny residential colony in the heart of the city, we celebrated all of them with equal joy.

Now, as we move towards another Christmas in this sunny, windswept, different — but equally warm — city of Wellington, I’ve begun embracing everything that makes this whole experience its own kind of fairy tale.

A special Christmas Tree at the Victoria University of Wellington. Image credits - Farheen

I’ve been faithfully following every Christmas event the city offers — the celebrations at Waitangi Park (On left - where we were last year too), the Christmas Circus at the Queen’s Wharf, the Thorndon Fair, the cosy sense of community, meeting friends who have become like family, lighting up our porch with fairy lights, watching the Welly sun turn the city golden, and curling up with Christmas movies and hot chocolate.

I am now just as excited when the Pōhutukawa began blooming with full glory and lining the streets with red, pretty flowers! It definitely feels more like Christmas when I see these beautiful trees all across the city.

The Pohutukawa trees in Wellington. Photo credits - Lilia Alexander on Instagram (Photo posted on page WellingtonLive)

And in between all this are the moments sprinkled with fairy dust — like my colleague gifting my toddler a beautiful chocolate Santa (which he adored) or hearing stories of how families celebrate the season here, or simply finding our own slow, gentle rhythm to soak in the festival.

This Christmas feels different. Softer. Warmer in its own sunny way.
And yet — in all the fluttering lights, shared treats, and little acts of love — it feels like the magic has followed me here.

Just the way it always has.

-Asia Media Centre