From Counting Stars to Clicking Post: A Christmas Memoir

“Hey, this iced lemon tea is just 4 SGD.”

“Oh! I see.”

“Don’t you think 4 SGD is cheap?”

“….”

“Don’t you think even 10 SGD is somewhat cheap?”

“….”

This was a completely random conversation between two little boys (must be in primary school) sitting right next to me, seriously analysing the menu card during my flight from Singapore to India for the Christmas vacation.

Meanwhile, at the back of my mind, I was busy doing silent calculations — SGD to INR. (So calculative, Bimla! my mind screamed at me.)

When I was their age… hehe… all I remember is counting stars!

Technology advances… and toddlers advance right along with it. I can’t help but imagine — one day there might be a technology where babies won’t even need to crawl! They’ll directly walk, run, and jump from the start. A brand-new innovation! And of course, it will be advertised everywhere too.

Their conversation instantly took me back to my good old childhood days — especially the prime period of primary school… that precious age of 6 to 12. (Even though I’m supposed to be writing about Christmas — in particular, about the little crib I made in Singapore — my mind decided to travel back in time!)

Nowadays, if we want to know something, we have ChatGPT, Google search, and all sorts of tools at our fingertips.

But in my primary school days, all we had were Thaatha, Paati, Appa, Amma, Akka, Anna, cousins, uncles, and aunties.

They shared the best of their experiences and knowledge with us. They would start their stories with lines like:

“Antha kaalathula ipdi…”,

“Unakku theriyuma…”,

“Oh, unakku appo theriyatha…?”

That personal touch — I don’t know how much of that warmth these modern platforms can really give.

To put it simply, today we have AI to read storybooks for us. But back then, all we needed was our Amma or our dearest Akka sitting beside us, reading our favourite stories.

Now, setting all that aside… let me tell you how Christmas felt for me during those beautiful primary school days — and let me try my best to bring that same personal touch into it.

Let’s start with counting stars. During the half-yearly examination in December, which lasted for 6 days, the final exam would be just two or three days before Christmas. So, as per tradition, all the way along while coming back at noon (since they were exam days, school would finish early), colourful stars, serial lights, Christmas trees, and cribs would be scattered across almost every house in town.

Now my fellow van-mates would hold a competition… a group of 5 or 6 on the left side and another group on the right side. Which group was the fastest to count 100 stars? That’s it — keen eyes, full focus… no cheating at all. But our little hearts broke when it reached only 92, 93 on the first few days of the exam period. On the day of the final exam, our team would be in excess of stars… 102, 103 (near Christmas, the entire town would be in full swing tying up stars — one among them would be my Appa).

Those days, chasing something or achieving something was completely different. It was pure, and we didn’t even know what we were going behind. When we become adults, chasing hits differently — it sort of becomes a competition (not like counting stars… for sure!).

And then crib-making — that was rare. I remember how excited we used to be to see a crib (as if we were going to see a real nativity scene or what!). We used to visit relatives’ homes who kept a crib for Christmas and were fascinated by the miniature display of Christ’s birth. Now that I’ve made a little crib this time, I’m satisfied. Perk of being an adult — we can be child-like sometimes. (Childish hits differently — that’s being silly!)

Primary school subjects, to my knowledge, were not stressful at all (not like high-school science and social studies, or higher secondary maths). Exam preparation came easy — especially during the half-yearly exams.

And Paati would be busy pre-prepping for Christmas snack-making. Mostly mundhri kothu (my favourite one — basically a ball attached to a group of 4 or 5 balls, that’s why it’s called kothu — a cluster, it seems). The ball is a mixture of roasted rice flour, gram flour, and jaggery, with roasted grated coconut and sesame seeds. Most people in the northern district don’t know about it… they think it might be made of cashews since mundhri means cashew. Another fascinating thing is that before frying, the balls would be kept to dry for 3 to 4 days so their shelf life becomes longer. And anytime we passed by the drying area, we would secretly swallow one or two. Paati would shoo us away, calling us crows for trying to eat it before frying.

Then comes chuthu murukku (Paati used to take a slice of coconut leaf, roll it into a ring, and twist and spiral the dough around that ring — again, a fascination). And finally achu murukku (no swirling required — just dip the mould in the batter and fry it in oil; the mould forms a flower-like shape).

These were the basic snacks home-made in almost every household, and after my little exam preparation in the evening, I would watch Paati doing all this. Later they would be distributed to neighbours and relatives along with the traditional plum cake.

If plum cake reminds me of Christmas, the home-made achu murukku, chuthu murukku, and mundhri kothu remind me of the smell of my Paati’s soul. Athirasam joins the club too (since it’s a bit tricky to make — it involves a little fermentation — only experienced ones could do it, as Paati used to say).

Nowadays, they are not made at home anymore. Readymade ones from shops are distributed to neighbours and relatives — 10 or 15 pieces of each item, packed neatly and sent with love. Back then, Christmas greeting cards sent by distant relatives, which took days and days to reach us by post, held a special place. Now, they have all been replaced by GIFs and forwarded messages. That’s okay. Times change.

But the season of Christmas remains the same. 

Colourful stars. Serial lights. Christmas tree. Crib.

A joy that never grows old.

The chill in the air, the sound of carols — they remain in the deepest corner of my heart and mind.

And today, I can share this blog with people in less than a fraction of a second… not like before — when we used to write a letter and wait days or even months for it to reach the other end. Maybe technology has made sharing our thoughts a little too easy — just like the two little boys on the flight deciding that even 10 SGD is still cheap.

Back then, a Christmas post meant waiting days for a greeting card to arrive. Today, it means clicking ‘post’ and sharing a memory instantly.

But whether it’s counting stars from a school-van window…

or clicking “post” on a mobile screen…

Christmas still finds a way to make us feel like children again.

And that — no technology can ever replace. 🎄✨