My teacher asked me to repeat Hari Sri Ganapataye Nama, as he held my forefinger to write on a measure of rice spread on the floor on the day of Vidyarambham. My Bible-thumbing grandma and parents watched as I was initiated into the world of knowledge by the teacher whom we all respectfully called "Asan".

The initiation was complete only when Asan took a palm leaf, tied a knot at one end and wrote legibly with a steel pen the sacred Sanskrit words on it. Though I belonged to a conservative Christian family, nobody looked askance at Asan teaching me a salutation to the Hindu gods as the first lesson in my academic life. When their time came, my younger brothers too were initiated in the same manner.

But by the time my sons’ turn came, secularism had made its advance in Kerala. Asan, who used to monitor my educational progress like he would do his own son’s, had passed away. In the preparatory school that they went, the initiation depended on the religion of the students concerned. Christians had to learn a Christian invocation and the Hindus the one I learnt. Education had been secularised.

In the "un-secularised" period that I grew up in a small village on the banks of the sacred Pampa, religion was a purely personal matter while religious festivals were always celebrated commonly. The village dhobi, Panicker, who did not marry because he was lame, would disappear every year for a few months.

Panicker would go to a temple at Palani in Tamil Nadu on foot. On the way the pilgrims are allowed to beg in the name of the Palani deity. They can collect as much money as they can on the express condition that they should not take it home. Thus Panicker always returned the same penniless washerman. But he always began his pilgrimage with the donation he got from my grandfather.

No eyebrows were raised in the village when Raman Nair, who went to the famous Ayyappa temple on the Western Ghats every year, decided to put his faith to the test by walking on fire. He performed the ritual in the courtyard of our house as his was small. Growing up in this milieu, we never considered Christmas as merely a Christian festival.

Christmas came in the best period of the year. In the evenings, there was nip in the air. The few woollen garments in the cupboard were taken out to wear at night. In the mornings, we made bonfires to fight the cold. We also surreptitiously baked tapioca in hot ash. It tasted heavenly.

Commercialisation of Christmas had not yet begun. At least a week before Christmas, we would begin our preparations. The first task was to make a star or two, for it could not be bought those days. It was a whole day’s work to make a star with bamboo pieces and transparent coloured paper. Even gum had to be prepared.

Since electricity had not reached the village, provision had to be made for a candle inside the star. Once on a windy day, the candle fell from its stand and my day’s work was reduced to ashes in a few seconds. My grandfather saw the tragedy happening and put out the fire before it spread to the roof and caused a disaster.

For us boys, carol singing provided rare freedom. For four-five days we would visit all the houses in the village. We would start early in the evening and conclude before the sun rose. At some houses, we would be treated to boiled roots like cassava to be washed down with black coffee. It helped us fight the cold and boost our energy, for there was no Boost at that time.

If a family asked us to sing one more number, we assumed that we would get more money. The collections were the only source of income of our little Sunday School. Hindus were as liberal or stingy as the Christians were. Everybody wanted to be a Santa Claus. How else could a youth address a person as old as his grandfather, "Son, how is your arthritis", and get away with it?

An enterprising Santa Claus took his liberty too far when in the guise of blessing the children of the house, he put his hand on the young girl who had been spurning all his advances. Only when we left the place did the girl and her mother know that the Santa Claus was the moon-struck boy who stalked her. It became a big scandal in the village and he did not dare to go anywhere near the girl’s house for a long time for fear that her stout brother would teach him an un-Christmas lesson.

We had only heard that for Christmas, fir trees were decorated with paper flowers in the West. For us the Christmas tree was any small tree with luxurious branches and green leaves. For years we decorated a small mango tree at the edge of our courtyard till it grew so big that decorating it would have meant spending a fortune.

Christmas was always associated with hearty eating. Stuffed Turkey, Mince Pies, Christmas Pudding, Frumenty and Egg Hot were names that made no sense to my mother. But she never disappointed us as she cooked an assortment of dishes – vegetarian and non-vegetarian – on the great day. Instead of cake, she would prepare a variety of sweet dishes. It was an occasion when we children could invite our friends and give them a treat of the year.

On Christmas night, attending the mass was mandatory. We would be eager to return home not so much to partake of the delicacies as to celebrate the occasion with fireworks. Once as a tiny tot, I accompanied my father to the town to buy crackers. He spent the whole of Rs 5 on crackers and I returned home carrying bundles of it.

Most children in the neighbourhood assembled at our house to witness the fireworks. My father would not disappoint them as he would make all of them participate in the celebration, rather than remain mere witnesses.

Over the years, Christmas has been evolving in the country. Thirty years ago when I landed in Delhi a few days before Christmas, I missed the festivity associated with the season. Delhi had nothing to offer for a youth pining for the Christmas back home. A kindred soul invited me and my friends to his home for a sumptuous Christmas meal. At that time, Christmas was just a Christian celebration.

Today it is no longer denominational. Christmas has become truly a national festival. Shopkeepers in Chandigarh are seen doing brisk business selling Christmas items. Schools now vie with one another to celebrate the birth in Bethlehem. Children routinely tell their parents to leave their stockings outside the home so that Santa Claus could leave gifts for them. Parents play ball by giving them nicely wrapped gifts in the name of Santa Claus, who symbolises the universalisation of the festival.

On Christmas night last year, the church at Sector 19 in Chandigarh attracted a large number of people. There were more Hindus and Sikhs than Christians attending the service as melodious carols were sung in the church wishing everyone a merry Christmas. They all seemed to echo the words, "Let’s dance and sing and make good cheer, for Christmas comes but once a year."

Today children do not make their own stars, they buy them; they do not make their own Christmas cards, they send them electronically; they do not walk miles singing carols in cold nights, they move in warm air-tight buses. Yet, Christmas remains the same – the celebration of love and universal brotherhood.

The spirit that drove Della and Jim in O Henry’s celebrated short story Gift of the Magi, to sacrifice their greatest treasures for each other should guide us as we celebrate Christmas this year and usher in the New Year.