A childhood in England ensured that Christmas was the main holiday in my life. This seems in contrast to the festivals I now celebrate: My kind of Holi revelry used to scare the pants off of my in-laws; I spent decades thickly polluting the lower atmosphere with dubious fireworks; Durga Puja was a time devoted to the worship of goddesses; and the last three years of Chhath puja, I have fasted and prayed to various forms of the sun (rising, setting, etc). Hindu festivals are mysterious in their comings and goings, due to the Hindu calendar and lunar cycle (also, the priests are a pain in the neck, inserting an extra day when you're not paying attention); it feels like we glide into - and out of -Hindu holidays. Christmas, however, is clearly defined as 24-25 December, despite attempts to stretch it at one end with Boxing Day and at the other end with the lurid commerce of 'Black Friday' (the day after USA's Thanksgiving).

What's great about childhood is that you don't remember how sad the tree or decorations might have been, but instead, what joy and fun and cheer it brought