The kids waited for Santa...
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
A layer of snow peeked from beneath logs of wood,
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Photo by Tanisha Sangha. |
While the league of extraordinary gingerbreadmen got themselves in order.
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
Baubles and tarts
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
And snow on presents.
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Photo by Rajesh Rai. |
Cinnamon smoke swirled out of the chimney
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
Is that fairy dust?
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
Mistletoe dropped from the ceiling
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
I must be in Bethlehem.
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Photo by Shresth Rajawat. |
Also read: Ten carols you must play this Christmas
Christmas is nostalgia.
Or at least that's what it becomes. Like all traditions, it helps people maintain a sense of who they are. Tinsel isn't so much about tinsel but a repetition - in untiring circles around the tree - that offers a grounding, a continuity with our past selves, our childhood, our loved ones. In our house (and I've noticed this elsewhere too, at my in-laws, friends, aunts and uncles), every Christmas decoration has its designated place. The tree in one particular corner, the wreath at the front door, the holly wreathing the fireplace, the crib on a side table scattered with straw, the fat Santas hung from the same nail on the wall, year after year. The act of putting up decorations is a ritual as precise as mass in church. And drifting from the stereo, the same Christmas carols that have been playing as long as I can remember. Sometimes, there is such joy in predictability.
Read more here.