I’m standing next to a 10-year-old who keeps shooting curious looks at me. I’m singing off key and making up words as I go along and clearly, she’s noticed. It’s her first time carolling too, but she seems to know more of the quintessential Christmas songs than I do. “You need a lesson in lip syncing,” grins Suresh Samuel, a veteran caroller, as we walk out of the house. I smile back, sheepishly. It’s 8.30 p.m. on a cold Chennai evening, and my out-of-tune renditions for the night have just begun.
Every year, when carollers come calling during Christmas time, I’m taken by surprise. Occasionally, I try to hide from them, and sometimes, I sing along. Mostly, though, I just stare at them through eyes heavy with sleep. This year, however, I joined the troop from the St. Thomas Garrison Church in their carol rounds.
When I asked my friend if she’d take me carolling, she readily agreed. Mostly because I didn’t divulge details about how I’d repeatedly been kicked out of my school choir. Singing has never been my forte and I’m out of sync whenever I try. Carolling though, I realise, isn’t about singing; it’s about spreading the spirit of Christmas.
In the second house we go to, we are greeted by the surprised expression of a man who was hoping to open the door for his wife. “I’m going to change out of my lungi ,” he grins, as he jogs into a room. A hymn, a quick prayer and Christmas greetings later, it’s time to get to the next house. There are many houses to get to in a single night, and it’s important to stay on schedule.
House number three offers us home-made plum cake and juice. As we sit in their living room, wolfing it down, the carollers chat with the family. Members of the same church, everyone knows one another and babble excitedly about plans for the season. To them, Christmas is a time to come together in celebration and carolling is just one more way to do it.
As we drive to house number five, the carollers exchange stories about the family we are going to visit: A few years ago, they opened their doors, with a vessel in their hands, expecting the milk man when their door bell was rung at 5 a.m. Carolling goes on up to the wee hours, and many families stay awake expecting carollers. Some others, like house number six, refuse to open their doors.
At house number seven, we are served dinner complete with rich, creamy payasam. The carollers strum their guitar and belt out another number, waiting for their plates. They chatter through dinner, joking and laughing. As the night wears on and the city gets quieter, the carollers increasingly get louder.
In house number nine, we are greeted by warm yellow lights. There are bells hanging from the curtain rods and artificial poinsettias curling around it. Bows, baubles and bold lettering with the season’s greetings line the walls. Most families have lavish Christmas trees, and some go further, decking up the entire house. It’s the season for it, after all.
The family offers us cake and we wonder how much more food we can take. Some carollers have the will to politely decline, while others have the wisdom to stuff some in their pockets. House number 10 makes us tea, and gives us packed goodies-to-go, because we do not have time to linger. “Chop, chop, everyone. We have another 15 houses to go to,” says Richard Solomon, one of the organisers. Even my groan is punctuated with a yawn. The rest of the troop, however, is still in high spirits.
We drive through the deserted bylanes of Chennai, lit solely by street lights. We cross roads strung with stars and houses decorated with fairy lights.
It’s nippy and nice; but remembering it’s Christmas time fills me with warmth. As it nears midnight, I tell the guitarist, David. G, I better wrap up: I need to get to work the following morning. “It’s a myth, you know, that staying up late makes you sleepy the next day. Have you ever stayed up the whole night singing?” he asks, smiling brightly.
