Many families like mine don’t celebrate what is a Christian festival after all. But getting through this turbulent year together changed everything.
December is a month like no other. The cold morning fog blankets the city before the night swallows the skyline as early as 4pm, when the streets become gold with festive lights. The air becomes mellow as rows of houses glisten and public squares fill with cheery spree shoppers in the lead-up to Christmas.
This is a magical time of year, especially for children. But as someone who lived two childhoods – a British one and a Pakistani one – it’s complicated.
My parents are from Pakistani descent, so at home I was raised with a Pakistani Muslim culture. Because our home would remain the same – there would be no lights, no holly hugging the mantelpiece, and no presents under a tree – every Christmas, I would immerse myself in our school’s version of Winter Wonderland. I can still picture the canteen dinners transformed into Christmas feasts, and the corridors decked with paper chains and tinsel.
Generally speaking, a lot of Muslims don’t celebrate Christmas – it’s a Christian festival after all, even if the holiday has grown beyond religion into a national cultural event. It’s become a time of year for everyone to reconnect with your loved ones, and spend time with people who care about you the most.
However, 25 December still marks a poignant day for families like mine. It’s the day Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the man who founded the country my ancestors call home, was born. So each year we celebrate the day with authentic Pakistani cuisine, cardamom chai and cake served with flavours belonging to another world. We consistently chose our Pakistani roots over Christmas; how could we share an event when our cultures were so misaligned?
But this year changed everything.
A Center of Christian-Muslim Engagement for Peace and Justice: 