Every year, as Christmas approaches, the season of celebration seems increasingly overshadowed by political debates and public scrutiny. What was once a time of joy, togetherness, and shared festivity has, in recent years, become a contested space, where politicians and self-appointed cultural guardians argue over who can celebrate and in what way.
Even simple, longstanding customs—school plays, neighbourhood gatherings, or decorating homes—are now interpreted through the lenses of ideology, nationalism, and cultural preservation.
Conversations about Christmas no longer revolve solely around festivity; they increasingly reflect broader anxieties about identity, influence, and allegiance.
Ironically, alongside this politicisation, Christmas has also become deeply commercialised. Market forces have transformed the festival into a spectacle of consumerism, with malls aglow with elaborate lights and shops competing in extravagance.
The essence of collective joy and simple celebration seems to be fading, replaced by individualistic consumption and performative displays. What was once an unselfconscious, quietly shared happiness now appears curated for visibility, often experienced more through mobile screens than through lived moments.
A wave of nostalgia washes over those who spent their school years in convent schools: the echoing halls, children rehearsing plays about the birth of the holy son of God, and the shared excitement of waiting for Santa Claus, who would arrive with nothing more than a small toffee, yet leave behind a lingering sense of wonder.
Even for those who did not attend convent schools, memories of simple, heartfelt celebrations evoke the same warmth, a reminder of joy unencumbered by expectation. These recollections belong to the 1990s, a time when festivals were simpler, free from heavy symbolism or ideological weight.
Change is inevitable, and each generation adapts to new social and cultural realities. Yet adaptation need not erode the core meaning of celebration. Somewhere along the way, celebrating has shifted—from a shared, lived experience to something increasingly performative, measured by visibility rather than feeling, shaped more by expectation than emotion.
For many middle-class families in Assam, Christmas was seamlessly woven into everyday life rather than standing apart. From collecting decorative items like the Christmas star to attending mass with Christian friends, every activity carried a sense of shared joy.
That star did not merely signify religious belief; it embodied excitement, warmth, and eager anticipation for everyone. In schools, Christmas marked the beginning of “happy holidays”, a phrase free of political anxiety or cultural tension. In Assam’s plural society, it was common for people from different faiths to participate with ease.
No one questioned whether Christians celebrated Bihu or other local festivals; joy was simply shared, a quiet testament to the fact that the true spirit of festivity transcended religious or cultural boundaries.
It is within these ordinary, lived moments that Christmas truly shines: neighbourhood gatherings, shared food, decorating makeshift Christmas trees, exchanging handmade cards, or baking cakes at home—expressions of companionship, joy, and collective happiness.
In recent years, however, the political climate has profoundly reshaped such celebrations. Dominant narratives increasingly frame cultural practices as needing protection, presenting participation in another community’s festival as a threat.
This perspective ignores the reality that cultural exchange has always been intrinsic to Indian life; celebrating another community’s festival was never understood as a loss. Under the current climate, self-styled custodians of culture have emerged, seeking to police and intimidate minority celebrations.
Ordinary moments of joy—festivals, school events, public decorations—have increasingly become sites of surveillance and fear.
From 2014 to 2025, this atmosphere of intimidation has intensified. Religious minorities, particularly Christians in states like Chhattisgarh and Uttar Pradesh, have reportedly faced targeted attacks, often justified under the pretext of preventing forced conversions.
Reports of assaults on pastors, nuns, and community members have grown more frequent, reflecting both physical violence and social marginalisation. In Assam, relatively minor incidents were reported earlier, such as in 2020, when right-wing leaders allegedly cautioned Hindus against participating in Christian events.
Online spaces have also become hostile, with Christians trolled, mocked, and slurred by self-styled social media vigilantes. Together, these pressures create a climate where simply practising one’s faith or celebrating festivals visibly is treated as suspicious or threatening.
This shift marks a stark departure from earlier social norms. Making space for another community’s celebration once coexisted comfortably with attachment to one’s own traditions. Cultural confidence thrived alongside pluralism.
Today, however, celebration is often recast as influence, and participation as threat. The language of protection has narrowed social spaces, replacing shared cultural rhythms with rigid boundaries between “us” and “them”.
Ironically, efforts to protect culture risk hollowing it out entirely. By turning festivals into political battlegrounds, the everyday practices of coexistence that sustained India’s plural fabric for generations are undermined. Christmas, like many Indian festivals, was never foreign or intrusive. It existed comfortably alongside local customs, regional identities, and deeply rooted cultural expressions.
Ultimately, politicising festivals does more than alter cultural practice; it erodes constitutional values meant to protect freedom of expression and belief, including the right to celebrate without fear or justification.
Ordinary joy, once freely shared and experienced, has become fraught with suspicion and scrutiny. Yet the essence of Christmas—the warmth of community, the spirit of generosity, and the simple pleasures of shared celebration—remains resilient.
Even as markets turn the festival into a spectacle and political narratives delimit public space, the memory of unselfconscious, heartfelt celebration endures, reminding us that cultural confidence and plural coexistence can survive, and that joy need not be contingent on politics.
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