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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required (This is in remembrance of the days running up to Christmas in an Anglo-Indian home in a small town in India. Some of the words are distinctly Anglo-Indian. I wonder if there is anyone on Poetry Soup who can relate?) It’s a December evening, we’re back from school The house feels nippy for a breeze, nice and cool Wafts through the trellis, while Papa gives a rendition Of carols that herald an annual family tradition Mummy’s come back with bread, eggs and flour We little children, get ready for many an interesting hour Of digging our fingers into a tub full of batter As the house vibrates with loud, cheerful chatter It’s that time again, that time of the year For, cul-culs and cake and Christmas’ cheer To roll out on forks, an Anglo-Indian delight And to grease the cake tins with all our might As Mum-mum calls out for us to ‘take care Or we might fall into the oil that’s boiling there’ Which is ready, of course, to splutter and crackle As we dip in forked creations of eggs, flour and butter The whole family sits at the dining room table Each one doing what he or she is able And stories are told of Christmases past While ros-a-cookies are into the boiling oil, cast When the whipping and blending has been done And the cake’s in the oven, it is time for more fun So we lick our fingers with many a hearty smack As we enjoy this tasty pre-cooked snack That comes for us, only once every year A time that is filled with memories dear As carols croon in the chill evening air And family stories, Papa, does joyfully share It’s been years now, since I have had such fun And I hope, I can, one day relive it with my son Those hours spent in a house on a railway colony Hours that I now recall, with a smile and much glee. Hours that have since made nostalgia smile Hours that have made childhood worth the while.
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