Gone are the days when instant messaging meant physically delivering a note, and planning a Christmas celebration required military-like precision. Back then, before Santa Claus, Christmas was less about commercial sparkle and more about new clothes, church celebrations and an epic buffet that could floor any modern food cuisine to shame. As children, Christmas was special in a way that it felt like our personal growth chart—every year, Christmas levelled up just like we did. The biggest highlight was having the entire family squeeze into our village home.
Suddenly, one would discover they had new cousins they’d never met, courtesy of the covert family expansion plan. And then came the most terrifying part of the day: greetings. My siblings and I, and our militaristic mother, lined up like foot soldiers, ready to greet every uncle, and auntie, some of whom were semi-conscious due to continuous shorts of the local brew, tonto. All families were often in attendance. Forget Christmas joy—our job was to kneel, shake hands and hope that they would still recall our names. We had to repeat the same questions with the same answers over and over again: What is your name? Who is your mother and father? Which class are you in? At some point, I felt like referring one uncle to another to reshare my responses or, it would have been easier if a platform had been opened for us to do a one–time self-introduction. Greeting felt like a punishment.
But the crowning jewel of the day was the movies. Oh yes, in the few homes blessed with electricity (a.k.a. the village elite), Christmas wasn’t complete without watching at least one Hollywood gem like “Baby’s Day Out” or “Blank Check,” sometimes on a borrowed Video Cassette Recorder (VCR). There was no need for any form of official invitation to watch the movies. For the rest of us, stuck in the stone age, entertainment meant the local soccer match after the loaded lunch meals. Now, a soccer match might conjure images of green fields and proper goals. Forget that. Our stadium was a bumpy patch of grass shaped like an Irish potato, dotted with anthills that could swallow a player’s foot whole.
Getting to this field was an adventure straight out of an Indian Bollywood thriller. You’d have to trek a whole 200 kilometres. Slight exaggeration, but it felt like it, navigating muddy paths, dodging cows, and occasionally rerouting thanks to some strategically placed cow dung. The match itself? Total chaos. The best way we’d distinguish teams was by one simple rule: skins (shirts off) versus shirts. The biggest highlight? Watching the referee get chased off the field for daring to enforce the rules. Democracy was always in full action.
Fast-forward to today and the Christmas spirit has been held hostage by Wi-Fi and social media. Instead of gathering for family meals or village soccer showdowns, everyone’s glued to their phone screens, not withholding the toddlers. Back in the day, we cried over a desire for an additional piece of chicken or potato; now, it’s tearing over misplaced iPads and cell phones. The irony is that the more social social media gets, the more antisocial Christmas feels.
Even the soccer games have lost their crowds and humour to online gaming. Who needs to trek through anthills when you can play online FIFA in pyjamas? Christmas used to mean laughter, chaos, and togetherness. Now? It’s emojis, endless TikTok scrolls, and everyone acting as if they’re social influencers or brand ambassadors. Even with our elderly, tonto has been replaced with TikTok. Indeed, how the mighty Christmas has fallen. The days when Christmas was about real moments feel like they are gone, never to return. Christmas for real people, moments—chaotic family dinners, mismatched decorations, and undercooked chicken—feels like a distant memory. Now, it’s all about curating the perfect holiday aesthetic for Instagram with unique meals, decorations, and dress codes. The mess and mayhem which are the real Christmas beauty are cropped out of the frame, of course.
Before social media, Christmas meals were all about eating till your pants dropped. Now it’s a runway for food photography. Every plate is meticulously arranged, filtered, and posted before anyone dares to take a bite. And woe unto the family member who sneaks a bite before the photo shoot concludes—they might as well be condemned off the main table. Christmas used to be about sitting together and sharing stories—sometimes exaggerated tales of village tales and rumours. Now, family time involves everyone in the same room, silently staring at their phones. With everyone showcasing their perfect Christmas, the pressure to match up on social media is real. Scrolling through picture-perfect posts of others’ celebrations can make even the happiest among us feel like our Christmas is imperfect. Social media has undeniably redefined Christmas, trading communal chaos and authentic traditions for curated perfection and likes. But deep down, maybe all it takes is one Wi-Fi blackout for us to rediscover the messy, joyful spirit of Christmas past.
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Feature Image by Monstera Production for Pexels
