“Do you celebrate Christmas?”

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked this and other similar questions. Another favourite is to ask if I support England particularly at cricket.

When my surgeon father came to the UK there were relatively few Indians in the country; so any Indian doctor my father met would be invited home to dinner. After a while my mother grew tired of feeding unexpected guests particularly as we often lived in cramped hospital housing. But most of the time my parents’ main contact was with native British doctors, nurses, and their neighbours.

In those days perhaps more than today the local hospital was a hub of the community and Christmas was an important festival. It appeared that present giving between doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff was a very important tradition that had to be maintained. My parents continued this tradition until my father retired as a consultant and I remember my mother wrapping diligently for probably 4-5 evenings in the middle of December. (Sadly the presents were nothing to write home about: inexpensive perfumes and aftershave for women and men respectively, and a very large can of beer for the porters. Shopping for most of these presents took place in the previous January sales). My father would spend a good few evenings writing Christmas cards to colleagues old and new.

Christmas was also celebrated at home; about the only thing we didn’t do was go to church. Large Christmas tree with all the decorations, a full Christmas dinner (we got up early to make pigs in blankets and prepare the Brussel sprouts), Christmas pudding often bought from Fortum and Mason, and a morning spent around the tree opening presents. (My father had a huge volume of presents to open, often whiskey from grateful patients). And of course, trying to find some decent entertainment on TV. We had no relatives’ homes to go to but that apart I suspect our Christmases were not so different to that of most indigenous Brits.

In terms of food generally my brother and I didn’t really eat Indian or Bengali food. We ate “English” food: our favourites would be bacon sandwiches and roast beef. Later we began to eat more continental cuisine like pasta. Were it not for Marks & Spencer’s prepared meals I don’t think I would be eating Indian food at all now. We didn’t frequent the local Indian takeaway, ironically probably run by Bangladeshis. I’ve probably eaten more Indian food since I met Sue than at any other time in my life; her saag paneer has grown on me to such an extent I can eat it just with rice and would look to order it in an Indian restaurant.

When we were growing up there were few Indian / Bengalis around so we had little or no exposure to Indian festivals like Diwali or the Bengali Durga Puja. With more Bengalis in Birmingham festivals, particularly Durga Puja, became more prevalent, but by then we were a lost cause. We had little contact with India – I didn’t go between the ages of 5 and 19 – and few books and little exposure to Indian culture, so by accident rather than design we were wholly English.

With my parents perhaps it was early on they were integrated with the hospital, their English neighbours, there was a lack of Indians / Bengalis around, and with young children. Bengalis are probably more open and keen to integrate and assimilate than many other immigrant groups. In addition, my father was educated by English and Scottish professors at medical school in Calcutta and spoke English perfectly – to call him fluent would be to insult him – one patient actually asked whether he had been brought up in the UK. So they took to the Christmas festivities wholeheartedly.

Just one story will exemplify how English we are, my brother probably more so than me: one year we travelled up to Birmingham from London to buy and decorate a Christmas tree so that my mother would see that when she came home from her travels.

So I hope you might empathise with my annoyance if anyone asks if I celebrate Christmas.