Memories of stocking stuffers and fruitcake
Gholam Rahman
I can still vividly recall the memories of Christmases from many a decade ago when I was a child in British India — in India’s eastern and most intellectually advanced province of Bengal.
Christmas was a big occasion. In fact the Bengali word for it was Boro Deen, which translates to “Big Day,” despite the fact that it is all but the shortest day of the calendar.
The Bengali babu’s, the clerical staff that manned the wheels of the vast bureaucracy of the British Raj, looked forward to this day and planned the year’s calendar around “Boro Deener Chhuti,” the relatively long vacation period when all offices, governmental and commercial, were closed for Christmas and New Year.
That was the time when they returned “home” to their villages and small hinterland towns where the significance of Christmas was just in the vacation time it heralded. It was a bit different in the big cities, though, especially in Calcutta, the capital of Bengal that was patterned partly after London and was the crown jewel of the Raj.
There, many department stores, like Whiteaway Laidlaw and Hall & Anderson, were lit up, and even some thoroughfares, like Park Street and Chowringhee, were festooned with lights. The British military band in full regalia performed in a roundabout gazebo on Strand Road near the Maidan grounds, with the stately Victoria Memorial in the background, and was a major evening draw.
For us kids, the main attraction, however, was the bright-colored stockings we got, with the little knick-knacks
Sift flour and toss candied fruits, raisins and walnuts with a small amount of it. Cream butter and sugar until fluffy and the sugar is dissolved. Beat in eggs, one at already peeking through the netting. I can still feel the thrill as we fished out the tiny toys, coloring pencils and candies from Santa’s red hose. All over the Empire, Christmas had become more of a secular celebration. And our Muslim family saw nothing wrong in the celebration since Jesus is one of Islam’s prophets too.
As the British left in mid-1947, and the country a time, until incorporated. Mix together the rest of the ingredients, ensuring there are no lumps of flour and the fruits and nuts are well distributed.
Grease and flour a 9-inch tube pan and pour the mixture in, poking with a nylon spatula to break up any possible air pockets. Wipe sides clean with a finger and bake in the middle of a 275-degree oven until the cake tests done. (Placing a stainless steel bowl of hot water in the rack below will help keep cake moist.)
Allow the cake to cool, upend the pan and tap to free the cake.
Wrap the cake in foil and refrigerate. Slice and serve. was bifurcated into India and Pakistan, and we too grew up and married, memories of Christmas were left for us more in the fruitcake that my wife, Kaisari, baked around that time almost every year — a practice that she continued for a while after we migrated to the United States in 1972.
One reason for the cake’s year-end timing, of course, was the fact that the candied fruit mix was available in the market only around the Christmas time.
Here is my wife’s recipe, which is pretty basic, minus the rum part and with sugar reduced.