Christmas in Malaysia

It is seven days to Christmas. 

Driving through Kuala Lumpur at Christmas is unlike any other time of the year. This year particularly, the lights and the decorations seem to fill the air with a magic that seems unmatched by any other festival. There were Christmas trees as tall as coconut palms, carols played all day in shopping malls and there were electronic deer running on the pavements of our suburbs.

It made me wonder: why does Christmas feel so different? We celebrate so many beautiful festivals in Malaysia—Deepavali, Hari Raya, Chinese New Year—but none of them seem to take over the city quite like this. Is it because Christmas comes at the end of the year, a time when we’re all closing another chapter of our lives? Or, perhaps it’s the universal message of joy, hope, and generosity that makes it resonate so strongly, even in a multicultural country like ours. What is it about Christmas that inspires such joy and celebration across cultures, even in a country where it is not the dominant festival?  Whatever the reason, there’s something about Christmas that makes us all more connected —a reminder that, despite our differences, we are all connected by the desire to share light and love. 

Past Christmases  

I remember Christmases from the past and the images of snow and reindeer and a fat bearded man bringing gifts that always came to mind at that time of year. I remember my first Christmas party in 1950 in the home of Uncle Diaz who lived across the street from us in Jalan Melati, Imbi Road.  

There were Christmas cakes, cream puffs and ice cream that I was tasting for the first time. There were toy presents and crackers that you pulled with another to reveal little toys and balloons. Compared to that party, the Onam and Deepavali festivities that I was used to seemed boring and rural.  

But the real treat that night and in later Christmases in my neighbour's house was the one sip they allowed me of a magical drink they served in tiny glasses. Sherry - sweet and heady. I was weaned off mother’s milk forever and my life’s quest from that time on was to have a full swig of that amirtham.  

I waited many years to fulfil that quest. I waited many years also before I celebrated a White Christmas in London in 1968 in the Lutheran Hostel in Notting Hill Gate when light snowflakes fell late in the night. Only in the morning after, looking out of my window did I see a white Christmas. 

Somehow, that first Christmas dinner, where the festival was a tradition that went back several hundred years, was a disappointment. The turkey was sliced so fine that it had no taste without the cranberry sauce. Even the sherry, of which I had a full small glass, did not match the sensation of that first drink in Uncle Diaz’s house.  

More memorable were the Christmases I organised in the small bedsitters where I lived in London. The turkey I bought on those occasions was too large for the Baby Billing Oven in the bedsitter, so we had to chop them to size. Even then it was tasteless. As a final attempt to resolve that problem, we made a curry of the small pieces. It must have been the first Christmas in London with a Turkey Curry. But the curried turkey tasted better than the roasted version on that first Christmas in London. 

When I returned from England, I met my new Christian brother-in-law. Christmas had come to our home! I have had many Christmases since then in my own home, turkey, sherry and all. 

Many years later, in the antipodes, in Australia when it was hot enough in December to hold cricket test matches in the Melbourne Cricket Ground, or in India with a vegetarian family or back home in Malaysia, where because of family affiliations, some Christmases were celebrated Halal!  

The real magic of the festival is not the customary food or drinks. It is the way it brought people together and made everyone a part of a large family, whatever their faith. Somehow, during this period, maybe it is the end of the year, the religious connotations give way to simple friendship when we all sing Jingle Bells without surrendering any religious beliefs that we hold. 

In Malaysia, where our diversity is both a blessing and a challenge, I’ve seen how Christmas brings people together in surprising ways. In my family, Christmas has been celebrated with sherry and turkey in some years, and halal dishes in others. It didn’t matter what we ate or drank—it was the laughter, the conversations, and the sense of belonging that mattered. And maybe that’s the real magic of festivals like Christmas, Hari Raya, Chinese New Year, Gawai Dayak or Deepavali: they remind us that beneath the surface of our differences, we are all part of the same human family. 

Merry Christmas. 

Selamat Hari Natal. 

shèng dàn kuài lè, 

Christmas Vashthugal.