erhaps they were myths that were
destined to fade, subsumed just as Saturnalia was by the Romans in the
middle of the fourth century A.D. into Christmas itself. Images of sleighs,
reindeer, snow-capped white clapboard houses and portly gentlemen in tweed
toasting the Yuletide always seemed somewhat incongruous among the apartment
blocks in Jackson Heights, anyway.
The Irish, the Italians, the Greeks and the Puerto Ricans in New York
have always used Christmas to retreat into the cocoon of their lost worlds,
ones where coins were baked into cakes or the Epiphany was celebrated as
the date the divine was first revealed to humankind.
"We used to have nice decorations on Main Street," said Theresa Lanczki,
80, as she sat having a coffee in a Korean pastry shop in Queens. "We used
to have big Hungarian gatherings," she continued. "We even had them after
the war, but by the 1950's everyone became more and more American. The
social clubs closed. I used to go to the library for Hungarian books. One
day I stopped. I turned to English."
The city's newest wave of immigrants, for whom Christianity is often
an alien and mystifying religion, have even more radically sliced and cut,
discarded what does not work and ignored what is inconvenient to fashion
a palatable Christmas. The mutations represent at once the weary resignation
of immigrants who must learn to accommodate, yet struggle to cling to the
traditions and culture they have left behind.
Small trees go up, mostly for children conditioned in school and by
television to expect them, and then disappear once the children are grown.
Gifts are exchanged over curry dishes and traditional celebrations prolonged
to merge into the strange American holiday.
Singh Manjit, 26, one of the owners of the Jackson Diner, which serves
Indian food, put up his colored lights in September for the Hindu new year,
Diwali. Like most Hindus in Jackson Heights, he will take them down in
January. The line between Diwali and Christmas is never demarcated.
"I do not know if you can say that we celebrate Christmas," he said,
a row of colored lights blinking behind him over the bar. "We buy gifts.
We even put a tree in the house, although most of us wonder how this thing
with the tree got started. I like my Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I
watched these cartoons when I was little, but as for Jesus Christ we have
taken Christmas to the next level. We like more the Santa Claus thing than
the Christian thing."
Ann Lam, a Chinese immigrant who owns a small pharmacy, said she let
her children exchange gifts, but would have nothing to do with Christmas
stories. "We celebrate it like any holiday," she said. "It is a day off.
But I do not put up a tree. I trained my children not to believe in this
Santa Claus."
If there is a common tie, it is the chance by immigrants to take time
off from long and exhausting jobs, eat a meal and give gifts. Few said
they carted armloads of presents. Santa Claus, they say, is acceptable
because it is benign. The figure of Christ, especially for communities
like the Indians or the Koreans that have sizable Christian populations
among them, is too loaded to be incorporated into the celebration for the
entire community.
"A large number of Koreans in New York have converted to Christianity,
and many of them are very fanatic," said a community leader, Hyunjoo Park
Kwon. "They believe in the fundamentalist religion and seek God's help.
For those who are not Christian, Christmas is celebrated more like New
Year's Eve. We all go out. We give gifts. But it is not a Christian Christmas."
Bobby Johal, a Sikh from India who no longer wears his turban, is an
enthusiastic supporter of the holiday, in part because his sales soar.
He drove to Long Island to buy $350 worth of Christmas decorations last
week for his small store, 74th Street Audio and Video in Jackson Heights.
The shop sells Indian music and movies. He hung red stockings with the
names of the Sikh employees from the ceiling, dangled small Santa Claus
figures on nylon threads over the counter and put a Santa Claus figure
in the window. He and his employees, he said, will all don red caps in
a few days.
"The Sikhs really like Christmas, more than the Hindus," he said. "I
think the Hindus never really like having to celebrate other religions.
But we love it. Sikh cabdrivers put on red turbans and hang wreaths on
the back of their cars. About 40 percent of all Sikhs live outside the
Punjab, so they absorb the Western culture easier. People go back home
and tell their relatives about Christmas."
"We don't always understand it," he said. "As a kid I never understood
this tree thing, but hey, once I saw the gifts I decided to stop asking."
Shaswat Butala, 31, the owner of the Butala Emporium, which sells Indian
books and musical instruments, said he would have to read more about Christmas
to understand it. He has put up a small tree for his young daughter.
"As far as I know, Santa Claus comes for the New Year and gives presents
to everyone, but I do not know why," he said. "We were going to go down
to Rockefeller Center last year to see what it was all about, but it was
too cold."
Those who have tried to make forays into the more arcane traditions
of Christmas, like eating turkey, a bird unfamiliar outside of North America,
say they can live without the rest of the holiday customs.
"I have tasted it," said Kamal Sagnani, 32, pausing to choose his words
carefully when asked about turkey. "To be honest, it is O.K. I don't miss
it."
As Mr. Johal slipped a CD into the store's sound system he tried to
guess what his brother, Pinto, who is a popular New York-based recording
artist in India, would give him this year.
"I gave him a sweater last year because he always takes mine," he said.
"He opened my gift and said he liked it. But when I looked for my present
under the tree, it was not there. He pulled out the keys to a Mercedes
2000 and threw me them across the room. We all ran down to the garage to
see it, where he had wrapped it in a red ribbon."
The gleaming white vehicle was parked on the street in front of the
shop and Mr. Johal pointed proudly toward it. But despite his brother's
largess, Bobby Johal remains determined to use the day to halt his brother's
raids on his closet.
"This year I will give him a belt," he said. "He is always taking my
belts."
