Dehradun isn’t into Christmas all that much. Even the stores – usually the first to jump on a possible consumer bandwagon – haven’t latched on to this one.

So our house is a novelty and a wonder.

Our house is probably THE most decorated-for -Christmas house in Dehradun.

We have a row of beautiful stars lit up on the verandah, wreaths and garlands on the door, a massive tree adorned with lights and ornaments and an array of decorations on the mantelpiece and throughout the house.

People have told me it’s an annual ritual to drive or walk by our house in December,  just to have a look. Children occasionally knock on the door and ask if they can come in to see the tree up close. Teenagers have even arrived with their cameras and asked if I would mind photographing them in front of it.

But the best encounter ever was a few years ago, early on Christmas morning. Our children were old enough by then to no longer wake at dawn to scramble down to the tree and the presents. Only Ravi and I were up and we were at the dining table having a cup of tea when the bell rang. I went to answer it and found three youngsters standing on the verandah.

“Auntie,” the oldest one asked eagerly, “Can we come in and see your tree?”

“Of course,” I said, opening the door wider.

As the children stepped inside, they caught a glimpse of Ravi, sitting at the table. They paused, looking stunned.

“Auntie?” the brave oldest one whispered. “Father Christmas lives here?”