“Merry Christmas,” I casually wished a guy I’d seen working out at my gym in Prospect Heights as he passed me in the locker room. He stopped with a quizzical look on his face.

“Err, bro, I’m Jewish,” he said.

“Oh, sorry,” I mumbled, shocked. This was the first time in my life I’d been reprimanded for trying to be nice. As if to dispel any hardcore religious significance he may have perceived in my seasonal greeting, I told him that I was not a Christian either, but a Hindu.

At least Hanukkah was on the radar in New York. The gym I attended had both a Menorah and a Christmas tree. As a Hindu, I was disappointed that Diwali didn’t even get a mention outside the Indian community, falling marginally outside the festive season. I didn’t take it personally, but perhaps I should have. I’d moved to the States from my native England a year prior to the gym incident and quickly realized that part of being an American was choosing your spiritual side and sticking to it. A Hindu wishing a Jew a Happy Noel was clearly politically incorrect.

My wife, a Catholic from Trinidad, had both Christian and Hindu relatives, and from an early age was raised to celebrate all her island’s diverse cultures. She’d been fairly relaxed about marrying someone outside her faith. We had a Hindu wedding ceremony in Danbury, Conn. But when we looked for a church in New York to allow us to have a “blessing of the rings,” we were turned down by several before finding a liberal denomination in Greenwich Village. Would my wife become influenced by U.S. culture and pick her side, too? What about our kids? With the unrelenting marketing muscle that St. Nick wields over other religions in the States, I could imagine all my family joining forces with him and his throng, leaving me a lonely, isolated Hindu. I’d be banished to the outer fringes of ragtag global religions along with Sikhs, Buddhists and Muslims, a kind of shantytown outside the Emerald City of Christianity. Maybe that was why the Jewish guy at the gym reacted so forcefully when I misnamed his holiday. I wondered if Jews feel that they are one overly zealous right-wing Christian president away from joining the rest of us in America’s religious soup kitchen of homeless faiths.

Now I understand the delicate protocol of correctly naming each person’s specific religious celebration. In England, wishing someone a Merry Christmas did not connote a solemn remembrance of three kings being led by a star, a stable and a virgin birth. If anything, it means going down to the pub, eating lots of food, opening presents and time off work. A joke I remember from my childhood, told annually by one of my friend’s parents, was, “The problem with Christmas is that they always have to bring religion into it.”

The U.K. has its issues and may be a long way off from electing a non-white prime minister, but it is a largely secular country. The deputy prime minister, Nick Clegg, is an atheist, and the leader of the opposition, Ed Miliband, is Jewish (an unheard of combination in the U.S.), and Christmas describes a season more than a religious observance.

My Hindu family, along with my relatives, partook in the seasonal activities of decorating a tree, opening presents and eating a traditional turkey dinner while the Queen gave her annual speech, as did most of England’s multicultural society. It never occurred to us to do otherwise.

When it comes to the festive season, Britain, along with most of Europe, just doesn’t take things that seriously. It’s why many American far-right Christian firebrands believe it’s a continent of socialist sinners. I prefer to see it as a spiritually tolerant place that has enough to worry about without bringing religion into the mix to complicate matters further.

With that said, just in case, I wish you Happy Holidays.

It’s all about the glow December bestows—in the lighting, the music and more frequent smiles and kindly exchanges. Whatever our background, we are affected by places, sounds and social mores whether we know it or not. For those of us who most keenly see, hear and feel it, keep a string or two of decorative lights burning at home, in public places and on every street block throughout the year for that visual glow. And, of course, eschew the people- and place-hostile energy-efficient bulbs. The official earth-saving emperors blindly decree that these will soon be the only bulbs that can be manufactured legally. No smiling at that, rather some real getting mad as you-know-what and shouting, “No way! Excessive lighting’s gotta go, but not only in entertainment venues.”

And doggone it, also lower the speed limit to reduce emissions and traffic-tragedy injuries, too, many of which are heart-breakingly lasting or fatal. Surely the resulting grief is permanent. Traffic tragedies are enormously dollar-costly, which seems to concern most emperors more than their cataclysmic human cost. What’s needed, you unclothed emperors, is all-out support for life and planet-saving mass transit with expanded, not reduced, service. And no free rides for those who can afford it—or for those people using pedal-powered vehicles in a high-density city.

A Santa concerned with traffic safety would bring no more scooters to ever-more crowded streets and walkways. Indeed, if Santa saw how many kids—and some parents—now scooter, instead of walk to and from school, he’d order an immediate recall.

Forget high-speed rail plans; restore the more affordable, enjoyable and safer medium-speed kind. Ditto for buses. Slower’s the way to go—on foot, too. My umbrella sports both “Slow Down, Please!” and “Smile!” directives. My gifts this year are stocking caps, gloves, tote bags, kitchen potholders and towels inscribed with the word “smile.” Use magic markers, nail polish or, if ambitious and able, embroider, knit or sew peace-, goodwill- and health-enhancing reminders.

And to keep that holiday/holy day musical glow, sing alone or together some G-rated lyrics and music. Yes, Virginia, they do exist, like son Jeff’s, “Happy Birthday to a Little Girl” country ballad. Singing, like smiling, is good for what ails us—and especially for the “youngers,” who’ve been conditioned to think smiling and family love songs are strictly uncool.

Conditioned as well is the notion that these December holidays are only for children and young people. As with birthdays, the more there are, the more they deserve celebration. And December birthdays should never be short-shifted, nor should any birthday be anything to hide or make snide or rueful jokes about in a just society.

And in that just society, grandmas in the White House and everywhere else would be seen, heard and heeded, at least as much as the grandkids and the family dogs are. So would grandpas and all responsible elders—another countercultural message/lyric to hammer out big time—all over this land!

dewingbetter@aol.com