DO YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS?

                       Annie Cyriac.           

Sure, we believed in Santa. Way back in the latter half of the 1970s, that is. It was Christmastime and at the Sunday school we attended, we were all mighty excited. Santa was coming with gifts for all. But not on his ‘one horse open sleigh’, we knew, for there was no snow there. Our teacher had already made a list of the things we wanted as gifts. She would pass it on to Santa.   

  I was passing through a phase when seven year old little girls are obsessed with dolls. A doll, I had seen at the local store, had caught my fancy. She looked smashing in her pretty pink laces and frills and a bonnet tied at her chin with tiny pink satin ribbons. I longed to brush her long golden curls. I dreamed of her when awake and when asleep. She was what I wanted on our list to Santa. And of course I did put the name of the store and the street too, just in case Santa lost his way.

 On Christmas Eve, we did our Sunday school teachers proud, by singing all the carols in sync. In a way, we did it for Santa too. We meant to impress him. Afterwards, we proceeded to the giant glittering Christmas tree that was all decked up with sparkly lights and bells. [Have no doubts, we kids had helped to trim it too!] Suddenly we heard cheers and laughter and thunderous claps, as we saw a silhouette in the dark, descending from the sky above. "Look, its Santa, coming down from heaven!”

There was an excited bustle as Santa was hustled on to the stage. Soon he started calling our names and each one was given a gift. I waited anxiously for my turn as I spied other kids as they gleefully oohed and aahed. All around was the rustle of glossy gilt wrappers being unwrapped- ‘baby dolls, that toddle and coo, aeroplanes, boats and kiddie cars too!’

I could hardly breathe with excitement when I heard my name being called. I ran as fast as I could and clambered up the stage and came face to face with Santa. He had the longest silky white beard, I had ever seen and soft brown kind eyes that twinkled. For a second I thought I knew him. He bowed down to shake my little hand. He patted my back and handed me a parcel. I came back to my seat, beaming and enchanted.

Boy oh boy, was I in a hurry to tear open my present! But I chose to be patient and relish the time, picking at it with care. At last, when the box was opened, there lay the prettiest, loveliest, fluffiest................ cardigan, I ever got!   Oh no! Santa must have made a mistake. Did he read me wrong? Hadn’t I tried hard to make my clumsy handwriting as neat as possible? My vision blurred. Out popped huge tears of disappointment. I sought my parents from the crowd behind. They were busy wishing friends ‘Merry Christmas and ‘meeting smile after smile’. But for me, the whole world seemed merry!

As we returned home that night, noticing my eerie silence, mom asked if I were sleepy. But sleep was light years away!                                  

“How do you like your new sweater?’ asked mom.

 Dumbfounded, I looked up at her and asked “But ma, how do you know that Santa gave me a sweater?”

 My two year old sister chose exactly that moment to holler and my words were drowned in a sea of wails. And so was mom’s attention.

 All of a sudden, it dawned on me that Santa, with his kind brown eyes, was none other than our pleasingly plump choir master.

 And that’s when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. My ever practical, utilitarian mom had conspired with our Sunday school teacher to overrule my demand and gifted me a much needed, useful thing.

On that Christmas Eve, I left behind a bit of my childhood along with my faith in Santa and tooth fairies.
 [Later, Wendy, our senior at school, patronizingly told us that our music sir, dressed as Santa, was dropped down by a crane that was hidden in the darkness behind the stage.Oh!]  
These days, seven year-olds are not so naive. But Christmas isn’t Christmassy without Santa Claus. And it’s reassuring to just know that someone, somewhere, still believes that Santa Claus is coming to town as tis Christmas season. And isn’t that a jolly good reason to be merry?         

 

11.12.2015