That moment when Santa called my name!
Iwas the quintessential kindergartener, naïve and gullible, when Christmas was upon us and a festive cheer was in the air. In spite of us belonging to India, a country where Diwali takes precedence over all other festivals, our schools went to great lengths to ensure that there was no dearth of celebrations during other festivals, too.
The memory has all but faded. Remnants are etched in the mind like it was yesterday. I was a student of the junior school of Vivek High School in Sector 9 in the pristine and green city of Chandigarh. One winter afternoon, our teachers called us outdoors during the mid-day recess, having built up an excitement of the surprise that lay ahead. Glad to give our books and minds a rest, we bounded outside and assembled in rows as our teachers tried to control the bunch of excited and boisterous kids.
The all too familiar “Jingle bells” tune began to play over the loudspeaker and a shower of sweets descended on us like raindrops. We jumped up with outstretched hands amid shrill shrieks of joy.
And then we saw the fat and jolly Santa! His red cap bobbed and the white beard cascaded down his red and white suit as he roared, “Ho ho ho!” He pranced around with one hand swung over his back as he firmly held that bag of goodies we all had our eyes on with glee.
When he started to open his bag of goodies and came towards us one by one, we tried our best not to fall on each other with ecstatic joy and loud roars of our own. It became impossible for the teachers to control us. Their smiles revealed that our collective joy had trumped their need to discipline us in that moment.
And then the unthinkable happened. This man of our fantasies, the Santa Claus we had only read about in story books and seen on TV, was hovering over me and loudly said, “Merry Christmas, Shaira!” He proceeded to thrust a gift in my shell-shocked hands.
It couldn’t be! Santa Claus knew my name! It was the happiest moment of my little life. It was also the most magical.
My parents, who heard this story from me in an excited relay of words and stutters later, exchanged knowing smiles but said nothing except, “Wow!” and “That’s so exciting!” It was the stuff dreams are made of, it was a dream come true.
It wasn’t until many years later that the reality behind the fantasy revealed itself and it turned out that beneath the garb of Santa Claus that year, it had been an uncle, a close family friend, who had made my Christmas a special one all those years ago.
To this day, 25 years later, I call him Santa in jest.
In a few months, I’ll have a baby of my own to look after and acquaint with the wonders of this magical, pot-bellied angel in red who devotes his life to making dreams come true once a year.
I hope to be able to fulfil the dreams – both big and small – of my own child in the same way that Santa did for me and continues to do for millions of other little lives each year.
IT WAS THE HAPPIEST MOMENT OF MY LITTLE LIFE. MY PARENTS, WHO HEARD THIS STORY FROM ME IN AN EXCITED RELAY OF WORDS AND STUTTERS LATER, EXCHANGED KNOWING SMILES