Dreaming of Santa

CHRISTMAS IS a time of joy for all, especially so for little children over the world. Christmas will be quite incomplete without kids, and for them, it would not be so much fun without Santa Claus.

My earliest acquaintance with St. Nicholas or Santa Claus as he is better known, began in the mid 1970s when as a toddler, my father used to take me to Spencer's and Moore Market in Chennai during the Christmas season for buying Christmas decorations. A far cry from the busy twin-complex it is today, Spencer's in those days was a pretty red building, almost picture-perfect during Christmas with its festive lights, beautiful decorations and stalls selling Christmas-ware. Moore Market was a more cosmopolitan, busier version, where you could pick almost anything under the sun - ranging from balloons, ribbons, trinkets to even very realistic clay cribs - and bargain for it. Both were later burnt down due to careless fire, but in those days, Christmas shopping would be incomplete without a visit to these two places, as you would invariably bump into long-lost friends and relatives who were on a similar mission with kids in tow.

But more than the decorations and brightly coloured balloons, the man in the red Santa suit used to fascinate me as he tried to attract children by giving them candies and balloons. For me, this was the real Santa Claus who visits Children's homes with gifts on Christmas Eve. And like all childhood fantasies, I was both fascinated and frightened of him.

Those were obviously not the days of Internet when kids could punch in their requests at the numerous web sites hosted on behalf of Santa Claus. And so, preparations for Santa's visit would have to begin almost a month ahead and the choice of gift to ask Santa would be a major dilemma besides the half-yearly exams, which were just around the corner. The letter would be drafted and re-drafted for the umpteenth time before being sent to the North Pole with a detailed description of the gift we would like to receive. After a long period of waiting, the day would finally arrive when stockings will have to be fished out of the cupboard and hung on the bedpost.

And on Christmas eve, we would make all arrangements to make sure Santa feels at home, should he think of resting here awhile before continuing his globe-trotting. And so, the freshly stocked snack box would be placed on the dining table and a bottle of Fanta would be left in the fridge. "A fanta for Santa" my father would joke! I would really imagine Santa enjoying his drink seated comfortably on the living room sofa. I also used to wonder what Santa and his reindeers would feel about this hot, dusty chimney-less terrain that Chennai is. But the Santa of my dreams was also a very kind, large-hearted saint whose single aim in life was to make children all over the world happy by granting them their Christmas wish.

And so every year, I would resolve not to fall asleep on Christmas eve, but lie awake and wait for Santa as he sneaks into my room to drop the gift into my stocking. For one last time, I would make sure that the front door was not locked, before climbing into my bed only to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

The next morning, I would wake up feeling extremely sheepish and cross with myself for having slept through Santa's visit. And there inside the stocking would be the gift I had written to Santa about. Showing off the gift to friends and relatives added to the excitement greatly. All simple, uncomplicated gifts that gave me immeasurable joy.

Santa was thus a very big part of my childhood Christmas and through his gifts, I learnt about the joy of giving, receiving and making others happy. And so when I grew up and learnt who my Santa really was, I was both surprised and disappointed. The gifts too stopped coming as I was no longer a child, but I missed those innocent years when my faith in Santa was so real that I could almost feel his presence on Christmas eve. Even today, my memories of Santa are evergreen, bordering almost on the level of personal encounters.

Now, as a parent myself, I realise that I must be thankful to my parents who taught me to dream of Santa. Imagination is the best gift that you can ever give a child! But in today's world of information explosion, I wonder if kids will ever get to believe in Santa, leave alone dream of him.

FABIOLA JACOB

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