Gets It Wrong This Year
came calling last Christmas with presents galore, mom said
that was because he felt I'd been a good boy. Few days ago,
mom announced that it was Christmas season again, and that
I'd better have my list up for Santa. I asked her if I had
been a good boy this year, and she said, "You decide.
I can tell you what makes a child good." She rattled
off certain non-essentials like eating proper food at regular
meal times, sharing potato wafers and chocolates and even
toys with friends, wishing all uncles and aunties hello, and
sleeping early at night. I wondered if Santa was buying the
gifts all for himself. Where would he find such good boys
to surprise them with his presents? Maybe at the North Pole.
At least I was certain none of my friends was getting anything
from him this year.
would be just the kind of revenge I wanted for all those boys
and girls who bully me. I decided to try being all those things
Santa is happy with, and then when he would leave presents
for me and not for them, …can you imagine how wonderful
it would be to show off my Santa treasures.
Santa. Mom says I used to be scared of him when I was a tiny
baby. I'm sure mom is just making it all up, because I have
never been such a little boy! Uff. Mom, and her silly baby
stories. I'm not like a few of my classmates who cried last
year and hid behind our teacher when Santa walked in. Fact
is, I like Santa, and I like all Santas. I like the one who
comes to my classroom and distributes gift boxes to all of
us; the one at my school winter fair who makes me sit on his
lap; the ones I meet at the other parties who give me lots
of sweets but nothing much else (mom says that's probably
because we reached these places late); but most of all I like
the Santa that comes to my house.
never seen this Santa because he visits my house only at night.
Mom says he looks like the other Santas I see elsewhere- all
round and big- but he is the best because he gets me the best
presents. In fact, he is the only Santa who reads my e-mails
and my lists and gets me exactly the things I ask for (and
he adds several surprises from his side too, and I love him
for it). He is my best Santa friend. Mom says he tip toes
gently to see if I am deep in my sleep, and makes sure he
doesn't wake me up with his "Ho-ho-ho". I must admit
I don't like the other Santas when they do this.
asked the park Santa to run with me and catch me across the
field. Will you believe it, he was so fat he couldn't even
run?! I don't know why he was behaving like the dwarf-man
clown I saw at the circus. At one moment he would hold his
tummy up tightly and at another, suddenly start tickling his
beard and moustache, and then lift up his hands and say, "I
give up. I can't play this running game anymore." His
mamma shouldn't have given him so many chocolates to eat.
Mom says if I eat more than one bar of chocolate in a day,
I too will become fat like Santa.
announced that Christmas was round the corner, I knew I had
to be a good boy. Last year, he'd forgotten to put in the
space-ship I'd asked for. Mom said I should have been even
better than the good boy I'd been, though I personally feel
Santa may not have found it at the North Pole toy shops. These
Dhaka shops don't have them either; trust me, I've looked
enough. But I decided not to take any chances this year. I
would be the best boy he'd visit this year, so he'd have to
give me everything on my list. Everything. Even that big scooter
mom and dad have been refusing to buy me. Since I don't know
the alphabet yet, mom said I could draw out my wish list.
Don't tell this to mom, but I cheated there: I made maasi
do all the drawings, and I just coloured them. But I was certain
Santa wouldn't notice.
my best. Each day at bedtime, I would ask mom if she thought
I'd be Santa's favourite this year. She would hug me and say,
"I'm so proud of you." I assumed it meant a yes.
down began nine days (that's only as far as I know to count)
before Christmas, and every night I would dream of Santa taking
me to the park on his sleigh. Mom has been quite tied up of
late, so I'd not been able to show her my list. Unfortunately,
for the last two days she was in bed with high fever, but
suddenly last evening she jumped out of bed and said to dad,
"Oh my God. Tomorrow's Christmas! And I haven't done
anything yet…". Whatever she meant by that, but
she asked me to show her my letter to Santa. Dad was soon
sent out with a set of instructions…
the first one up this murky morning, and like every year,
was ecstatic to find presents by my tree! But this time, Santa
seems to have got it all wrong. Instead of a pokemon card,
I had received a pokemon tattoo; a Pooh pencil in place of
a Pooh mask; a toy scooter rather than a big scooter I could
ride around the house; and several more of these goof ups.
When mom sensed my disappointment, she threw a fiery glance
at dad, but all he managed was a feeble shrug. I think they
also had an argument after that, "Will you ever do anything
What did he have to do with this? Mom is being unfair with
him, as always. Anyway, I think I know why Santa didn't grant
me my wishes: he was unhappy because I had cheated with my
list, remember? Next time, I have promised myself, I will
be a very good boy, and shall write out my list myself. Then
Santa will be very happy. I know it.
(R) thedailystar.net 2004