#Blog · #Blogging · #Christmas · #Inspirational · #Non-fiction · Motherhood · Parenting

Merry Christmas Celebrations…But Hey Where’s Santa?

The jungle and farm
Teamed up
A Christmas Card made by our little one



On this eve of Christmas, our five-year-old insisted on having a Christmas tree and decorating it, to be followed by eventual celebrations with her little friends, besides distribution of gifts. So we thought, why not?

Though not our festival, celebrating Christmas is an excitement galore and truly feels magical. Besides, the fun of going along with your kids, always makes your moments memorable.

We decided on a jungle theme where all the animals are congregating in the snow, to celebrate Christmas around a decorated tree. Executing all that handiwork, right from shopping, until adorning the tree, was pretty much fun.

My daughter wanted a Christmas gift for herself. Of course! How could it be excluded since that’s what Christmas always stands for…Celebrations…Making mirth…Staying joyous…Convergence…Forging bonds. Dadda has been extremely busy of late, so we decided against disturbing him. But then we thought why not go ahead on our own and revel in the festivities? We anyway love narrating all our escapades to dadda who also, fervidly listens, relishing them, for our stories alone serve him as focal points of connectivity with the daily household affairs, during his absence at home.

On the 24th night, Mamma-baby decided to eagerly enjoy ourselves, with an impromptu dine-out, followed by some gift-hunting. At the shop, we were glad to see other parents doing the same with their kids. We fashionably had a gala time, choosing from one gift over the other and spending around an hour, with the several options piled up before us. This accomplished, we returned home to go to bed but not before leaving some carrots and milk before the Christmas tree as an offering, besides turning some night lamps on, for Santa would be here anytime.

Little one was completely elevated, for, while lying on the bed too, her thoughts were entirely occupied with Santa. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. The British curriculum school where she studied, did appear to give her a lot of exposure to the western ways of life and I couldn’t be more glad, for I would certainly love her to imbibe the best from every culture. But this moment seemed to be one of a challenge, with her reticence to fall asleep, for she eagerly awaited Santa’s arrival. I had no choice here but to intervene and tell her that Santa would sneak in, only late in the night, once everyone’s asleep. I deliberately added that he would arrive to bless the gifts that we’ve brought and then go away. I could not bring myself to tell her that ‘Santa would leave a gift for her’, for the gifts that she was going to open in the morning, were pretty much the ones, she had chosen herself. With that being the case, where would Santa fit in? I did not want her to be disappointed. But she, it seemed, was very clear that customarily, it was Santa who’s supposed to leave the gifts and therefore, appeared to be pondering doubtfully on whatever I just told her. Her expressions suggested many unsaid questions on her lips but then mutually we decided to leave it at that, with no further discussions, for the time being.

In the morning, as soon as she woke up, greeting everyone “Merry Christmas”, she dashed towards the living room, where the Christmas tree stood and began exuberantly opening the gift that we’d brought the previous night and then it flashed upon her. With a frown on her little face, she pouted her complaint with a sad expression, “Mamma, Santa did not give me any gift”. My dim-witted reply ‘Oh you are already holding the gift’, did not seem to alleviate it, for the next question was shot, in quite a firm tone, that made me look dumb-founded, ‘But where’s Santa’s gift?’ I instantly condemned myself for my folly since I should have thought of this before. Thank god, until now, she had not looked into the stockings. Under some pretext, I sent her to the other room and immediately filled up the stockings with chocolates, small toys and some cute stickers, of which, I had maintained a secret stock, for rewarding her, upon doing a good job. I then called her back into the living room and asked her if she had checked the stockings. And when she did that, it just made me glad. But she still appeared to linger in disbelief and continued to wonder for a while – Was it Santa who really left these? I could tell from her expressions that she probably knew where they came from but then she decided otherwise, flashed a smile and happily accepted them.

In the afternoon, after returning from her art class, the question that I got to repeatedly confront was, “Mamma where’s Santa? Why didn’t I get to see him?”. So, as far as I was concerned, that doubt was not still allayed. Some corner of her mind probably told her that no one had come.

Initially, for a moment, I wondered what to reply but then proceeded to answer her like a smart cookie, “Oh! didn’t you see him? All of us met him when he was here during the night. I guess you were asleep then. Now he will come only next year.”…again that wide smile of disbelief shone and she seemed to weigh my reply for sometime, while I smiled inward. But she was smart enough not to miss that one and without making any comment, instantly flashed me an ultra-broad smile this time, with that knowing look, which said ‘Mamma, it’s not the truth.’ And for some time, her little brains yet seemed to be racking…pondering over and over…her voice pestering me with the same question, “Mamma where’s Santa?”. By now, I found myself thinking really hard and this time, tried to change my track of answers, “Oh! he has already gone to Santa land. He can come only next year now.” So the next one was, “Mamma, where’s Santa land?” And on and on it went, for some more time.

Finally, with no plausible answers coming up from me, she sighed and let out a conclusive statement “Mamma, Santa’s not there.” I stood flummoxed, looking at her, unable to articulate, for I could neither accept nor deny the truth. But with all my love for her, I couldn’t help thinking, “Child, your Mamma and Daddy themselves are your very own Santa. I HOPE and KNOW that you will understand this someday.”

But now as I’m penning this, I’ve decided that even before the next Christmas eve arrives, when she would grow up a little more, I would gradually explain everything to her, while proceeding to break the truth that “Child, there’s no Santa who’s ever going to come here for you or for anyone, because…a real Santa Claus does not exist in this world. We have to be our own Santa. So, gear up…grow more upright…be as independent as possible…and as tough as you can in the face of adversities…work hard…stand tall with confidence…for that’s only how you can positively face your world…and your wants…alone and all by yourself…so that you could be your own Santa…and also, possibly for the ones you love and regard.”

Glad to share some pictures our of tree.

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