Another Good Story.

First Christmas out of the hospital. After a year of IV drips and pity smiles, the holidays seem like a juvenile affair. A momentary look away from the truth of life. We’re at the Shrine of The Infant Jesus in Nashik, where the faithful pour their hopes and dreams into candles and statues. I won’t be one of them. God, Jesus, Santa Claus – names people cling to for a ray of ill-advised hope. I noticed their absence when death took the girl from the bed next to mine. No angels, no white light from above. Just a flat line, and a body surrendered without ceremony. I won’t question the ways of the world, that’s a fight I can’t win. But, I won’t forgive them either. 

I don’t think I’m bitter, I just pay attention. I started to see it years ago, when the presents got smaller as wallets grew thinner. Some years, they didn’t come at all. I understood, but let’s be honest – Santa Claus doesn’t go broke. And so, I demand to every cruel peddler of these lies – for once, tell the truth. Starting with my head-in-the-clouds father. 

Aadyan: Why did you lie to me?

Puppa: We didn’t. But you’re right, it was us leaving those presents by your bedside.

Aadyan: Why didn’t you tell me the truth?

Puppa: Didn’t you believe it was him?

Aadyan: So? It was still a lie. 

Puppa: Tell me this, what makes Santa Claus Santa Claus?

Aadyan: He brings children presents on Christmas.

Puppa: Last night, you left a toy car by Manish’s pillow while he slept. What does that make you?

*Manish is the 5-year-old son of the lady who does our housekeeping.