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| Edited By: Dyuti Basu,Yoshita Rao |Source: DNA |Updated: Dec 23, 2018, 06:40 AM IST
Meeting Santa for the first time can be scary, wonderful, puzzling or just plain vanilla. These personas share their first brush in with Father Christmas and what happened next.
Like most Goan Catholic families, mine also propagated the tradition of Santa Claus. It was something to be associated with joy. It was not a particular event that led me to stop believing that Santa comes and puts gifts under the tree but simply a gradual process of growing up. And really, the spirit of Santa Claus is not something I stopped believing. Saint Nicholas did exist and he did a lot for children.
Still, today, Christmas is much more of a spiritual matter for me about a man being born who would spread the message of equality. It's not so much about the parties for me.
My grandparents and my dad tried to propagate the myth for awhile. And I did get drawn into it for a few years but it didn't last too long.
There would be stories of Santa Claus and the comic books I read would have a story around the theme. My gifts would always be there the morning of Christmas Day under the tree.
There would always be a portly teacher or priest at the catholic school that I went to who would visit each class a day before winter vacations. He would dress up as Santa and go around distributing sweets to each student.
We lived in a building called Christmas Eve in Breach Candy, Mumbai, where residents were tickled at the idea of having 'Christmas Eve' [party] at Christmas Eve. My father, [Alyque], would never fail to dress up as Santa. Aside from usual gifts, he'd give special Christmas puddings to everyone at the party. I remember one time he dressed up in a green hat, green shirt and pants, as a reminder to 'go green' for Christmas. And even though he won't be with us this Christmas, we've decided to go back to Christmas Eve for their party. To celebrate this festive season with family and dine in the company of friends. That's what he'd want.
I was told all kinds of stories about Father Christmas and that you had to be good to receive gifts. When I was five, I met this fat man dressed in red, at someone's party in Bangalore, where I lived. There were kids milling around him and they wanted to know who he was and what he was all about. Everyone's parents would push their kids to go say hi to Santa. From his big red bag he pulled out gifts for everyone. I still recall waiting to open my gift, which, when unwrapped, was a small dinky car! And so a week before Christmas we would all be on our best behaviour. Even if we didn't see him the night before, there would be gifts under the tree next morning.
