Our modern century has everything except love for one another. The little love that exists between nations is often snapped in the name of religion and racial discrimination. Let not our minds be clouded that the Muslims in our midst deserve our hatred. This article has been penned to serve this purpose.
This article has been published as submitted by the writer without any editing by Chillibreeze so you can critique it, in its original format. Please feel free to rate and comment on this article.
Submit your article and be rated by other Indian writers
Scroll down to the bottom to rate this article.
Author: Vandana Thambi
Like most kids and every adult, I never quite believed in Santa Claus. The reason is simple. He never stuffed my stockings with goodies or lined my window sill with reindeers; and since we didn’t have a fireplace at home, Santa didn’t bother to climb down our chimney either.
When I turned seven, I began to hate Santa. This old man had time for all my friends (who didn’t have a fireplace at home) and even kept expensive gifts under their Christmas tree. But he seemed to be ignoring poor me for no reason I could think of. It wasn’t the gifts that bothered me, for I got more than plenty from my parents and cousins. What really hurt was listening to my class mates’ tall tales of Santa bringing them this and that and all things nice!! I just couldn’t stand being the only child Santa never visited.
“Why don’t you write Santa a letter?” That’s what Mom said when she saw me returning home all red and teary-eyed.
I did. I wrote the most horrendous five-page letter to Santa Claus, crying out the pain he caused me and his totally inconsiderate attitude towards a young child who just longed to be in the good books of Santa. Still crying, I ran to the roof-top of our 15-storey apartment and stuck the letter on a tall pole, to be carried away by the winds to Santa’s place in the North Pole.
Two days later was Christmas Day. Well, as it usually happens in movies, Santa didn’t succumb to my threats and bring me gifts to boast of. And I didn’t care either. After all, Santa doesn’t exist and my friends are dumb enough to believe the gifts they got, are from Santa. After the usual round of traditions on Christmas morning, I ran around the house and played with my cousins. The door bell rang. No, it wasn’t Santa. There was no one; just a brightly colored envelope on the door mat.
Wow! Got one more card to hang on my Christmas tree! Hey wait, it wasn’t a card but a letter in beautiful handwriting, signed by none other than Santa Claus?!
I thought it was a prank but the letter was genuine and had all the answers to my innocent queries to Santa. How could that be? No one saw me sending that letter. It must have flown off to another neighborhood, but then who could be so sweet enough to reply with the most inimitable charm that only Santa Claus is believed to have. I showed it off to my family and they were happy to see me smiling at least.
For every Christmas, New Year and Birthdays thereafter, I received long loving letters from my dear Santa. As I grew up, I couldn’t resist suspecting the letters were being sent by my Mom or friends. I liked the mystery element though and enjoyed every bit of it. On my twelfth Christmas, I didn’t get the usual letter from Santa but a huge gift, wrapped in shiny red paper and colored ribbons.
Now, it was my parents turn to stare wide-eyed. Who on earth could be behind all this? I didn’t care and soon proceeded to open the gift. It was a life-size Santa Claus doll that sang “Jingle bells, Jingle bells, jingle all the way”. Oh, I just loved it. Suddenly a man appeared at the door front and smiled at me. “Aslam-aleikum”, he gestured. It was our Muslim neighbor, Mohammed, who stayed at the penthouse atop our apartment. Seeing me still clinging to the huge Santa, he beamed “I’m glad you liked it; it took me 2 years to find such a doll in the market?”
“You bought this?” I gasped, “And the letters? Did you write them? But why? Why did you have to go through so much trouble for me?” He just nodded and smiled.
“I read your letter to Santa”, he stopped nodding to speak. “I felt I had to do something to stop the hatred that was growing in your little mind for a legendary saint who exists only in our hearts. This is my way of saying, ‘Never hate anyone; love is what makes life worth living”
Thank you, Mohammed, for your loving heart. You are my real Santa. I simply wish everyone could have a heart like yours. A Muslim heart, perhaps!
More on Chillibreeze
Rate more articles by Indian writers
Take advantage of our confidential and professional article review services to get your writing rated by an expert critic
Check out our Writing Courses and Writing Assessments
Want to work on client projects? Read more about our screening process
Related posts:
- Five Steps Towards An Attention Grabbing Query Letter
- Day 30: A Christmastime Wish
- My Favourite Book: Charlie Small – The Barbarous Brigands Of Frostbite Pass
- Him and Her
- I am Alive
Comments:
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
Hey, i really liked this article. Very touching and the flow of language is simply superb!
Hats off to you for thinking up such a unique topic.