Thursday 10 March 2011

Letter to Santa

My dear Santa,
I know this is a bit abrupt at this time of the year when you have just begun to settle down after a long tour. Hope you enjoyed your stay in our corner of the world and stayed long enough to learn to sing 'Kuttanadan punjayile'. I can imagine you cruising along the lake and singing 'Jingle Bells...'.
Did you hear while you were here that like you, Kerala too has an annual visitor? An ideal king, Mahabali, of yesteryear. As the much celebrated song about him (Maveli naadu vanidum kaalam/manusharellaarum onnupole) says, someday at Christmas, we hope all people will "live out the true meaning of the saying that all men are created equal... Where no one will be judged by the colour of their skin, but by the content of their character... Where our nation will be lifted from the quicksand of prejudices...." Sorry, I got carried away by Martin Luther King.
Thank you for spreading cheer in trying times like these. Christmases in the past few years have reminded me of the story of the First Christmas when hundreds of children were put to the sword by Herod. The weeping in Ramah seems universal; you hear that in Iraq, Afghanistan, Haiti, Thailand, Indonesia, Bangladesh, our own India, where children are the worst affected by war, tyrannical regimes, natural disasters or economic policies. I know your little gifts comfort them, give an island of respite in their world.
Why is that your bundle never grows small even after distributing all the gifts? I like to believe that you trade their worries for gifts. That is why I don't mind Santa remaining the one universal comforter. (I am against any homogenisation of culture. But maybe your acceptance comes from the fact that your ancestors date back to pre-Christian days and you contain diverse myths and cultures.) That is the miracle of Christmas.
There are times when I want to be like you. The other day, a young boy approached me on the busy Sixth Avenue of Anna Nagar, Chennai, lined with Pizza Hut, KFC, McDonald's, Hi-Style and what not, where the well-dressed turn their faces away from the poor (because they are scared to look into their eyes). He had a small bag in his hand, and wanted to sell me 'vathi petti'. I did not understand what he was saying in Tamil.
But I heard within my soul, like you do almost always, what he was trying to tell me. He wanted to pay his school fees of Rs.150. Western media translates anything like that for their readers to comprehend. It is close to 3 dollars. Well, I too walked away, partly for not wanting to dehumanise him by doling out some money (he did not ask for alms) and partly because I was a bit sceptical of him being a deceptor (I take cover under the fact that scepticism is a philosophic view).
Later, I gathered that what he was trying to sell me was a box of wicks (or incense sticks) to be used in pujas. I smiled at the irony of it. All the wicks for others to propitiate their gods! He would need a lesser offering for a lesser god! I wished I could go Santa-like to his house or change his circumstances with a magic wand.
But he is only one among the thousands in India who work hard for a living. I suggest you visit Sivakasi, Moradabad, or Kashmir, where children are employed in match and cracker factories, small industries making locks and carpet weaving units. Or any of the brick kilns in the hinterland or eateries in our towns and cities. India has the largest number of child labourers under the age of 14 in the world.
Recently I was reading about the children of Basera-e-Tabassum (meaning Abode of Smiles), a home for girls in Kupwara in militancy-ridden Jammu and Kashmir. They know more about lost childhoods than we can probably imagine. But these children got the gift of a camera, and the world got to see what they shot -- with love.
I didn't intend to sound too negative. I am optimistic. Every Christmas brings joy and hope for a better world. I appreciate your role in making the world a better place with your small gestures. I appreciate you for realising that for a child, today matters more, not tomorrow.
But I have one request. Please bring Mama Claus along when you come next. I am sure she must be helping you pack all the bags to go on your long journeys to the end of the world. At least that will help subvert the whole idea of a male benefactor. Our girls are burdened--they need to please their husbands before their marriages with fat dowries and then they have to serve them every day (cook, wash) and live their lives for them. It will be a great inspiration for our girls to see Mama join you in person in your mission to help people in need.
That will be the perfect symbol of new beginnings each Christmas bring. We, at God’s Own Country, shall be her perfect host.
See you next Christmas.
Sam