It was Christmas Eve. The lopsided little house near the dusty road seemed asleep. None but a careful observer might see the chink of light escaping through the curtained bedroom window. The curtains were old and ragged but spotlessly clean, like everything else about the house. A pleasantly plump figure in a housecoat was sitting on the small table inside. She was busy with her scissors, skillfully cutting and folding paper. The table was littered with old (yet sparkling) gift wrapping papers, crayons and sketch pens belonging to her younger daughter and a paper full of wet rice as a substitute for glue. She was making Christmas cards for her girls. The tradition had been established in the small house ever since the twins were born, although they weren’t a Christian family.

Every year on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus (or Christmas Pappa as her twins liked to call him) arrived at this house by the roadside. He would leave Christmas cards and small presents at the head of Achu and Ammu’s bed. Two days before Christmas, the children would make a list of things they wished for, and Mother would check the lists. Not the tricycle Achu, she would say. Think of how difficult it will be for Christmas Pappa (he is even older than Grandma!) to bring it from North Pole. Can I put in ‘Barbie doll’, Momma? Five-year-old Ammu had asked once, her eyes round and anxious. Uh-oh, too expensive. Mother thought, her mind troubled. So she had told her little one, Don’t you think Barbie is too expensive sweetie? Christmas Pappa has to buy gifts for thousands of children, you know. She watched with a lump in her throat as Ammu explained to Achu why she had removed that wish from her list. Over the years, the twins grew more and more considerate towards Christmas Pappa; they stopped wishing for big and expensive presents and asked only for those things they thought could be brought conveniently from his home somewhere in the snowy north.

Both cards over, thought Mother happily. Mother was always busy. What with two inquisitive little girls and an overworked husband, Mother’s hands were always full. Father worked in the factory nearby; he was gone from morning till late in the night. Being one of the few non-Christians at workplace, he had to work on Christmas Day too. That meant it was always just her and her children on the D day. Nonetheless, Mother always made it memorable for her little girls. Over the year, she would pinch and save from her meager household budget to buy brightly-colored trinkets like tiny earrings, erasers, pencils, balloons, small stars, etc. that matched the wish lists of her Achu and Ammu.

She got up from her cramped position, yawned and stretched. The clock was striking 1 o’clock. She took all the trinkets and the cards and tiptoed to the cupboard-like room that belonged to her children. The small lovingly wrapped gifts were placed gently above the pillows of the bed. Her girls were sleeping soundly. Like angels, she thought fondly.

Mother and Father awoke to joyous shouts of ‘Merry Christmas’ early next morning. “Christmas Pappa came, came, came”, shouted Ammu, jumping up and down in excitement. He brought me everything I wanted, Achu’s eyes shone as she climbed up the bed to snuggle close to her father. Father captured Ammu under his other arm and looked at Mother smilingly over the two tousled heads. Of course he came, Father said. He will definitely come every year to visit my girls.

*All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all. – Cecil F. Alexander (1848, Ireland)

Based on the true story of a great family.

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