Santa I love you. That unprentious hearty laughter filling the room with hope and joy. Hope for miracles, hope for wish fulfillment, and the sheer joy of giving and receiving. The mystery that surrounds Santa adds to the charm of his persona. His home in the North Pole, his Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, a sack full of gifts,  the frosty Christmas trees and Santa’s sledge gliding down the snowy slopes.This image itself brings an instant smile, a happy feeling which wants to say “Santa I love you. “

When I was a child Santa was actually a photo on the Chrismas card. I grew up in a village where there were no dress up Santa Claus to hand me over my favorite toy on Christmas day. But I always had Santa in my life. My secret Santa, my Baba and Ma. This realization did not dawn on me till I became a mother myself and it was my turn to be the Santa to my children. 

Every year during Christmas vacation my Didi and I would go back home to our parents, our happy place, our magic land . In those days, our parents never thought of having a Christmas Tree at home, or about hanging stockings on Christmas eve. Our home did not light up with star shaped lights. Going out on the terrace and looking up at the stary stary night above filled our little eyes with twinkle, those were our Christmas lights. We did not have any of the obvious Christmas glitters around us, but Baba and Ma made every Christmas very special and memorable. And without knowing it my parents became the Santa Claus every year, for Didi, me and many of our friends.

In our home the preparation of celebration would start a week before Christmas. My Baba and Ma called Christmas day as (” বড় দিন ” ) or “Bara din”. Perhaps it meant that the sun shine days of winter would become a little longer in duration from this day.  It could  also mean that the birth of Mary’s boy child made the day a big day, a special day. Thus “Bara Din ” was a much awaited day of the year. We always hosted friends at home a few days before Christmas, for Christmas days were specially slated for picnics. Ma used to bake the best cake I have ever had in her own little round oven. Since we lived in a village the ingredients for the baking and the other dishes had to be procured from Patna, the big city. A person was specially sent to buy every thing Ma needed for Christmas dinner. After dinner all the children were gifted little tin boxes filled with toffee and candy, and that was our special sweet treat to wait for.

On the other hand Baba was the planner for the picnic with friends. Baba would find new picnic spots every year. It could be near a little waterfall running into a stream in Kauakole, or on the foothills of a rocky hillock on Gaya highway, or simply inside the forest like greens of a mango grove.To my young innocent eyes those places held the magic of wonder land.The anticipation of a new picnic spot, then the loading of our green ambassador car with darees, cane picnic baskets, stove, utensils and lastly squeezing ourselves in the back seat was no less than a secret five adventure alike. Cooking of the food at the picnic spot was always designated to one sous-chef-uncle  (executive chefs being the ladies of the team ), and we the children were his little elfs. I miss those days. The joy of abundance in the small things of life cannot be recreated in today’s date or time. Maybe, it was the simplicity which made everything so special, and the sweet scent of nostalgia still hangs strong in the air around me.

To my mind Bara Din makes us all Bara in every sense.
Around this time of the year we become more loving, giving, accepting and forgiving. The cheerful atmosphere of this season is infectious. It is a time to reach out , to embrace everyone, perhaps someone needs us, let us simply knock and smile. That itself could be a gift for someone somewhere. 

I have been receiving Santa’s presents all my life. My Baba and Ma were my Santa Claus. When I was a kid every wish of mine was fulfilled, atleast I always felt it that way. When I was a teenager, a few wishes were denied, I remember ; and on reflection I understand that those denials were also gifts. They were always showering  me with the abundance of love, discipline and educating me in every way, building my character with their own hands. My parents left me a little early, but I guess they were needed to spread their love somewhere else, where it was needed more. And in their absence too I feel I am receiving their blessings every day , the values I carry so proudly are the best gifts my Baba and Ma could have ever given me. My secret Santa is not so secret anymore, reminding me of their presence deep within my heart, everyday of my life . Every parent is the secret Santa to their children and once those children become grown up they become secret Santas themselves. And thus the magic of “Bara Din” continues forever and ever.