My Santa

I want jalebis. How many do I get for this?” A little girl stretched her palm towards me
revealing a shining five rupee coin. I smiled at her, accepted the coin and gave her two
steaming hot jalebis. She looked at the small leafy plate dejectedly. “Please give me my
money back, we are three siblings and there are only two here.”

It was a cold, dark night and the light from my sweet shop illuminated the entire street.
My shop bustled with activity. The aroma of freshly prepared sweets and soft baked cakes
attracted hundreds of customers to my small shop.

Christmas had always been one of the best business days of the year for me. It meant a new saree for my wife, a new toy for
my son and a new tennis racket for my daughter.

Every Christmas night after they
had dozed off, Santa kept their neatly packed gifts on the dining table.

But today as I sat, struggling to cater to every customer who entered the shop, I felt a
stinging sense of loneliness. I wished I could go back home, sit by the fire place, kiss my
wife, tell my kids a new story, and relish lamb chops as the street got covered in
snow.

“My coin.” The little girl stretched out her hand. I collected my thoughts and looked at her.
''Uncle, take this back. Give me back my coin.”

She kept the small paper plate on the counter. I gave her coin back. Clutching it carefully like a precious gift, she began inspecting other sweets. She stared at the sweets with her big, round eyes and looked at
me angrily when I gave a bigger packet to another customer in exchange for his note.

“Uncle, I want that packet not this small plate. Here, take this money.”
“Beta, his note was bigger than yours. That is why I gave him the bigger packet.” I tried
reasoning with her.
“It’s not fair. Why did you give him the bigger packet and not me?”

She looked at me sadly.
“I promised my younger brothers that I would get them lots of jalebis. You have so many. You could have given me more. Now they will be so dejected.”

I looked at her crestfallen face and it reminded me of my kids. Each time my son wanted a toy from the big shop and I said,
‘Daddy doesn’t have that much money. Why don’t you take the smaller toy instead?’ It reminded me of my daughter who refused to speak to me because I couldn’t afford the ballet dress she wanted. Something about the little girl told me that I would go home today, richer, not by a crisp note but by a bright smile.

“They will not be, I promise.” said shaking my head.
I got up; picked up a big box, and loaded it with every type of sweet I had in the shop. I also took out a small ginger cake, tied it to the box with a ribbon and handed it over to her. Probably a little too big for her tiny hands, she held it carefully. I kept the small paper plate on the top of her box and gave her back her coin.

“But uncle…” She tried to return me the coin.
“No little girl, you keep it.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much Santa.” She smiled revealing her broken teeth. “I’ll tell my brothers I met Santa today and this is what he gave me.”
I laughed. “What else are you going to tell them? Santa is a mean old fellow who will lose all his hair by next Christmas?”

“No. I am going to tell them Santa doesn’t always wear a red suit or have white flowing beard. He sometimes sits in a sweet shop at the end of the street.”