Claus and effect

the mood's christmasy. have always believed in santa claus. have always kept an empty stocking to discover it stacked with goodies the next morning. chocolates, almonds, music tapes, a book or two, a wrist-watch, a silver photo-frame-'n'-fortune. only the generous souls who've played santa have changed. the first one (as for many kiddos of the pre-generation) was a departmental store claus who went by the sobriquet of chacha deepak, and togged up in a maharaja's accoutrements during the diwali season and in the traditional cherry red suit during x'mas. alas, the chacha for all seasons has vanished along with the store's kindly, bow-tied salesman who took one look at my bushy eyebrows and predicted, "oi, that shows that you'll travel all around the world when you grow up." grown up i have methinks... but "travelled"? well, still have to get to several corners of the globe, both within the country and outside, be it siligudi and solapur or barcelona and boston. aah well, can't see everything in a life that, otherwise, has been pretty pell-mell. truth be told, the most glorious aspect of x'mas has been the all-pervasive yuletide spirit. take the wondrous sound of carols and hymns emanating from the city's churches, the napkin-covered plates of marzipans sent over by the neighbourhood d'mellos and the turkey dinners served on a mahogany table flanked by a mini-tree twinkling with strawberry-shaped light-bulbs. bliss. there are vivid tableau recreations of the birth of jesus outside the church at warden road, too. there's sweet sangeeta kumar wearing a red-and-white fur cap while nonchalantly typing her mehboob film studio report in the office. and there's the catholic gym dance which reminds me so much of the annual school social. boys and girls, barely in their teens, spinning like tops to the vintage beat of elvis presley crooning blue suede shoes or to the thump-thump of the plaintively poppish don't step on my tutus. madonna meets remixed asha bhosle on the stereo speakers (sniff, now only till 10 p.m.) while indoors, grunge rock bands strut out their boom-blast stuff. how you miss the fox trots and charlestons belted out by the indefatigable goody seervai and his band at the taj ballroom. those were the daze truly. best of all were, and still are, the home banquets. the desas and couttos of colaba maintained an open house, laying out curried meats, baked macaroni, stuffed tomatoes considerately for the veggies, highlighted by the customary turkey which would be carved by knives by the household's patriarch, somewhat askew because of the sugar wine sipped by the gallons. the christmas cards would be hand-made-'n'-painted showing golden and melon-hued stars as well as happy reindeer drawing the sleigh to earth from the cotton-candy clouds. a bob dylan look-alike cousin of the family would strum out either green sleeves or jingle bells, for once forgetting angst-ridden lyrics on the line of blowin' in the wind or ma, i'm only crying. today, the desas and the couttos have migrated, celebrating the day perhaps in australia or canada. blaize fernandes of mahim, though, has remained rooted to his backlane apartment, and without fail, hosts a black label evening for nestor and his wife, a 60-year-old friend and his lolita-like companion, besides dobby and marissa. if any one of them doesn't show up, the host sulks like an emotionally injured brother for the rest of the year. like he did with me last x'mas, and probably will this time around too. baylon, a sound expert, looks thinner every christmas, now sourcing his sticks-'n'-bone physique to the arrival of a baby who keeps him awake all night, not that he's complaining. if the baby doesn't sound the alarm bells every dawn, baylon worries himself sick, despatching sms messages of consternation throughout the countryside. does santa claus exist, then? over the years, everyone i know asks one another that. maybe santa does, maybe he doesn't. for me, he does. because even though i didn't keep out a stocking by the bedside yesterday, came a courier package stacked with chocolates, almonds, music tapes, a book or two, a wrist-watch, a silver photo-frame-`n'-fortune. sender's name and address unknown. khalid.mohamed @timesgroup.com