Friday, 24 December 2010

Be careful of what you tell your kids...

I must have been 4 or 5 years old at the time... but the memory sticks out as vivid as ever. We were at Mother’s workplace and they were hosting a Christmas party for all the employees’ kids and they had a variety of colourful party snacks – the stuff that every kids’ dreams are made of. And I remember I was playing with Mother’s colleague’s daughter, Michelle.

Mother had told us that Santa was on his way and if we were good, we’d all get presents! We were so bloody excited, we decided to wait at the door for his arrival. We waited and waited, eventually got bored and ended up playing with the other kids in a huge empty office instead.

We were running up and down the corridor when we got the news. Apparently, Santa was stuck on the side of the building so he wasn’t going to make it after all. But he was smart enough to send one of his Reindeers up with the presents.

I was so disappointed, but too strong-willed, even back then, to give up so easily and I was determined to wait for him to get his big fat red ass un-stuck and show up at the damn party. And I waited... and waited. But then someone started handing out all the presents he had sent with the Reindeer that no one saw, and I temporarily forgot about waiting while I tore through the bottle- green Christmas wrapping paper imprinted with gold wreaths and felt my disappointment reach a whole new level.

That red fat bastard sent me a Raggedy Ann doll and Michelle got a Barbie. So he didn’t show up like he promised to and then to add insult to injury, he gave me a rag doll. What the fuck was I going to do with a rag doll? Michelle had already changed Barbie’s clothes and was busy combing her long blond hair. I couldn’t comb Raggedy Ann’s woolly hair because firstly, I didn’t get a brush unlike some other people I knew and secondly, Annie’s hair wasn’t made for that, it would have all fallen out anyway.

That very moment was the pinnacle of Apartheid and if I had never felt less-than before that moment, I sure did then. But I couldn’t just let it go. It was not going to end like that for me. So when Michelle wasn’t looking, I grabbed the orange scissors off the nearest work station and gave Barbie a new hairdo, because that’s the kind of bitch I am. I had decided that she looked better in a Bob anyway. Michelle didn’t think so. Whiny bitch shrieked like a banshee and cried all day.

And to this very day, I think it would have all turned out differently if Santa wasn’t such a dick and just showed up when he was supposed to. Sometimes, I secretly wonder where he is and every year since then, in the most bizarre unconscionable way, I find myself still waiting for him. And I don't even celebrate Christmas!!

It was only much later, in my teens, that I found out that our gifts were in fact bought and paid for by our parents. And that is why I love giving Mother useless gifts like shaving cream, stamps and PVC sweat suits.

Wishing a Merry / Happy Christmas to all those celebrating! :)


  1. :) a really refreshing post. Yes kids need to be told the truth in a different way.

  2. I'm not sure whether to express sympathy or give in & laugh :-P
    Aw Az, sorry!!!! But it's a funny story.

  3. Hello Azra,
    Due to the beauty of this blogging world, I happened to stumble by your blog. And even though i haven't gone through it in its entirety yet, I am pretty sure that your blog is - in search of a better word - a gem.
    Its diverse and really goes on to show different yet spectacularly similar people from totally different parts of the planet can be (I am from Pakistan, see).
    Hoping to read you from now on!

  4. AS - lol, Somehow I don't believe these newer generations fall for those elaborate lies anymore. :)

    Mezzaterra - LOL... its definitely funny in hindsight. But man was I upset at that age lol ;)

    Ali Kazmi - Thank you for visiting and for your kind words. Glad you enjoyed what you found here :)