A letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,
Hi!
I am a 19 year old writing to you a day before Christmas. Surprised? So am I
I want you to know that I am not hurt for being lied to about the truth of your existence. If not in person, you certainly exist in spirit.
Neither am I disappointed in you for not being around. For a fictional character, you do quite a splendid job at being omnipresent during the holiday season.
When I was a gullible little child, I was a staunch believer in you. Each year, I would dedicatedly decorate the Christmas Tree with glittery ornaments and a bright yellow star. I would earnestly close my eyes and pray for it to snow and all the times it didn't, I would make do with small cotton balls, sprinkling them wherever I could.
I would go shopping with my folks for the shimmery ornaments, lights and candy.
On the Eve of Christmas we’d all huddle together in my parents’ bedroom and watch movies as Dad would warm the Plum Cake he brought for us from our favourite bakery.
I always kept a small portion for you, and put it on the dinning table with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. If you were real you were bound to be hungry after all that work. At night I would pull the curtains wide open and hope to spot you with your reindeers. Maybe I could convince you to take me for a short ride?
Soon enough I came to understand that you were but a work of fiction, however I couldn't let go of you.
The idea of a big, fat and adorable old man climbing down people's chimneys to light up Christmas for children is truly fascinating- and worth holding on to, even if it defies logic and basic math and physics.
At school each year, after the customary Christmas Play, we’d all eagerly wait for a teacher dressed up as you to come and throw candy at us. Oh how we fought tooth and nail over those colourful treats!  Not for the delights of the sweet as much as for the satisfaction of getting them from you( or somebody dressed up as you- same thing for us). At times when a friend won't get any candy, we'd gladly share ours to cheer them up. We would break those little, brittle candies with our teeth into a thousand fragments and laugh when all that was left of it was sugary dust.
Also thanks to you, parents are obligated to bring gifts for their kids. No parent wants their kid to be in the 'Naughty List' and the incentive of Santa bringing gifts for the 'good children' generally worked well for everybody.
Even when I was well aware of who actually placed the gifts beneath the tree or next to my pillow, the thrill of them doing it incognito was so wondrous that one was tempted to pretend being naive.
I still greatly cherish a pair of fuzzy socks I received one Christmas. They have a clumsy monkey popping out of them. Not something I had asked for and certainly not what I had hoped to get- I have come to love them for the memories they invoke each time I slip into those warm things.
I can't tell you how thrilled I was when I was told you had a real postal address. I was tempted to write a letter thanking you, but having grown up, I couldn’t spare enough time to chase my fantasies.  I forgot about my commitment to my younger self and moved over to the more practical ones.
So today I thank you for making my childhood magical with your stories and your legends. Thanks for all those wonderful gifts (a part of me still believes it was you who kept them) and for always finishing the milk and cookies I kept for you despite your hectic schedule.
I won't ask you for any gifts, but I will ask you to keep alive the awe and marvel of Christmas.
Young kids will eventually grow over you but they'll fondly remember the memories they made on the way.
One may grow up enough to realize you don't exist for real, but you'd still be the big, old, cuddly man who is a vital part of the essence of Christmas!

Parched

"It hasn't rained here since two months."

This is a sentence that has the ability to drain the colour off your face instantly, when spoken in context to your favourite place on earth.
Born and brought-up in Shimla, I am used to opening my eyes on wintry mornings, to the spectacle of snow peppered hills from the windows of my room. Every winter, we unite in praying for a white Christmas, a wish that has been gracefully granted multiple times during my childhood. Thanks to the Western Disturbance- each year moisture laden winds travel all the way from the Mediterranean and collide into the mighty Himalayas. The rain and snow feed the icy glaciers and the towering snow-capped mountains, which  then become the source of water for the major rivers of India.
Snow is an awe-inducing phenomena. To my absolute dismay however, I missed the showers of snow last year. So I couldn't begin 2016 with the touch of snow- and we all know how disastrous this year proved to be.

Little do we realise, that inexplicably, the mellow winter snow always manages to form lasting impressions.

Snow Capped hills of Kufri on the 15 December 2014

Hearing my mother talk about the lack of precipitation, the rain that replenished the roots of the tall Deodar trees and the lush green grasses, breaks my heart.
The promise of a fragrant and vibrant spring is being shattered right now.

"Why would that be? "- I ask,concerned.

"A lot trees have been chopped off recently. I've never seen it this way, look my skin has become so dry."
Ah yes the ambitious four-laning project of the Shimla-Chandigarh highway.
 An endeavour to make NH-22 more accessible.

As a kid I vividly remember driving down the Solan bypass. The particular stretch which was surrounded by tall,thin trees was breathtakingly beautiful. It is one of the happiest memories of my childhood. When asked about which road to take, my brother and I would always opt for that road which went through that jungle, where we had the highest chances of spotting wildlife at night. Ma would protest, saying it wasn't the safest option plus the route was a little longer, but our persistence-laced excitement would always triumph reason, and we would take the road less taken.

That very road, after the initiation of the project is now being widened and all those trees being cut in order to do so. An initiative which is sure to make commute easier, less time consuming and traffic free but it is also going to bring Shimla closer, closer to becoming a city from a town. 

Am I selfish for not wanting to share the beauty of my hometown with others?

I'd like to believe I am plain concerned. Concerned about the delicate ecology of the Himalayas which might not be able to sustain the burden of all the people and more so our destructive activities.

"There is so much pollution these days, so many people, people with little to no consideration for the environment. How will it rain?". My father says as we drive. We are going to Potter's Hill-an eco-tourism destination ( Closed Down as we were to find out soon).

It was just the other day back in college, when I was discussing the wonders of snowfall with a senior. She, a resident of Mussoorie recalled how it used to snow when she was a child. 

"It doesn't snow as much now. Some years, it doesn't snow at all".

Sitting in the car, wearing just a sleeveless sweater over a half-sleeved shirt I shuddered at the thought of the same happening to Shimla.

"It is fairly warm for December", I declared. In response, my parents only nodded their heads. 'Bhutan- a country that isn't just Carbon Neutral, its Carbon Negative'- The headline of the article I was just reading a few weeks back. So it is possible right? We can reverse climate change? Or is it too late. As we kept driving I could not help but ponder over all the ways my hometown was dying a slow death. It pains to know that you are a part of a generation that is responsible for such a terrible loss. Looking at all the trees that we pass by, its hard to know that they aren't nearly enough to undo the damage we've already caused. 

We arrived at the gates of our destination to find the place closed. We decided to take a walk nonetheless.

A few students from the Shimla University, situated nearby studied in the calm of the woodland.

I was completely disheartened to see the track littered at some places. 

"Why aren't people sensitive enough? This is such a shame"

As we walked further downhill, we began admiring the various type of trees and kept debating on their local names and uses.

"Is that Oak?" 

"This one is great for soil na?"

"No, okay pine needles are bad. They don't let water penetrate into the soil."

At a point where my father received a phone call and my brother was snapping a picture of Ma, we spotted a lane of young Cedar Trees.

 "Oh Look!", I couldn't contain my excitement.

"These have been recently planted."

The place wasn't that dead after all.

After about fifteen minutes of walking in silence, we made our way back uphill with smiling faces. I searched for a fallen pine cone for a friend as Ma and Dad discussed the heavenly flavour of the squash made from Rhododendron flowers.

Our little trip renewed hope afresh. Amidst the pile of rubbish, we had seen a small sapling make its way to touch the sun. Nature, if we help her, will be able to rejuvenate herself.
This damage can be undone if we start now.

Small efforts, for instance the judicious use of water and electricity, go a long way.

Forget about the coming generations, we need to conserve our environment for our own sake. 

Haven't you been guilty of dreaming of a quaint retirement home in the woods, with a brook running nearby and birds chirping as you tend to your apple orchards?

We have the power to make sure this dream comes true, and that nature will be as bountiful to us then as it is today.