Santa Coughs!

"You mean 'steal the show' don't you, Mummy?" said Reena, who was curled up on the sofa.

"No, I - - - Oh, Reena, how can you sit there so coolly?' exclaimed Mother. "Have you forgotten the party?"

"Of course not, Mummy," said Reena. "I'm dressed for it."

Mother smiled as she took in her daughter's striking outfit. "You look pretty, dear, but our guests will be here any minute. Oh no! There go two balloons!"
"Relax, Mom," said Ramesh, "I've blown a few extras."

"We had better move the jam tarts out of reach," said Reena, getting up. "Last year, Anita kept helping herself to them until there weren't enough to go around."

Ramesh chuckled. "And then they became the most popular item on the menu! Tarun, especially---rejecting all other goodies---demanded jam tarts as if his life depended on them."

 "Worse" recalled Mother, "was Marina's insistence that I give her the star on the Tree. When I refused, she screamed at the top of her voice. As for Dinesh - - -"
 "He grabbed the prize from the winner of Musical Chairs," finished Reena. "Frankly, Mummy, I can't think why you bother with a party every Christmas. The neighbourhood kids are awful."

Mother looked ashamed. "I shouldn't complain about them," she said. "They're not too bad really. Anyway, Varsha is an angel---so polite and well-mannered."
Ramesh grinned: "Almost too sweet to be true!"

 "By the way, Mummy, what did you mean by Santa ruining the party?" asked Reena. "Santosh uncle is always a great success."

Mother sighed. "Santosh uncle has been down with a cough all week. He's seen a doctor and Leela aunty has tried various home remedies, but there is hardly any relief. I suggested that Santosh relinquish the Santa job to Daddy, but he insisted he could manage."

Reena gasped at the thought of her thin, bespectacled father in the role. "Daddy as Santa---the idea is absurd!"

"Well," said Mother, "I agree that Santosh fits the part perfectly, "but imagine a cough-racked Santa!"

"How does Santosh uncle propose to deal with the problem?" asked Ramesh.
"He says he'll convert his coughs into laughs," said Mother. "We just have to hope for the best."

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" roared Santa, entering to Mr. David's piano accompaniment of 'Jingle Bells'. "Children, have you been good?"

"Very good, Santa," replied Marina. "Where are your reindeer?" she asked abruptly.
"Grazing outside," said Santa, after a moment's hesitation.

"But there's nowhere to graze," said Marina.
"Yes, there is," said Santa, pointing through the window to a green patch across the road.

"That's our garden," said Marina. "We don't allow grazing there."
"I'm sure - - -" began Santa, his throat turning ticklish. "I'm sure - - - Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The children smiled politely, thinking they had missed a joke. Santa, however, wasn't entertaining them; he was stifling a cough. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" he growled, sending Reena and Ramesh into fits of giggles.

Just when Mrs. David thought it was all over, Santa rose magnificently to the occasion. "Sorry, children," he said, as he was seized by a spasm of coughing. "I'm not well (cough!). It's (cough!) your weather (cough!). Not as chilly as mine in the North Pole (cough! cough!)." Having spluttered through this speech, Santa fished out a near-empty bottle of medicine from his pocket and gulped what was left of it.
Mrs. David was delighted. How brilliantly Santosh had handled the crisis! Now, all he had to do was distribute the presents and make a speedy exit. Santa was set to begin when Tarun piped up: "Santa, there's something on your beard." So there was---a dark trickle of cough syrup was making its way down steadily.

As the children watched in fascination, Mrs. David chimed in hastily, "Time for presents!" At the magic word the children looked away from Santa's streak to Santa's sack; all except one: Varsha---dragging a chair up to Santa---clambered onto it, and began to dab at the golden-brown liquid with her snowy-white handkerchief. "Don't worry, Santa," the little girl said kindly, "I'll wipe your beard clean." As Santa stood rooted to the spot, Varsha rubbed---first gently and then with increasing vigour. To Mrs. David's horror, wisps of cotton-wool began to come loose, all but revealing a telltale mole.

Peering earnestly at Santa, Varsha suddenly realized why Santa's cough had sounded familiar. Recognizing the well-loved face, the five-year-old refrained from crying out. Deftly patting her father's beard into place, she said quietly: "I hope you'll soon be well, dear Santa"