A Christmas Without Presents

One of the main things I had to grapple with yesterday (apart from the slum, which I am obviously trying not to dwell on too much) was the lack of presents. I woke up, and despite Mr Skeen's assurances that "Sana" was coming, the pillowcase which I had hopefully left hanging in my train compartment hung empty. Now this was the first time I had started a Christmas without presents. Now, Mum and Dad, before you get angry, I loved the letter and it made me smile and cry and experience all possible emotions. However, that could not replace the emptiness in my heart at the start of my first Christmas without presents.

I battled through the day, trying to forget that the 25th of December was any different to any other day, trying to ignore the pangs of want deep down. When we finally got 20 minutes of free time after lunch I caved. I purchased possibly the coolest buy of the trip, up there with everything McLovin' has bought and even the balling of Tim and Jake. I am now the proud owner of a pair of mirrored John Lennon Ray-Bans. They are beautiful, and judging by the smiles on the faces of Indian teenagers throughout Colaba are bringing joy into this place. They wouldn't laugh at me, would they?

I continued with my solitary gift until Reuben ("Sana" himself) handed me my Secret Santa present, which came from George Harman. My Bag is now one handheld massage machine and one pair of child's underwear heavier. I don't know how I'm going to explain those at customs.

So, in the end, it wasn't a Christmas without presents. It was just a different kind of gift that we all received. I guess that's what India is all about: a different sort of country.

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