[Short Story of Thief who loved what he was]
“Dear Santa Claus
Last Christmas I understood that you do not exist but… Sorry if I am offending you… but this never ending hunger is bringing my belief back in you. Santa, for last three days we did not eat anything.
I still remember until last year when my parents were still alive my mother used to ask me to write my wish in a letter to you. I typically took 2-3 weeks to think what would be best deal – she allowed only one wish in the letter. We were not Christian and therefore there was no Christmas tree in my house during Christmas. But still, I used to put the letter in red envelop, write your name – Santa Claus – and keep it beside a bush in our little garden, 2-3 days prior to Christmas. And how happy I used to be when I found my wish in form of gift lying near the same bush on Christmas night. I always loved you. But last year when my parents died in car accident and I moved to this orphanage near Church that has very big and decorated Christmas tree, you did not fulfil my wish I wrote in my yearly letter to you – please send my parents back.
In this letter, I am not asking my parents but just little food – any food – for me and my friends. Water is now no more effective to quench the fire we are getting in our bowel.
I found this letter when I tried to pick a silver bell from huge Christmas tree decorated in campus of Church. Before I could become emotional and change my plan or caught by someone, I left the letter as it was and ran away from the yard with silver bell.
I was passing through one bungalow. I could smell acrid marijuana with beer. I peeped in. A group of few teenagers boys and girls was celebrating Christmas. All were wearing Santa’s red cap but hardly anything else. They were so toxicated that I found it very easy to jump in the bungalow through open window anticipating big booty. Suddenly I saw 6-7 packets of Pizzas – totally intact and unattended by these rich youngsters. I remembered last line of the letter I read few minutes back. I could not control and dropped my plan to grab the easy loot, carefully picked the pizzas, and returned towards the orphanage. I kept the pizzas (along with silver bell) at door of the orphanage and ran away after knocking the door. I could hear cheering sound of bunch of kids but kept running until I reached my room.
Two days later, the letter was published in a national daily. There were overwhelming responses to the news. My country is really great. There is no dearth of generous donors. Someone told that more than thirty four lakhs (3.4 million) were donated to the orphanage. The orphanage trustee, grandson of great philanthropist, had done MBA from a famous B-School. He used the letter to the fullest marketing advantage of the dying trust founded by his grandfather. Finally his aptness paid – thirty four lakhs. I felt very happy – not as a thief but as a human – kids would no more be hungry for a decade or so, I guessed.
But I was wrong. The MBA skill slowly ploughed the collection in a new business. Trust account showed effective use of the booty – façade of orphanage was renovated, two computers were added along with new sofa set in main office of the orphanage, and few honourandum parties in which the kids sang in chorus, “Itni sakti hame dena data…” (Give us power, O my lord…). That’s all. I would not be surprised if I would get similar letter again on Christmas but thank god – I am a thief – at least I can steal pizzas for them on the Christmas night.