This Christmas, Santa and me are a done deal. Like Modiji getting 2000% majority in 2019. (The assembly elections mean nothing, fools.) A couple of days from now, I’m going to be rewarded big time. Because I’ve been a total achha balak.

I’ve hung out my Patanjali jeans (with the legs sewn at the bottom) to collect the gifts; my Aadhaar is right next to it to expedite the process; the tulsi-toe adorns our threshold in case Ambujam Mami is in the mood for a bit of sanskari canoodling as she walks by; our Philips two-in-one is playing evergreen X-mas hits like Shubh Ratri, Vikas Ratri, Jhanak Jhanak Ghante Baaje and O Aaja Mere Mitron; there is vegetarian thandai-nog in the fridge, and the mood is generally festive.

I know you have a good memory, Santa-bhai, but I guess there’s no harm in reminding you of all the things I’ve done over the year.

First and foremost, I have taken my very own Telugu brother Venkaiahji’s advice as gospel, and learnt Hindi. In fact, I’ve made a plaque of his immortal words, “Progress in India is not possible without Hindi,” and hung it up right next to my posters of Alok Nath, Arnab Goswami and Akshay Kumar.

Earlier this year, when I asked a man his name, he responded rudely by saying, “ Cow sick!” I told him in a humble manner that one didn’t speak like that. He protested, kept repeating, “Cow sick, I am Cow sick.” But I didn’t let that deter me. He learnt his lesson, I promise.

Next, I threw away my old Nehru vest (yuck) and bought Modi vests in six patriotic shades. One for each day. Except Sunday, when I do 108 surya namaskars in the altogether.

Talking about surya namaskars, I have been practising yoga regularly, too. I am so good I can do the kapal bhaati to the beat of Tune Maari Entriyan, and the pavanamukt asana in public without being found out.

That’s not all, Santa. This year, I’ve learnt to make pakoras. Glorious, patriotic, GDP-increasing, deep-fried pakoras! I am so adept at making them that I am going to set up my own stall at the foot of the Statue of Unity. It’s great that the lift is out-of-order. Longer queues to sell to! Then again, I might sell them on the bullet train. Or at the Lord Rama statue that’s coming up.

Hmmm, what else? I have introduced ducks into our neighbourhood pond. They are oxygenating the water bodies from their rear ends as we speak. I have looked carefully to see if apes have changed into men. Not one, I tell you, proving pujya Satyapal Singhji right, and that Darwin fellow wrong. Also, I’ve helped save all the rivers in India with just one phone call. Mind you, it was not even a full-fledged phone call. Just a missed one. Along the banks of these beautiful rivers, I have conducted grand frog weddings. Making sure the frogs were of different gotras, obviously. I have invested money in the Nithyananda-Rajiv Malhotra Post-life Rebirth Redemption Fund.

But best of all, priya Santa, I have a return gift for you. No one has thought of that so far, have they? I have got you a fresh Aadhaar, laminated and all, with your new name on it: Sant Nikhildas.

Krishna Shastri Devulapalli is a satirist. He has written four books, and edited an anthology.