17 November 2012, 11:19 AM IST
I have a confession to make. I have since a while been hiding a crime. I have also committed this crime single handed, no abettors or perpetrators in this act.
It has been a slow death, as I've severed it bit by bit. First the head, then neck, then different parts of the body. A few years ago I killed it in entirety and laid it to rest.
I have killed my birthday that comes visiting each year. It was a slow, long drawn out painful kill.
As a child I looked forward to my birthday when the house was done up with paper decorations and balloons, special dishes were conjured as my well scrubbed friends landed up carrying presents under their arms. Amidst an off tune rendition of 'Happy Birthday to you', I made a wish blowing the candles, while a large kitchen knife cut through a confectioners labor of love. I recall my mother carefully unwrapping the presents so as to reuse the shiny wrappers.
In my teens, my birthdays were spare and inconsistent. Birthdays get linked invariably with our puberty, teenage angst and relationships. I remember shying away from celebrating birthdays in my early college years, as I was still warming up to the prettiest girls - why have a party with just guys and plain Janes? The way we celebrate our birthdays reflects our ideology, is a true representation of ourselves. Those days, I profess, being influenced by the existential writings of Albert Camus and the Bengali playwright Badal Sircar, thus walking around 'enlightened' by the fact that every thing is futile. In a desire to be different from the league the easiest thing to do was to avoid the stereo type- easily achieved by banishing the birthday. This notion lasted for a few years, post graduation. The last real birthday party I hosted was years ago, on a yacht, primarily to make up for all the lost birthdays, and I landed up giving return gifts to my guests. Once you get enveloped in the gist of life, birthdays become events to be celebrated with caution. Since the last few years I am uneasy on my birthdays as it's a harbinger of advancing age, time slipping by, a good measure for the world to judge me and my accomplishments, a process which would leave me red in my face hence I dread people calling me on my birthdays, and when asked how are you planning to celebrate, I quip 'Quietly with family', to avoid a sense of morbidity. The truth is that my siblings call, the mother calls, and I cut a small muffin with a candle on it, the servants clap, while my young son thinks the fuss is about him. Period.
But next year I'm going to resurrect my birthday by hiring a public relation firm, invite some A list celebrities, perhaps pay Salman Khan to drop by and announce his wedding, finally I will have a sensational birthday!
This year again, I let my birthday pass by this week, and thanks to FB my friends (or are they contacts) did send me greetings, which I heartily reciprocate. For those who didn't, you can still wish me. For the record, my shoe size is 9, collar size 42, waist size 31" just in case you desire to flaunt your generous side. I promise to donate all gifts to charity! Plus I never said I was shy of accepting freebies!
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