I have had a contentious relationship with Birthdays. Like most kids of my generation, I have two of them. One of them is the official one, which is 'gifted' to us by our teachers at the time of our admissions to school - in my case, by the starchy nuns of Christ The King Convent School, who found that "1st of July" made their task much easier. The other is the very day one was born on this earth, which is today. Most of us, in the modern world, like to celebrate our birth anniversaries. Earlier, we used to have this curious thought - why would someone celebrate the fact that they have one less year to live! To the juvenile mind, life was a zero sum game. Later, we felt as if we were celebrating the aging. That also felt odd, until some genius reminded us most people hate growing old, until faced with the alternative!
I am not so naive. I know that human life is fickle. So every year we complete is an achievement, against illness, and the wear and tear of the modern, tense, anxious work life. Being a father now, I can experience the delight in seeing one's offspring take down various milestones of his little (yet) life. However, personally, I feel it is more apt to mark a secret notch, smile to oneself, and carry on. Having a public party, with people clapping and singing for one, makes one feel a bit queezy. It puts a great pressure for appearance, and, at the heart of it, it is just a celebration of one's birth - an event which was neither an accomplishment, nor something one strove for!
However, the greatest reason that makes ones relationships with birthdays so contentious, that it makes me all tensed up till the midnight passes on it, is the anxiety, that if the day is ruined, it would rankle a lot more than if it happened on any other day.
It was not always so. As a child, before the boarding school days, I used to look forward to my birthday. If not for anything else, then for the cakes, the food and the gifts. My father used to be posted at rather wayside stations then, and it must have taken herculean efforts to arrange those colourful parties. We also used to gather more kids of my age (as compared to our daily playtime), and in the duration of the party, we could play in a sizeable gathering. Some of us (not me) would showcase talents. It used to be a good time.
Once I entered the boarding school, birthday meant a lot more to me. Our longer term ended on 30th November, and we left for winter vacation. Which meant that my birthday would commence when I would be speeding on the train back home. A railway kid could desire no more! In the earlier years, we simply distributed victuals procured from the railway hawkers, as a token birthday party. Later, as the "attendance" on this wheel bound birthday party started increasing over the years, we brought actual party food on board, including birthday cakes of appropriate size. Some nice photographs of the same are still strewn across my facebook wall.
Then college came. For my birthday, I gifted myself a nice bicycle. I had a good luncheon, with my besties. I used to pretend we four were the Pantnagar Marauders - I don't know who I put in for Peter Pettigrew. However, once the luncheon was over, I was called up for some 'urgent business' by my 'boss' at the Training and Placement (T&P) Cell. I should probably tell my readers that, as an undergraduate (or even post graduate) student, I had a hard time facing selection through Group Discussion, and T&P was all I could make when our batch was sorted into various student bodies. So we pretended here to call up the HR Executives of big companies, to invite them to come and employ us. Of course it was all make believe. However, as the wish of the lone guy, who took me under his wings when none would, it was command for me. So I took to cold calling on his behalf, wasting my precious birthday on a futile pursuit. My pursuits put me down as a rule - some politely, some rudely. After wasting 5 to 6 ours on this sad routine, I put it up to the "Adjutant" of T&P. Instead of appreciating my effort, I was hauled over the coals for not 'converting' any of the calls and wasting the 'T&P' list! I was flabbergasted. Worse, when I left the senior hostel, I found that my brand new bicycle had been nicked. I ran from pillar to post, and found that one worthy senior had 'borrowed' it. It was returned to me around midnight, tail lamp broken, mudguard bent. I was close to tears. It was not something that bad - shit like that happened in all hostels. However, it happened on a birthday, that too my first birthday away from family (except for the one in 1994, since that year we had an extended term owing to curfew vacation - a surprise vacation on account of the Uttarakhand agitation, during September and October, and hence, December was spent in school.) Since then, I have been rather defensive about this day.
In retrospect, I think birthdays are fun when it is someone else's responsibility to make it special for you. Parents do that. Once one oneself has to make the day special, in an adult world of 24x7 job and responsibilities, it is a struggle. I shared this thought with my wife. She told me that in adulthood, it is the spouse's job to make the day special. As I type this, sitting under a tree all lit up with orbs, and glittering with confetti and festoons, with crumbs from a wonderful repast all around me, all arranged by her, I think that is a really nice idea.
