I turned 33 a couple of days ago. Never been big on birthdays; in fact, I’d always thought that throwing birthday parties was a bit too self indulgent. What kind of a narcissist one must be to actually think one’s birthday was a big deal! And to expect gifts on your birthday! How old are you? Five?
My general disdain for birthdays as an adult can be traced to my strict upbringing with a strong contempt for anything remotely fun. Strangely, M’s folks are relatively anti-fun too. Dancing is for dummies, but if it’s Bharatanatyam, you have our blessings. You can sing, as long as it’s Carnatic music or old Tamil devotional songs. Writing is good, but as a hobby. The only indulgence you’re allowed is food – as long as it’s vegetarian and preferably South Indian. You can witness the grand culmination of this mindset in a typical TamBrahm wedding where there’s zero scope for fun but lots of good food.
Anyway, I wanted this birthday to be different, in that I actually wanted to celebrate it because we now have cute little D. Instead, I found myself in the grocery store picking up vegetables and home supplies and grabbing a quick carb-heavy dinner at the Pizza Hut outlet in the supermarket. I was supremely disappointed. But on hindsight,it was the best option – it’s close to our place, D was restless what with her bedtime approaching, and we really needed to buy vegetables. Oh, also the Pizza Hut coupon would’ve expired in a day or two.
So why was I upset? I thought about this and pinned it down to high expectations. So instead of enjoying the day ( and it was a great day) I ended up thinking the day was ruined simply because we couldn’t go to a birthday-appropriate place. It hardly matters. Poor M felt so bad, and I felt guilty for making him feel that way. He ensures that he spends time with me every birthday and we always have a special dinner or lunch at a lovely place. He always goes the extra mile, and most of my birthdays have been good, yet very low-key, which I like. M’s mom has been our rock the whole of this month ( until then, it was my mom) and she even took D for a walk so we could enjoy our dinner in peace. There was no reason for me to be sad yet I found myself whining. This, despite me not being big on birthdays!
The other thing I’ve come to terms with is that age is not just a number. A lot of things change as you grow older – physically, socially, mentally and emotionally. For instance, I’ve noticed that my body is not as flexible; after two surgeries (both after I hit 30), my back has been giving me problems, strange pains keep shooting up occasionally in my limbs, and I’m more mindful now about my health. And coming to birthdays, fewer people called me this year; my dad who’s always the first to call merely forwarded an icici bank birthday message to my email id. Hardly any gifts were given (not a complaint, trust me) and it was a regular day. And I like regular days because they’re full of hope and promise. And they hold so much potential.
This birthday was special because I got to spend it with the people who mean the most to me – D and M. Also because I wrote the biggest cheque of my life so far towards the down payment for our new apartment which will be ready next year. I finally took up work assignments after dodging work related calls for months. And I took a term insurance. Plus, D started crawling ( more like swimming on the floor, but I can already see her try to get on all fours). A lot to be grateful for, a lot of reasons to be ecstatic. Birthdays be damned.
Paperback writer 