Birthday Celebrations
He knows this day wouldn’t be like others. The day wouldn’t pass in mundane conversation. The day would soon roll into the night, slowly the wine would start flowing, and the celebrations would as usual be filled with pomp and joy. His eyes opened to the sensation of a gentle kiss and the words “Happy birthday beta”.
“Thanks ma”, a smile extending almost unwittingly.
The mother slowly enquires whether she should prepare his favorite payasam in celebration of his 22nd birthday, to which he replies with the negative saying he would be at work till the evening after which he obviously would go to some pub and get wasted like he does every year. He doesn’t crawl out of bed like everyday. There is a spring in his step and he feels ready for the next entire year and secretly promises himself that he will make a million dollars. The luxury of an extended bath is taken using Ayurvedic incenses only his mother used, the fragrance had to be just right. He waits for a few minutes, but he can’t resist the temptation anymore. He calls up Raunak first and tells him what they could do for the evening. At first Raunak is perplexed with the question not knowing what he is talking about, but he soon regains poise and cries “Happy birthday you son of a bitch. Haan definitely lets meet for the evening. I’ll give you a call at 6”. To which he tell Raunak that he’s not going to call anyone else and that he had to make the plans for the evenings. He would only be the facilitator and provider of the funds for the booze. He also reminds Raunak that he should call Sheila since she always feels left out and the last one to be invited. They both laugh at the remark and hang up.
He leaves for work and on arriving there he tells his project manager that he has to leave early for the day. On being asked why, he doesn’t reply, as he feels embarrassed to be wished by people with whom he has an acquaintance only on a professional basis. He says “Personal work”, and feels smug about the fact that he doesn’t have to justify anything. The entire day passes and he expects phone calls, which don’t arrive. He knows the fucking bastards have a stupid surprise planned like every year and they have become so darn good at it. So he smiles to himself and waits for 4 pm desperately. A birthday demands that one should leave at least 2 hours before the stipulated time.
Finally the hour arrives and he leaves. He reaches home in a jiffy and enquires with his mum if anyone called. She smiles and says no. He can sense mischief and thinks that the sons of bitches have roped his mum in this time. He switches on the CD player and listens to some Dire Straits. Mark Knopfler sounds better than ever before, seven years after listening to them first Romeo and Juliet sounds like its woven with a completely different tune. The hours pass and the music blends with the mood. There is however one problem, its 8 pm and there is no sign of any phone call. The night slowly blends into its prime and his mother asks him if he’s sure he doesn’t want dinner. He says no and realizes that the guys are playing this real well this year. She smiles and says that she’s going to bed. He wishes her a goodnight and refuses to play in by sulking.
The night waxes while the mood goes into an inverse proportion. Eleven in the night and the feeling soon sinks in that there isn’t going to be any celebration. He is 22 and that’s it. Its 12 and he is a day older than twenty-two. There is no surprise. He twitches, but he knows the next best thing to do. He goes up to his mother’s bed and gives her a shake.
“Hey ma…. Say turns out my friends got caught up with something. They just gave me a call. Could you do me a favor? That payasam you were talking to me about in the morning….”
“Sure beta… Just give me an hour’s time. It’ll be perfect.”
“Thanks ma”, a smile extending almost unwittingly.
The mother slowly enquires whether she should prepare his favorite payasam in celebration of his 22nd birthday, to which he replies with the negative saying he would be at work till the evening after which he obviously would go to some pub and get wasted like he does every year. He doesn’t crawl out of bed like everyday. There is a spring in his step and he feels ready for the next entire year and secretly promises himself that he will make a million dollars. The luxury of an extended bath is taken using Ayurvedic incenses only his mother used, the fragrance had to be just right. He waits for a few minutes, but he can’t resist the temptation anymore. He calls up Raunak first and tells him what they could do for the evening. At first Raunak is perplexed with the question not knowing what he is talking about, but he soon regains poise and cries “Happy birthday you son of a bitch. Haan definitely lets meet for the evening. I’ll give you a call at 6”. To which he tell Raunak that he’s not going to call anyone else and that he had to make the plans for the evenings. He would only be the facilitator and provider of the funds for the booze. He also reminds Raunak that he should call Sheila since she always feels left out and the last one to be invited. They both laugh at the remark and hang up.
He leaves for work and on arriving there he tells his project manager that he has to leave early for the day. On being asked why, he doesn’t reply, as he feels embarrassed to be wished by people with whom he has an acquaintance only on a professional basis. He says “Personal work”, and feels smug about the fact that he doesn’t have to justify anything. The entire day passes and he expects phone calls, which don’t arrive. He knows the fucking bastards have a stupid surprise planned like every year and they have become so darn good at it. So he smiles to himself and waits for 4 pm desperately. A birthday demands that one should leave at least 2 hours before the stipulated time.
Finally the hour arrives and he leaves. He reaches home in a jiffy and enquires with his mum if anyone called. She smiles and says no. He can sense mischief and thinks that the sons of bitches have roped his mum in this time. He switches on the CD player and listens to some Dire Straits. Mark Knopfler sounds better than ever before, seven years after listening to them first Romeo and Juliet sounds like its woven with a completely different tune. The hours pass and the music blends with the mood. There is however one problem, its 8 pm and there is no sign of any phone call. The night slowly blends into its prime and his mother asks him if he’s sure he doesn’t want dinner. He says no and realizes that the guys are playing this real well this year. She smiles and says that she’s going to bed. He wishes her a goodnight and refuses to play in by sulking.
The night waxes while the mood goes into an inverse proportion. Eleven in the night and the feeling soon sinks in that there isn’t going to be any celebration. He is 22 and that’s it. Its 12 and he is a day older than twenty-two. There is no surprise. He twitches, but he knows the next best thing to do. He goes up to his mother’s bed and gives her a shake.
“Hey ma…. Say turns out my friends got caught up with something. They just gave me a call. Could you do me a favor? That payasam you were talking to me about in the morning….”
“Sure beta… Just give me an hour’s time. It’ll be perfect.”
posted by Psychohistorian at 9:24 AM
2 Comments:
Hi,
Wish you a belated happy birthday, if that makes you feel any better.
It was immensely saddening to read.
Thy tale at times doth
And am ashamed to admit
remind me of me
:(
P.S. for the record, I have never woken up my mom at 12 for food though
P.P.S. I miss my mommy :(
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