Birthday Blues

Birthday Blues 

 Birthdays to me mean shading one more leaf from the tree of life. I prefer peace, quiet, and my own little world on my birthday. Even in the age of social media selfies, I expect birthday to remain unpublicized, and undiscovered. I prefer to celebrate as well as grieve in-camera. A recluse in me has never figured out why. Terrified by large gatherings, my home guest list never exceeded four, excepting the weddings of our girls. Discretion was a better part of valor in this case. 

 By my own free will and the family tradition, I seldom celebrate events. Birthdays of our children were mostly celebrated by a visit to the Canara Cafe in Dandia Bazar in Baroda where we lived. Enjoying their famous Dahi Misal and filter coffee in the evening was no small feast.  Now with the empty nest, my wife and I celebrate events by driving to the Sea Lounge at the Taj Mahal Hotel, Colaba to enjoy famous dry martinis. 

 In the later years of my life, as my vanity grew, more people began to wish me on my birthday, sent flowers, much to my embarrassment. As I grew older, both, vanity and flowers receded. 

 To my horror, at some point in life, I discovered that I lived with a wrong birth date all for four decades. Blame it on Americans and that one is another story to be told. My birth date got corrected after long court proceedings, and an angry judge threatening to lock me up for repeated late arrival to the court. 

Growing older with ease and grace is simpler now that Indians are living longer than ever.  But hailing from a high mortality family, crossing the marks of 50 and 60 was both, a blessing and a bonus. Crossing 70 will be simply enthralling; living to tell a tale, finding mundane appear profound, and throwing away the balance sheet of life. 

Now on, I would want to add my blessings on the credit side, leaving debit unattended. I would enjoy a bit of drifting that comes alongside the growing years. The indescribable thrill of living in a suburb of Bandra is what life would mean to me. 

 Let no one tell you that growing old sucks. Getting older is a happy process. It is a big deal to no longer worry about career, future, money, and security. One’s deeds are done; one’s ships sailed, forever. Understanding the futility of these aspects of life has made me sad but also wise. I realize that for each of these things, my take in life would be different if I was allowed a fresh start. 

 Honestly, I had never thought that I’d survive this long with the rough and tumble of my life. But, damn it all, I find that I’ve increased the score to one year more. Now, as Frank Buxton, once editor of Boston Herald said, even one full century need not be necessarily a real impossibility.