The Birthday Ritual

A couple of days back my nephew celebrated his third birthday. Talking to him and hearing about his birthday party made me nostalgic about how birthdays were celebrated in our family when we were kids. There was a string of rituals that my mother had created around our birthdays that made those days so special.

My mother, who otherwise worked, would stay back at home that day. That itself made the day special. I could come home from school and ring the door bell and someone would open the door, instead of the everyday practice of turning the key and letting myself in. Mom would keep it a surprise. Never mention once that she is not going to work that day. Yet we (my brother and I) half knew and were half surprised by that. That is the beauty of 'rituals' - their recurring occurrence creates a quaint mix - the comfort of the known & the excitement of the unknown. 

The house we stayed in was in one corner of the building and therefore the area outside the main door to the house used to be pitch-dark. At that time, the lights in the building staircases would be turned on only after sun down. I would stand outside a few feet away from the main door....and stretch my arm out to reach the door bell. I couldn't see anything near my feel but I knew it would be there...the rangoli that mom would create at the door. When the door opened and lit up that part of the hallway I would see a semi-circular pattern of tiny white dots that combined to form the words 'happy birthday'. Careful not to spoil it, I take one giant step in. New curtains in the living room, a house that looked spick and span, fresh bed-sheets tightly tucked under the bed, the aroma of warm fresh food from the kitchen and a smiling mom to greet me - all these small rituals made me feel like I had stepped into a completely 'new' space and created an experience that was out of the ordinary.

Our family believed in giving each other birthday greeting card and gifts. As kids since we did not always have money in hand. Hiding away from my parents a night before their birthday or anniversary and making glittering hand-made cards was another birthday ritual . Two older cousins would, fight the rain and every year bring home a special hand-made cake for my brother on his birthday. They would reach home soaking wet but would protect the cake to bring it home unspoilt. What made the cake so special was of course their gesture but it was also their skill at making the most delightfully exquisite birthday cake any child would want - a chocolate house complete with a backyard full of flowers and swings to play with or a chocolate teddy laden with gems :) Another family friend who worked with my mom was kind enough to always send two gifts - one for me and my brother - no matter whose birthday it was.

As I recalled these rituals, these were so meaningful for me as a child and they still are. We have never been a ritualistic family and therefore I would always shy away from rituals as we know in the traditional sense. I would feel a little foolish if asked to partake in any festive ritual - I thought rituals have an inherent prescribed meaning that I ought to know. Not knowing it would make me look stupid and therefore I stayed away. I am not sure whether the prescribed meaning theory is true or not. Though I realize today after all these years that rituals also have an external meaning that we associate with them and ascribe to them. So, without worrying about what is right or wrong, whether it is mine or borrowed - going forth - I have decided to create my own string of rituals around special occasions. So that my family has something to look back and remember.

A city and a love affair

When I look back I cannot put my finger on the moment when I fell in love with you but I know how it felt. It happened as I was growing up and maturing and becoming aware of my feelings. I would feel a sense of contentment just spending time with you. There were days when I did not do anything in particular and did not want to either. I was happy just walking through the streets, by the sea side - taking in the smell of the sea air and the sunset – knowing that I was with you. Did I ever tell you how beautiful you looked against the backdrop of the setting sun? At the end of a long weary day when amber & saffron hues touched your skin your face would glow up in that radiance…hiding in that light some of those lines which were a reminder of the dark times you had seen. Each unfortunate incident etched upon your tender skin had left an indelible impression – each line had a story to tell. Together they all lent a jaded character to your appearance. But I could see past those lines and see the beauty in you. Always! Even when you looked your worst I found you looking beautiful. I guess that’s what they call being in love. When one is able to look past the shortcomings of another and revel in all that is positive and good about that being.

A few years passed and I moved on in life and to another city. Even with the move, your thoughts did remain somewhere in my consciousness though I did not miss your presence sorely. I was after all captivated by all that was new and exciting. With the passage of time yours thoughts faded like a distant memory…untill someone would mention you in the conversation and then my heart would involuntarily leap out and take me to those days we had spent together. After a few minutes spent reminiscing I would get back to the humdrum of the day. It was only when I caught sight of you that morning in January that I felt an upsurge of all the emotions I had once felt for you. I still remember that morning. I had flown in from Bangalore just the previous night. I woke up early the following day and made my way to an early meeting. It was dark…the sun was not out yet. Then somewhere on my drive from Andheri to Nariman Point I witnessed the break of day and with it caught the most beautiful sight of you I had seen. Your fresh, clean, pure self filled my senses…It reminded me once again how much I had missed being with you. I had a beaming smile across my face that day since I knew I was back with you again. I did not stay with you longer even though I wanted to but that image that I saw of you that morning stayed with me ever since. That day I realized how much I love you. That was also the day I realized that despite all the love that I have for you in my heart I would not have been able to stay there with you. I moved on. As I walked away from you I never looked back…not even once. After that day we came face to face many a time, though you looked and felt different. Also, our exchanges acquired an air of formality. Not that I had stopped caring for you but there were just newer things, people and places that you were surrounded by. You had obviously moved on. I was happy to see that. Though occasionally I would also hear from others about the rough times that you had been through. These experiences that we go through change us as individuals, change the way we react and respond to things. For I remember how much you loved the rain once. Now I sense fear creep up in you as soon as it starts to pour. Staying away comes at a price. I could only sense that fear as an outsider. I could not feel inside me what you would have gone through – last year as the rains lashed out at you in fury.

Once again a couple of days back people have attempted to hurt you, break your spirit. Once again you have had to see trying times. As I looked through pictures of what happened a silent tear ran across from the corner of my eye down my cheek. I know there is not much that I can do sitting here. I also know that when I see you next this incident would have changed you forever. Changed you a bit more and increased the space and the silence between us by a few more inches. This will be one more incident that I would know about, that I would have read about but not been there with you to feel the pain of.

sunset picture courtsey flickr

Mumbai Blasts ,bombay,mumbai,Mumbai Rains,

Bombay...meri jaan!

Of bhel puri and juhu chowpaty
To Irani ki chai…bun maska and kheema patty

From Kasa kai bara hai…kai chaal lai?
To Circuit, Maamu and Munna bhai

From the fish fry that hangs upside down at Sion koliwada
To Sri Krishna’s garama garam bata vada

Of Cusrow Baug & Freny Todiwallah
And of food delivery men…the dabbawallas

Of cuffe parade and sassoon docks
To bade miyah ke lazeez kabab

Of lazy afternoons at Leopolds and Mondegar
To firangs on causeway leching…smoking cigar

When Sandra and Robert need to meet chori chori
Would it be at Church pakadi or khotachi wadi?

Traffic signals bypassed…railway tracks we cross
We hang with our lives from the doors of the virar fast

From the pious steps of Mahalaxmi,
To the morning sight of the Haji ali

Bombay or Mumbhai whichever way you see
Thoda spicy…thoda cool…hai yeh city

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There are so many more things quintessentially bombay....feel free to add your verses.

poetry, bombay,mumbai,

Straddling two worlds

On one step I hear a prayer…a chant
On the other…a blaring declaration…halleluiah…it’s raining men
A car zooms past – and a bunch of girls scream

One step reminds me of the smell of the earth in my country
On the other, an overpowering whiff from the local take-away

On the next step my feet do an involuntary jiggle
My heart leaps
And on the next – I control them and regularize my pace

With one step I see a burst of color…music…vibrancy
With the other I look ahead to see a grey…placid land

With one step I see an empty box of mangoes thrown away on the street
With the other I realize its summer time in India

On my first step I am on Cow Bridge Road East
On my next…I’m in someplace I have never been
Yet it looks very familiar…I am in my country

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Some days back I went for a long walk by myself. The I-Pod kept me company. The walk was an absolute medley of experiences. Its was like being present in two worlds at the same time. My attention would oscillate between the physical world that I was part of and the mental world I created for myself as a listened to the soundtrack of Rang De Basanti. Strange feeling!

poem, rang de basanti