Birthdays in the time of Covid (with profound apologies to Gabriel García Márquez)

The last two years have seen too many “birthdays” getting unexpectedly converted to “birth anniversaries”. Birthday indulgences these days are either not possible in the way we used to celebrate them in the BC era or seem downright grotesque when we see all the mayhem wreaked by a virus.

So, though my birthday celebrations are not page 3-worthy, I did indulge myself by going down memory lane. It's something I do effortlessly and frequently.

I suppose I was always a wee brat for my dad, even after I started shaving. Thoughts of his annual ritual of giving me Rs. 100 on my birthday and saying "Here you go. Have some fun” are what triggered this walkabout.

During my college days I used to have a strong need of what is today called "me time". So, with those 100 skins I used to trot off by myself to "town" (as SoBo is called), buy a couple of books, have a massive lunch at the much-loved and much-lamented quirky-after-my-heart Samovar (in Jehangir Art Gallery) and return home. Feeling very grown up.

Dad continued with this even after I reached the shaving stage, passed out (feet first) from college and started doing odd jobs which could fund my me time. Of course, the 100 skins had to be augmented to 5 times that amount (with self contributing the balance). Bur for him it was an acknowledgement of my need to be by myself, and for me it was the continuation of a much-loved tradition. Pops was very strong on tradition, btw.

I have a Rs. 100 note in my wallet (think its pre-DeMon). So today I took it out, placed in on the table (like pops used to do since I would be snoring when he would leave for work) and put it back in my wallet. Thank you pops. Let’s go party!

And oh, remember what the Great Sage Baxicius said: Never ask woman her salary and man his age.