My birthday

It is a great day of joy for me and for everyone around. My own joy at having reached the annual timeline is shadowed only by the excitement of my family. My parents have organized a great party. It is fully paid for by my grandparents. That is how it seems to work out here. Some of my friends say that it is insurance policy to ensure support in a more difficult, elderly future. A rather expensive insurance, if I may say.

There are at least 200 guests. Most of my friends are all here: Sahitya didi, Abhi, Siddhu, Kiran, Sameera, Mitesh, Sudhakar. Even Ritesh, the brat from ground floor is running around. I hope he behaves himself on this day. Last time around, he tasted Abhi’s cake even before it was cut. The watchman of our colony was represented by his wife and kids. He could not get leave, and probably would have come if this were organized in the colony function hall. My Grandparents however wanted a full event, and therefore a mid-sized “garden” was hired a couple of months ago. I expected myself to have a good run around session with my friends. But not much running around can happen in the attire that my parents have draped over me. I am wearing a nice two piece suit, quite the armani for kids around here. There is also a bracelet on my right wrist, a new watch on my left wrist and a heavy chain around my neck. Everything is 22 carat gold, of course (Grandparents: Of course !!!). I dare not go prancing in the garden with these on. The Surf excel ad looks good on TV only. Real life has much worse consequences for the kid who soils his clothes. The armani and apparel require me to be a composed individual for today. While my seven friends and the brat run around till like it is no tomorrow, I will be trying to figure out the identities of the approximately 192 remaining folks who will come one by one on the stage.

The queue has just began. I was familiar with this process during wedding receptions. I often heard mom complain to her friends that in her marriage, the “reception” part took all of 2.5 hours. Mom and dad had not even gotten the time to eat anything and hated the whole experience. I wonder why they are repeating it again for me. I did not have a girl next to me, but I had 192 people walking past in groups of 1 to 4. They would pause on the stage, in which time a gift would be handed over and introductions made. Dad would say: “My son, and my wife” to people who were from “Dad’s side”. Mom would say “My son, and my husband” for people from “Her Side”. Grandparents would have their own introductions from “Their side”. These many years, and they still have “her side” and “his side”. I wondered if it would be nicer to call just the common people from “Our side”; the line may have been shorter. The designated photographer in the meantime clicked a photo. The camera is really big and the lights that flashed with each picture are even bigger. The photographer is weird: He flashes a big light and then expects me to keep my eyes open. And if I do not do as he commands, the process is repeated till I get it right.

Of course after a few introductions, I wanted to get off the stage into the more comfortable environs that were being enjoyed by my gang of 7. All the parents were holding great conversations. The event manager was dealing with the kiddie playing, coordinating, and occasional bullying. The event manager was doing an OK job, but I felt that my friends were being relentlessly pursued by the brat during each game. I should be with them instead of the adult introductions. My buddies probably needed all the help they could get. However, this party was in my honor and I could not also ignore my armani and apparel.

People who made it through the reception queue started snaking their way to the buffet dinner. Starters included veg manchuria, fruit punch (with no fruit and full flavor), and pop-corn that was served by turban clad kids a few years older than me. For the main course, we had veg, non-veg, and alcohol. Yes – you heard that right; alcohol for all the grown up friends of my parents & grand parents. Strange part is that the alcohol was served in a separate part of the dining hall, separated by a large curtain. None of the aunties could get to any of the madeira. And yes, non-tipple people could not even see how, what, and how much alcohol was consumed either. My elders believe that all the very good and very bad things must be kept hidden from view.

The event was being showered with appropriate music from leading lights like Honey Singh, and movies like Businessman. Of course, this is all in good fun. I was not to pay any attention to the lyrics which ask us, in successive order to: booze our way to get into the zone, notice the behinds of girls to have fun, and grope them for even more excitement. Of course, honey gaaru believes that these acts should be done on TV only under strict adult supervision. Thankfully, the movies have a censor board and are more explicit in this matter. The movies do carry disclaimers that the events on screen are fictional; they also possibly say that some of them are not suitable for children of my age. It is likely that the songs do not count though. And if the songs lead to inappropriate behavior on my part (like harassing a girl), I am sure my parents and grand parents will correct it at a later stage.

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Abrupt interruption of conscience during diary writing.
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I am 1. I get it that you need to celebrate in this scale to show your love for me. Events like these are excellent training centers for me and my buddies. They tell us how we should behave in future and also tell us what the appropriate meaning of “fun” is. BTW, I have been crying my throat out for the last hour. I understand that you need to train me. But I am really tired and need to sleep. Crying is the best way in which I can express my anguish. And you think I need a pacifier and a bigger gift. Maybe after a few years, not now.