Monisha looked at the birthday cards piled high on her writing
table, the morning after. “Have a great one; many happy returns; pamper
yourself; may you have a great day”, the wishes were pretty much predictable
and safe. They were standard messages and exactly the strings she used when
greeting others. But what assailed her at the sight of the left over birthday cake
and the wilting flowers was social fatigue, a form of weariness with platitudes
that everyone routinely mouthed. When she herself put pen to a greeting card,
she tried to summon a congratulatory emotion from really deep within so as to make
the experience more enjoyable but it reverted to a mechanical exercise quickly
enough. Wishing, both giving and receiving had become chores, quickly to be done with
and on time, the earlier the better.
But had she had a special day? She sat swinging in the bright
green front lawn, staring at the palm leaves bordering their neighbor's garden. The lady was moving about on her terrace, yanking crisp laundry off the
clothesline. She waved out at Monisha, “Where is my birthday cake?” Stung with neighborly courtesy, the birthday girl grinned and nodded vigorously with just
the right amount of saccharine cheer expected of her, “Oh I have saved some for
you, coming up right-away!” she scurried into the indoors.
Barring half an hour of cake cutting with her immediate
family and some fancy snacks, her day had been usual. Yes, some flowers and
gifts had trundled in but she had not unwrapped anything as yet. “Change the
water in the flower vases,” she instructed her attendant and walked out into
the patio with a Tupperware box. The sun was an affectionate golden,
tiny rainbows winking up from the dew on the lush grass. The bird houses rang with
excited chirps and warmth snaked over her limbs. “Take this cake across,” she
handed it over to the guard, returning quickly to her favorite wrought iron
garden chaise.
There were Facebook notifications to clear, she copy pasted
her gratitude to friends who had responded to the app reminders. She fought
unsuccessfully the residual guilt she had felt at her anxiety over fake smiles
and compulsive birthday surprises, she did not enjoy them and thankfully there
were none the day before. “Am I abnormal to feel so empty about my birthday?”
she asked herself silently. "I am supposed to be joyful and excited…this feels
nothing like the childhood birthday mornings! Where has the magic gone?”
Monisha’s head fell back on the chaise; she gazed at the
garden Buddha. There was an imperceptible half smile on the restful face. It was
just clay but the particles were reaching out to her, she quietened and sat up
straighter at the streaming presence. Her eyes squinted at the suddenly
luminous leaves. A calmness had descended on the garden, it filtered the
cacophony of life around her. She dragged deeply at the vast confidence and
certainty of the presence that had spread out in ripples from the statue to as
far as Monisha could see or hear or sense. Why, everything was perfect, in place and
exactly as it should be! A butterfly described an arc across her eyes. She had
never registered the rugged beauty of the tree trunk. There was something
terribly potent and abundant in the diversity of life around her. The pigeons
cooed, her pet dog sunbathed and a peacock went treading through her poinsettias.
She marveled at the order and discipline and contained infinity in the air.
There was no room for an iota of doubt. She felt connected, uplifted, charged.
Her throat ached and hot drops stabbed her eyelids, “I am so very glad to
be alive!”
“Happy birthday to
me,” she sang to herself as she vended her way to the writing table inside and
pulled out her leather bound diary. There was no fear; she had a task to do.
“Birthday resolutions 2017” she inscribed carefully.
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