The Birthday Party

 

(written by my wife Rajlakshmi Ghosh)

My son has grown up attending birthday parties right from the time he was in play school. Though he is 11 now, birthday parties have not lost their magical charm. He makes it a point to attend each one of them, come rain, hail or storm. In his calendar of events, there is no such thing as a not-so-important birthday party, no matter what the level of friendship or ties. Some of his classmates maybe passing acquaintances, but once they invite him, the ‘damage’ is done. No amount of dissuasion or excuses will deter him from orchestrating his attendance once the card falls in his hands. Needless to say, he is among the first guests to make an appearance, arms loaded with a large gift wrapped package, carefully chosen at least a day in advance. He is also among the last ones to leave, having had his fill of fun and entertainment. In many instances, he comes back with gifts and prizes making us wonder…..whose birthday party was that?

Birthdays are also those much awaited events where books and studies suddenly recede into the background. Homework is conveniently forgotten as my son gets into his best garbs—complete with arm bands and medallions to grace the special do.

More recently though, as the old year gave way to the new, I heaved a sigh of relief—the spate of birthday parties had stopped and it had been a while since my son actually attended one. I was thanking my lucky stars for this interlude as January went by without much happening socially.  Then came the surprise: “Mamma, my friend Suraj has invited me to his sister’s birthday tomorrow. He will come and get me from home.” I tried to place ‘Suraj’ and knew he had to be a boy from the neighbourhood. “Suraj who?. Do I know him?” I said, rankling with irritation at this sudden onslaught. My son explained that Suraj was his new gilli-danda friend who had barked up a few branches to make dandas to play at the park. Football and cricket were banned for fear of hurting toddlers and the elderly who went there to relax. Suraj had come to live in the colony a few months back, at a house which was still a pile of bricks, bamboos and tiles. He was also the chowkidar’s son who was good with his hands.

I got into overdrive and said a firm ‘no’ at what was still the ‘preliminary stage of discussions’. After all, weren’t we culturally very different and how would my son adjust among ‘them’ even if it was for a few hours? “I think he is being polite, you needn’t go there as such,” I said with nonchalance. My son had already made up his mind and informed me that his pocket money would go towards the gift–a Barbie doll for sure, since the birthday girl was not likely to have one in her toy collection.

I relented after much ado, my conscience nipping at the edges of my anger and impatience. After all, where was the harm in gifting a doll to a girl whose dream birthday party was just round the corner? But there was only one hitch: “You are going to be there only for the cake cutting and come back soon after that. I will be waiting at the park to collect you for it would be getting very dark.”

But of course this didn’t make much sense to my son as he continued to put forward his point of view, arguing he was grown up and Suraj’s house was just a few lanes away. Besides, Suraj had promised to fetch him, so why this undue concern? He gave in though, after endless rounds of bickering, as efforts to placate me fell on deaf ears. At least he would be there at the birthday party to tuck into cakes and cold drinks…. I, for my part, conjured up the most horrific scenes—of kidnapping and drunken brawls–my apprehension growing with the ticking of the clock.

The evening of the birthday party arrived and my son’s anticipation grew with each passing hour. But Suraj was nowhere in sight. He was supposed to drop by at around 7:30 that evening but when we looked at the watch it was well over 8. My son kept pacing the balcony and looking out for his friend. When he did come indoors, I had that smug ‘I told you so’ look. He looked defeated, having lost the ‘battle’ he so proudly espoused. A quiet dinner later, he drifted off to sleep, the sadness never for once, leaving his face. When we were planning to retire for the night—at 11 to be precise, the door bell rang. “Uncle I have come to get Amartya.  Can he come with me for my sister’s birthday party, please?” a small voice spoke from the darkness. My husband and I were unanimous in our decision as we said, “Beta, it is much too late. Besides, Amartya has fallen off to sleep.” The apologetic figure disappeared as quickly as he had come, and we did not know what to make of the birthday that was going to begin late at night.

When my son woke up next morning, he felt vindicated at the thought that his friend did come… so what if it was in the late hours of the night. He resolved to go over and gift the doll. And while he may have missed out on a birthday party, but at least his friend hadn’t let him down. When my son came back, it was with a handful of toffees and a small packet of biscuits. “Mamma, these are my return gifts. Suraj’s mother said that his Nani had arrived late from the village—her train had got delayed so the cake cutting had to wait. Next year she said they would celebrate his sister’s birthday well on time …..”

I knew I had lost the battle. It was the kind of victory I was happy that my son had won.

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