Birthdays, when I was younger were full of fun. A day I looked forward to for the simple pleasure of knowing that all my friends would call and those who really mattered would meet me. This year, I literally tried to run away, having booked tickets to Shirdi just so that I could get away from the tediousness of it all. I didn’t go in the last minute but frankly even though the day was okay, the run up to it was something I could have done without.
My closest friends have been going through pretty much the same thing this year. Sa, had a similar experience last year when she wanted to get away from it all. Na, who celebrates like no one I knew has been pretty subdued this time. Pt didn’t want any fuss and has been even quieter around that time of the year. As we grow older what is it that stops us from taking joy from things which were once such unequivocal avenues of pleasure?
Is it the fact that we are held hostage by birthdays to be really true measures of the extent of our failures? Or is the fact that it reminds us of the promise we showed but never really fulfilled? Or is it the simple lack of optimism that envelops you as you grow older and cynical? Maybe all the hype and hoopla around it? Or maybe the pressure to make it count? Whatever be the reason these birth-days are no longer fun- there are fewer people than there were and even fewer with whom we want us to be. A stark reminder of the many things that never worked out the way we wanted them to.
This year, I wanted to get away everything and everyone I knew….as everything familiar bred contempt. Whenever I am worried or depressed I know exactly what ails me, but for once everything around me bothered me. But thankfully the day went on decently, because I believed that it was an ordinary day not a special one. It did turn out to be decent and I’m so grateful for those few people who were around and wanted to stick around for me!
To birthdays, each one more gloomier than its predecessor.