Sleepless V

A series of 6 short stories, sleepless explores memories from childhood through the musings of a woman who is coming to terms with growing up and growing old.

Billy Joel’s deep silky voice crooned in my ears as I lifted my heavy head to look at the time. The green neon light glowed coolly. It was 3.20 am – my usual wake up time, in the middle of the night. I half smirked and half laughed as I lazily got out of bed, stretched and headed to the bathroom.

It had been such a beautiful day. We had celebrated our daughter’s birthday with family, friends, music, booze and much needed laughter. Everything changes in good company. For a little while, you can put down the heavy load you carry through the day to make way for a lightness of step. I had felt free and happy.

Still a little drunk from the fabulous cocktails my brother had whipped out, I took a moment to recall the day. It was the end of January, the end of a cold and harsh winter and the beginning of spring – the best time of the year. It was neither cold, nor hot. The sky was a stunning blue with white fluffy clouds and the air was cool. This near perfect weather would last only two weeks which is probably why no one felt like working. Parks all over Delhi were crowded with families, friends and couples (young and old) wanting to make the most of the weather.

We decided to have a small party at home – which didn’t end up being small at all. Everyone we invited showed up, with gifts, bottles of wine, kids and balloons. My brother and sister-in-law had flown in from Bangalore to celebrate with us. A child’s birthday is an achievement for the parents as well – to have made it through another year and maybe even thrived as a family.

My daughter’s gentle laughter floated in the breeze. I smiled, looking at her proudly, lovingly. The sun was shining gently, there was a soft breeze blowing, the leaves on our Mango tree rustled in celebration and there were bursts of laughter every now and then as my husband entertained friends with his quick wit and ‘dad jokes.’ I caught him looking at me. We had learnt to talk to each other across a crowded room – and this smile was one of love, happiness and contentment. I smiled back. My daughter came and tugged at my dress, “Mumma, when is cake cutting?” she asked. “I’ll bring it up in 5 minutes,” I answered, downing my cocktail and heading for the kitchen.

We had decided to cook at home instead of catering or ordering in. There was a ‘non spicy’ meal for the kids and a ‘spicy’ version for the adults. It had taken my husband and me three days to prepare and put together, but it had been worth it. A host who cooks you a meal will always have a special place in my heart. Today, I wanted to be that host.

The kitchen table was full of food. Cookies, chips, dips, sauces and bread, along with a cheese platter was ready to be taken to the terrace. We had even managed to bake our own bread. The coconut curry was cooking on the pot with the condiments laid out on the table. I opened the fridge to take out the cake.

I enjoyed baking tremendously and often made cakes, cookies and bread over the weekend. The birthday cake however, was a design project – driven by my daughter’s myriad ideas and put together with chocolate, icing and multi-coloured buttercream decorations. It was not vegan, gluten free or healthy – it was sinful and delicious. This year we made a Rainbow Celebration Cake – a vanilla cake with lemon buttercream icing. The cake when cut – opened to reveal rainbow colours. We decided to move away from the traditional rainbow stripes and played with blobs of colour merging into each other. The icing had rainbow sprinkles and a few mini balloons. It looked better than I had expected it to. I crossed my fingers, hoping it would taste good too.

Birthdays have always been special for me. When we got married, I loved planning my husband’s birthday parties. Once my daughter was born, my enthusiasm shifted to her, much to my husband’s relief. He hated big parties, especially if he was hosting it.

I undertook the planning with ferocity and enthusiasm. Each year, I began two months in advance. With adequate time in hand I could research, iterate, finalize, create and deliver a day which would be remembered. I loved bouncing my ideas off my daughter. Her honesty was refreshing and her joy unparalleled. Over the years, we had started creating together, enjoying the act of making things by hand (something my work did not offer) and making mistakes along the way. It was unlearning in its purest form.

This year our small terrace was covered with handmade paper buntings, streamers and multi-coloured balloons. We had made a piñata out of a cardboard box, decorated it with crepe paper and stuffed it with all kinds of goodies and small toys. It reminded me of less complicated times – and of my own childhood.

The party had gone on from noon till 10.00 pm – a sign of a good party. It had begun with my daughter’s friends and parents, and ended with karaoke singing with our closest friends. Everyone that mattered to me had come – without any other plans – ready to stay till they were kicked out. They had helped us clean up, put away the dirty plates and cups into garbage bags, unwrap the gifts and give my daughter plenty of hugs and kisses before she retired for the night – exhausted and thrilled.

There are specific things about my own birthday parties that I remember vividly. The taste of the cake mixed with potato chips and sandwiches; the smell of our house after the party was over; the birthday cards my dad got from Archie’s with a hand written note; the excitement of unwrapping presents; the sound of the wrapping paper when I tore it and the feeling of falling asleep happy.

As I grew older, my enthusiasm for birthdays didn’t diminish. But those around me stopped celebrating. The lavish sundowners were replaced with quiet lunches and small get-togethers. I never understood why. There are only a handful of things that we can hold on to from our childhood. As we grow older and our responsibilities increase, we shy away from celebrating our life and ourselves.

Celebration has nothing to do with age and everything to do with it. In an entire year, taking a day out to celebrate who we are, what we have accomplished and how far we have come is not only justified but essential. Birthdays are a testament to our existence – lest we forget how to live like children, how to let down our guard and enjoy the breeze on a beautiful spring day, to laugh and be laughed at and to fall asleep exhausted and happy.

I will fiercely protect and guard my right to a celebration. No one plans my birthday for me. It used to hurt me earlier. But I realize now that to celebrate myself is not a burden. And so 38 years later, I still look forward to a day when I can remember my life, reminisce and relive my past and celebrate who I am – without judgment. This is sacred and I am not willing to lose it in order to grow up.