Me: A picture perfect birthday party!
Me: What is that?
Me: A birthday where you have an exhibition of cards, flowers and gifts displayed neatly amid other props, where everything looks just too beautiful.
Me: And a cake?
Me: Oh yes! The cake too.
Me: Husband and Dhruv singing ‘Happy Birthday to you’ song?
Me: That should not hurt. So yes, maybe that too.
Me: And dinner outside?
Me: Breakfast, lunch and dinner, all readymade. Doesn’t matter if it is from outside or someone cooks at home. As long as that someone is not me.
Me: Ahem Ahem.
Me: (Lost in thoughts)
Me: Isn’t it too much for asking given the kind of people you are putting up with?
(I come back to reality with a thud)
My birthday weekend was a perfect example of the disparity between expectation and reality. I am a grown-up woman so why I am bothering. I shouldn’t. I should take it all in my stride but then time for Monday Musings came up. I might be pouring my heart here, in this post, and someone will turn up to comment “Nice idea for a post.”
No, this is not just a post. This is an attempt to invite backlash. Apne haste khelte aangan main apne hi haathon se aag lagane ka shadyantra.
Don’t look for correct English, grammar, sentence construction anything because you will find none.
I dislike cooking dinner on Friday evenings. I look forward to having at least one time in a week where I do not have to worry about what to cook. Hence, we ordered pizza and just like that I was reminded my birthday party got over, even before starting because I have my health and the household budget for expenses to look after.
Saturday (The day I took birth, many many years ago) –
I stayed in bed till late. Dhruv came to wish me on papa’s instruction. I asked him to lie down with me to hear “I can’t stay. I have to go back to Papa after wishing.”
Nearly everyone who called me up to wish wanted to know what special was lined up for the day. I told them I was having ice cream for breakfast, to their dissatisfaction.
I waited and waited if the other 2 Homo Sapiens in the house had some plans but they stayed glued to the couch looking out of the window, watching the rain falling. Upon losing hope, I took upon the task of imparting several ideas to Dhruv about celebrating my birthday. In response, what I got will make you all lose faith in all my parenting expertise, the hullabaloo I have practiced and written about in all these years.
He said, “Apni birthday par itna kuch maang rahi ho, meri par to kuch kiya nahin?” This was not my sweet little boy. Had teenage dawned upon him early? Or only one and a half months of living with Papa had corrupted him? Or My brother’s aatma had taken possession of him because this was how we fought in childhood? The filmy Maa in me felt like banging her head against the wall with “Yeh sunne se pehle main marr kyun na gayi.”
I had to unleash out all the ‘supposedly’ fun things he and I did on his birthday. I made him miss his school that day. I experienced the embarrassment when the school called in to know the reason for his absence and conveyed their disapproval of missing school for other than being sick. Then I took him to a play centre where he played for 3 hours non-stop and happily. We even had snacks there. All Papa did was to drop us at the play centre and pick us up from there. Par Papa ka beta!
I cooked the lunch. I baked a brownie in a mug, only for myself, which turned out yuck staying in tune with all my previous baking disasters. Nevertheless, I scratched it, ate it and drank it.
Later in the evening, we went out to the big park where I asked them if they will walk with me, for me and Dhruv refused. He wanted to play football. Therefore, I walked the usual path alone as usual. And, then I cooked the dinner. Not in the park but at home.
Hasn’t it become a sob story with humour forced in?
Wait for Sunday.
Sunday was eventful, in the right sense.
I did twice the work – 2 days of piled up chores (since I didn’t do housework on Saturday, apart from cooking), cooked 3 meals, ironed clothes for the impending week and made preparations for Monday morning. By the time, I hit the bed late at night, I felt like going out on a murdering spree.
This is how I turned 37. (Umar chupane se hoga kya?)
In case, you are the one who has been with me for the last 4 years and have wondered how do I stay grounded and with absolutely no interest in materialistic pleasure, you know now where do I get that kind of training from.
To be fair, I extracted FitBit on account of my birthday gift 15 days ago.
Linking this post with #MondayMusings hosted by Corinne Rodrigues