In one swift breath I blew off all my birthday candles as the room filled with a chorus of the ‘Happy birthday’ song. I cut the cake and fed the first slice of it to my mom, while my friends took pictures. Then my friends took over and most of the icing of the cake was on my face. Happy birthday to me!
Morning came by nice and bright and I opened my eyes to a birthday surprise. A nicely wrapped something it was. Without a fraction to spare I opened it. It was a pretty clutch in black as I had always wanted. I hugged mom for the wonderful gift. As I left to work my old college friends came home and surprised me. The day followed with yet more delightful surprises at work as well. The evening celebration was at a fancy restaurant with my dear friends. Yummy food and lots of gifts made it the perfect end to my birthday.
All tired I lay silently on bed, thinking about the entire day. Something hit me inside. It was a deep thought indeed. Why is it that we celebrate the fact that this was the day we came into the world? We didn’t even have the realization then that we are born. Neither do we have a memory of the second when we opened our eyes for the first time. Then why now do we rejoice in gifts, parties and surprises by our friends, colleagues or relatives? Or why does it mean so much to be wished on Facebook with a special collage or status? Isn’t it a jolly day for the mother instead? It shouldn’t just be feeding her the first bite of the cake when you cut. It’s because of her that you are here today and because of the pain she endured to have you. The nine months that she willingly accepted unconditionally. A birthday should be a day for your mother, for she was the one who was the happiest when you were born, when she held you in her arms for the first time. I feel the whole tradition of Birthdays is wrong. We should instead get gifts for her on our birthday, bake a cake that reads- ‘Happy birthday mom’, do everything for her that makes her special, spend time with her. Thank her for getting you in this world in every bit that you can.
I smiled at this thought of my emotional mind and got off the bed to my mom. It was still three minutes to twelve as I hugged her and said, ‘Happy Birthday Mumma’.
