A Red-letter Birthday!

A Red-letter Birthday!

I came to the living room and exclaimed, “Wow!”. The room was decorated with lavender and white balloons. Pink and purple swirls were hanging in symmetry. A huge ‘Happy Birthday’ banner was tied. The centre table had a lovely 2 tier mouth-watering cake, with a candle saying “11”. A large table with spread of birthday snacks – multicoloured cupcakes, pasta, noodles, variety of breads, chips, waffles – yummy! All my friends and family were waiting for me to come in so that they could surprise me with this lovely Birthday Décor. When I stepped in, they all screamed at once “Happy Birthday”. My eyes were gleaming with happiness….  And suddenly, I heard someone call out my name aloud, tapping on my shoulder. I turned around, it was my mom asking me to get up and take a bath. Ah! It was a dream.

I got up from my bed. My mom kissed my forehead and wished me ‘a very happy birthday’. I touched her feet to seek her blessings. She gave me a lovely lavender princess frock and asked me to get ready soon. I did what my mom said. I was eager to know about my 11^th birthday party, its theme, where would it be, who all were invited. I was totally excited.

I saw mom and dad waiting for me in the living room. My dad hugged me and wished me a long life. I sought his blessings too. All that was going on my mind, was, “Guys speak out please, what’s in for me today?”. And my mom said, “Now that you are 11 years old, your dad and me have decided that we won’t have a party.” I was broken hearted. “Why are you doing this to me? And then why have you made me dress-up? It’s my birthday, I have all rights to have fun!” - all of this going on, in my mind.

My parents asked me to get in the car. The car was already out of the garage. Dad was loading the final box in the boot. There were already 3-4 boxes in there. One had a label – Baby clothes, second one said – Toys, third one said – Books, fourth one – Sweets and chocolates. I wasn’t even interested in what all this was. I hadn’t received any gift for my birthday, apart from the dress I was wearing. I just sat in the car. I was quiet, didn’t utter a word. But was sulking through-out the way.

We reached our destination in about 45 mins. The car stopped. I got down and saw a school like building. There was a board saying “Shelter – Orphanage”. Why had my parents brought me here? To this unknown place! Am I celebrating my birthday here? With unknown people? ......We were greeted by the head of the Orphanage, Mr. Gokhale. There were two more ladies who smiled at me and wished me. “Welcome”, they said.

They took us to a big hall. There were kids already sitting, waiting for us to arrive. All the kids were neatly dressed. I could see their smiling and eager faces, all looking at me. I felt a bit uncomfortable. Mr. Gokhale introduced all of us to these kids. The two ladies, Miss Lata and Miss Asha asked me to step forward. All the kids sang the ‘birthday song’ for me. Some had made beautiful cards wishing me happiness, luck, health, wealth etc… Some had brought flowers picked from the orphanage garden. Some just came and shook my hand. I was happy but confused. I really didn’t know what to say or reply. Then my parents asked me to distribute the sweets, chocolates and gifts that were packed in the boxes. All the kids were so delighted and overjoyed to receive the gifts. They thanked me again and again. There were no balloons, no banners, no swirls, no music, no cake, but all I could see was, a convivial wave spread in the hall. Everything was glowing and radiant. My dispirited face suddenly changed into a smiling face. It was an effortless change.

Mr. Gokhale took us to the baby’s section of the orphanage. There were 10 babies in different cradles. Some were very tiny, some were may be about 6-8 months old. Some were sleeping, some were staring at the fans, some had milk bottles in their mouth, some just making absurd sounds. My mom handover the ‘baby clothes’ labelled box to Miss Asha. I asked her, “How did all the babies end up here?”. I got to know that some of them were abandoned by their parents, some were found on road, railway track-sides, some were brought in after death of their parents etc. “So, the babies don’t know who their parents are?”, I asked. “They don’t”, she replied. “It’s the same case with all the children here”, she added. “Do they know their birthdates?”, I asked. “No dear, everybody celebrates their birthday together, on a common day”, she said. “How do you celebrate?”, I asked again. “They cut a common birthday cake, they wish each other, all of us sing, eat and enjoy”, Miss Asha said. “Oh! That’s unfair”, I thought, “how can you not know your birthday? Birthdays are our own, how can you have a common birthday?  How can you not celebrate it, throwing grand parties? All these questions were queuing up in my mind. I looked at my parents. They had a wide smile of satisfaction on their face.

Now I realised, why my parents had brought me here. I was unhappy because I didn’t get to celebrate one of my birthdays in a lavish way. Here the kids are happy and contented with a common celebration too! They have absolutely no fancy demands. They were happy with the sweets and chocolates we gave away. They didn’t even argue ‘why am I not getting a blue car or why am I not getting a pink dress doll?’, ‘why am I just getting a single bar of chocolate, why am I getting a 5-star and not a silk?’.

I was upset with myself, for my childish behaviour and my unreasonable anger. I should be happy that I got to celebrate 10 birthdays with my friends and family the way I wanted to. I was showered with gifts, blessings and love. And above all I have loving parents and I know my real birthdate. I was teary-eyed. I gave a tight hug to my parents.

I thanked each and everyone present there, who made my day special. We were returning home; on the way I thanked my parents for organising a wonderful party for me. That day was surely marked as a Red-letter Birthday of my life!

                                                                      JUI.

The Journey!

The Journey –

I packed my bags. “Oops, that’s heavy” I said to myself as I lifted them up. But you know how it is, we females, in general, love to carry everything in our bags, even if we don’t use half of the things! Just going through the check list, I made sure I had packed all my stuff. “Done”, tick, “done”, tick…… “Ok, all’s set now, ready to go”. And I left for my trip. I was going to visit my friend in Delhi. We all had planned an ‘all women’ trip to Leh-Laddakh.

I got down from the taxi. I had a sling across my shoulder, trolley bag in my hand. “Oh! Gosh, I am running late to catch my train”, I pondered. Running swiftly, ticket in one hand, I reached the station gate. Rushing towards my platform, catching my breath, entered my compartment. And the train started moving. “Hush!”, a sigh of relief. I had just made it. After stacking my luggage, I settled down on my seat number.

All the seats in the compartment weren’t occupied. The compartment was quiet. “Good, now I have some tranquillity, to pen down my thoughts, for my blog”, I thought. I took out my diary and pen and started to scribble. Just then an old lady came and settled down in my adjacent seat. I glanced at her, she smiled. So, I smiled back and it broke the ice between us. She started the conversation. “Are you studying?”, she asked. “No, I am a blogger, I write blogs”, I said. She seemed to be confused. So, I explained to her what exactly blogging is - We can express our views through blogs, articles, write-ups, everybody can read them online. They can comment, give feedbacks, reviews.  “Oh, that is so nice”, she said with sparkle in her eyes. “In our era”, she said with a sigh, “we weren’t allowed to get out of the house, without permission. We were not supposed to speak, when not asked. Some of us were not allowed to go to school too!”. And she reconciled with her past……

I was small girl, with oil in my hair and two ponies tied. I used to be at home with my mother, to help her in daily chores. I was hardly 6 or 7 years old, but knew how to cook, clean, sweep, wash clothes and utensils. I also used to look after my younger brother, who was 4 years old. 

Once, on my way, coming back with my father, from the local market, I chanced upon a place. It had a big board at the entrance. I didn't know what it said. But the place was fascinating.  There were kids, mostly boys, playing on the ground. Some of them were sitting under a tree. A man was writing something on a black coloured board. The kids were repeating what the man was saying, aloud. As we walked past that area, I could hear sounds like ‘a’, ‘aa’, ‘e’, etc. Scared to speak, somehow, I dared and asked my father what the place was. He said it’s a school. “A school! what’s that father?”, I asked. He told me everything about the school – we learn to read and write here, we learn to play new games, etc..etc….. “Wow! That’s a good place to be”, I thought. When we reached home, I asked my mother, “can I go to school?”. My mother was surprised to hear this. She looked at my father, anxiously. My father was furious. He didn’t like what I just said. He shouted at me and said that school is for boys. Girls have to be at home and learn cooking, household work and looking after the children. That’s what a girl’s life is all about! So that meant my younger brother would be going to school the next year. I would be here, at home, doing what I was, since age 4. I ran into the kitchen and started crying. I thought I had made a blunder by asking such a terrible question. When my father was out, I told my mother that I would never ever repeat the mistake. My mother was considerate. She was a loving lady. Even though she favoured my views, she had no voice in taking decisions for the family. I had seen her in the house, mostly in the kitchen, all her life.

 I grew older, I got married. And as my luck would have it, my husband was a gem of a person.  He respected women. His sisters were educated. He made me learn, read and write. He took me to places I had never been and couldn’t have dreamt of. I wanted to have a girl child, whom I would educate, make her independent, make her enough qualified to earn for herself and live life being a strong and proud woman. But God had different plans. I do not have kids.

She stopped, looked at me and said, “when I see a woman like you, who is independent, I feel very happy!”. Again, the same sparkle in her eyes.

I was touched by her story. I rest my hand on hers with an assurance that I will take her thoughts forward, I stopped writing the blog. Instead started to write a story…. a story of how women have to come out of their shell, fight, struggle to do what they want. And how not remain in the shell, accepting all that is imposed on them.

So here’s my first short story. Hope you all like it. I need your support and feedback to keep writing more!

                                                                             JUI.