Twenty Five and Counting.

I always wanted a cake-less birthday. I always wanted a birthday without friends yelling for 24 hours straight and shoving alcohol down my throat and buying me flowers, gifts, balloons. I always wanted one birthday where I sleep until late in the morning, don't go anywhere out and read a lot. My 25th birthday is a landmark day for me. So what if I dont have any of the things I wanted to have on this day, but at least I willed silence hard enough to get some peace of mind through the day and 3 hours of absolute solitude in the night. It was nice to spend an hour over the phone having mindless conversation with someone just as mindless as me.

I gifted myself an external hard disc and an anti-virus. I did a quiet dinner with family. At the tick of 12 marking the end of that birthday, my best friend called me and I burst out laughing. 7 straight years and he still thinks it is on the 7th, not 6th.

I have always been quite excited about growing up. I still am. I like the way it makes me rigid and how I fight that rigidity. I like the way it makes me look forward to bigger, better, more elusive things in life. Growing up is a mystery that gets only more complex as time moves. It never simplifies the puzzle. And that's where the fun is. Growing up is not boring. It is difficult at times, yes, but there has never been a dull day in this process.

Of course, there is the painful drill of birthdays where you do an (un)reality check and assess what your net assets and net liabilities are. The balance sheet never tallies and the profits are not evident and you only hope you will see them in another 2 years. Birthdays are a sorry reminder of what you are not and what you don't have and a mocking solace of all the trivial things you've managed to stumble up on, carefully picked up and made them look like achievements. Birthdays are a date stamp against all the goods and bads of your life. I have never understood the need to mark red-letter days anyway. One day in a year (2 when you are married) to celebrate being who you are? Now that's being fucking low on self esteem. I'd rather celebrate being who I am each time I feel close to myself, on days I want to hug myself and say 'you'r a rock star', on days I smile at no one in particular while walking on the dirty bylanes of a stinking Bombay.

I don't hate birthdays. I can't deny the fact that its a logical celebration - to celebrate the precise moment you came into being and to thank your parents for having faith in you even before you were born and bringing you in the world knowing you will live.

I wonder if at the pretext of saying birthdays are trivial, I ended up giving it too much importance in this post and in my life in general.

On a side note, February is a beautiful month of the year to be born in.