Come as you are
As you were
As I’ve known you to be…

I was listening to it numbly and then it made sense and then I wrote…

The youngest of boys are my best buddies. And the fanatic zeal about the upcoming Durga Pooja means I get to meet my 2-4-6-8 year old buddies every weekend on account of the eating-meetings that go on. `One of them is particularly special - an eight year old almost visibly grappling with his parents’ abrupt untidy divorce. I’m not judging the parents; I know them to be nice people but watching this child breaks you for those few hours. A few years back he was one of those kids who’d just walk onto the stage while a speech was on, buy as many balloons as the people around were willing to give him and talked incessantly. The toning down that has happened in him is immense. The custody settlements allow him to come over just on alternate weekends and even among forty people he was so popular with then, he seems so unsure of everything. Unsure because of many reasons I guess. Kids know when they’re being talked about, kids know when people pat them out of love or otherwise, kids just know. Since I often feel equally out of place at these gatherings for reasons of my own, we’ve reasons to bond. Those reasons also include making crazy rhymes, drawing crazy figures on the computer and talking about his crazy girl benchmate in class who is “not nice” because “she’s a girl and she brings idlis for lunch – everyday!.” Hehe.

Why I was writing about him is hard to figure out for me even. So, it’s my birthday. When I was a baby I’m sure I wondered what the extra fuss was about on my birthdays. Till around four, I always slept with the firmest possible grip on my mum’s hair-like everything else was uncertain. I remember being unsure of whether the yelling I got at the end of my eight birthday was a part of the ritual. It wasn’t. I remember being so sure that the mike will crash on me or I will stumble on my tenth birthday when all I’d do was say thank you onstage. Nothing like that happened. I remember worrying if all the toffees will get over before I managed to offer them to everyone (despite knowing I’d lots extra) in seventh grade.They didn't. I remember worrying if my friends will turn up for my birthday treat in ninth. They did. I remember sensing that the people around me weren’t really around me on a later birthday. Maybe these were normal concerns at the respective stages or maybe I am a nervous person. I rarely am at ease completely. But this night, good or bad, right or wrong, I see myself less prone to evaluate myself in terms of what people around me say or do. Attachment, entrapment, co-dependence - all get quite ugly beyond a point. I no longer look for people to fill the space. I build the space and gaze at what’s around.

And to what, rather to those who are around, I feel like saying thank you.

I’d been pretty uncertain about my writing for a good while till people came up and told me consistently that they felt that I could write stuff that could be read. I needed it immensely at that point and since what I do with words is a vital part of my well-being, Ramya, Vinod and HP, you guys make me very happy:)

To Pooja, Archana and Sneha for all the showtime that Sho gets. I love the attention:P

To the seven friends who turned up on that birthday treat and still would (no treats happening though). Varun will get one just for spreading the laughs:) And Vivek and Jassi can accost some first grade kid on his birthday for toffees:P:)

To my sister, who’s been burning with her “secret” birthday present for me. She’s practically told me everything about it. And my Dad, who’s willing to take me to the Moon if there were good restaurants there. What a pity that his daughter asks only for dosas and apple juice. And my Gran; she’s also “secretly” making kheer for me when I know she does this every single year. It’s not sweet because of the sugar:)

To my Mum, for transmitting some of herself to me in the genes…if it’s showing by the time I’m twenty, things will only get better.

To Atto, who’s currently getting bugged and giving me the why-can’t-you-shut-the-damn-thing-down-and-sleep-bum looks. I’m as human as he can make me want to be:)

To my three first second third cousin(s), for the pink cards I get every year. Maybe they look for girlie-sisterly-pamperly cards for me:)

To Neeraj, for the stable normal warm buddyhood we have. To Zulfiqaar, my doc, for the daily rants that keep my mind alive. To Anupam, because he’ll come alive from a missing persons list to call on my birthday. To Sampad, because we’ve come a long way.

To Chhavi, for guarding my dreams with fragile hands. I do understand. Love you:)

And to my eight year old buddy, I benefit from talking to him more than he does from the constant company he seeks and gets from me in those two hours of forced socializing. I hope someday he begins to feel at home with himself.