Thoughts on my birthday

I share my Birthday with Al Gore and today Theresa Schiavo passed away in her hospice in Florida. Terribly sorry for her friends and family.

I have been thinking of all my birthdays spent till now. I remember when I was in school, my birthday planning use to start a month ago, going to the cloth shop to select a shirt piece and pant piece. Then going to the tailor on my fathers bicycle. The Tailors shop used to be in small lane which used to reek of urine. I could still smell the paan in Mastan's mouth as he used to talk to me taking the measurement of my waist.

On my Birthday, My mum would wake me up a little early, and would give me a good scrub with soap nuts. I would wear my loosely fitting pant and shirt, "Mastan, make the pant and shirt little long, the boy is growing", my father would say to the tailor sitting outside the tailor shop reading a newspaper without even looking up.

My mum would make me sit before the Gods and my father would pray for me. I father would apply holy sandal paste on to my forehead. My mother would pack me a couple of kilos of candy to distribute to my friends in school. On your birthday you are allowed to were 'colour dress' no more drab white and blue colour uniform.

As I would stand in my bus stop, everyone would recognize that today is my birthday. The sabzi wala and the lady who sells cigarettes by the roadside would come and wish me. The feeling was elated, I would feel as if I were on the top of this world. The school day would pass through like a breeze. Everyone is nice to you. Teachers would not make you stand outside the sun for giggling at the back of the class room. Girls would smile at you and come and talk to you, even may be for those candy in you extra long pants' pockets.When I come home, mum would have made my favorite rice pudding and fried onions in batter.

I got an auto email from some website wishing me happy birthday. "Congratulations on your Birthday ...", it said. Congratulations for what? for not killing myself? or for not killing someone else? That made me ponder, what did I achieve? I have been thinking for a while and there is nothing I could recount.

I am reproducing one of favourite poems for your reading pleasure.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep

Thank you everyone who has been nice to me and read my blog. Please do keep dropping in.