Candles on the Cake

It must have been around 6am, when I bid him goodbye & shut the door behind him. My husband. He was starting his day a little earlier than usual as he had to travel to another city for some important official work. This was one of his shorter visits, and thus he was expected to be back the same day, albeit little late, maybe around mid-night. He does need to make such visits once in while, and hence none of this new for me. Yet this time round I found myself struggling with my emotions, my thoughts, and was even a little frustrated by the explanations I was offering myself.

Unable to manage myself any longer, I slumped down on the living room couch. Normally on such days I either go back to sleep, or prepare myself a cup of tea, to be enjoyed with my solitude. But I did none of this. I couldn’t. After all it was my birthday, and he had left even without wishing me, or apologizing for being away the whole day.

Now you may say, after having spent three decades and a couple of years more on this earth, what is so big about a birthday? I asked myself exactly the same question. But instead of providing an answer, I got even more flustered.

Basically there are two major schools of thoughts. There maybe one or two more, but I think only these two merit any consideration.

Life is for Living, All Day, Every Day

Proponents of this philosophy, including my husband, feel that life and all things related to it are to be celebrated every day. His love for me is also something similar, which can be felt every day. We shouldn’t need birthdays or marriage anniversaries or valentine’s day or rose day etc etc etc to remind us of its existence.

I agree with him. But there is a slight problem with this argument. I, and I am sure most of us, will find it very difficult to do something special every day. It could be something as simple as cooking an elaborate meal. Even if it’s your hobby, doing it every day might make it mundane. And hence the other line of argument follows.

Life Gives a Few Reasons to be Happy, Its Better to Find Excuses

This is the belief that I follow. My logic is, I was born once (though I was too small to rejoice at having reached this fete, and more likely than not I would have howled my lungs out). But for the sake of logical reasoning, I don’t get to get born every other day, I don’t get married every once in a while, I don’t & don’t even intend to give births every year. All these, and so many similar special & joyful events are such rare occurrences in a life spanning approximately between sixty to seventy years. Hence if I want to be happy and make merry, then I need to add more occasions to this life.

And that is exactly what festivals do. Be it personal or social or religious, the objective of having these festivals in our lives is to give us regular opportunities to make merry. Come together with friends, family and well wishers, and celebrate the festivities, celebrate life.

But I can’t deny the fact that restricting these celebrations only to occasions, usually result in more expression or demonstration of emotions, than what is actually felt. More simply put, restricted to occasions, it becomes a ritual, and not an emotion.

I was still struggling with both set of arguments when the door-bell rang. I glanced at the watch, it was almost eight. Wondering who could come in so early, I opened the door.

My husband was standing there, holding a cake in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other. 

A gift bag was hanging on his neck.