Birthday Blues

Watching a movie in a cinema-house in Calcutta with a bunch of cousins, the day I turned 4, I recall that when Gandhiji's picture appeared on the screen on a slide before the film, with a hideously painted garland on the photograph, everyone stood up and clapped. I asked my mother why this was happening and was informed that it was Bapu's birthday, too. Puzzled - as my friends have been repeatedly told over the years by elders who seem to revel in such embarrassing anecdotes - I am alleged to have said, "Maeñ to itnaa chhota rah gaya aur Gandhi Chacha buddhay ho gae ..."

I admit that I still feel a childish thrill, knowing that my birthday is a national holiday in India. And don't ask me where the chacha came from ... but it's immensely better than the "Unkil" I have become, to people whose aunts I have never had anything to do with, I swear!

This year, on October 2nd, I became 66 ... The unexciting number countered by celebrations lasting much longer than usual, beginning with Vickram and Jehan Ara landing up with a huge cake on the evening of the 1st (because they were both flying out the next day) ... and ending with a really gorgeous dinner, on the 2nd, put together by Mahenaz and Sabeen, who has now been promoted from COO to COO[K].

While I am dreading my birthday three years from now when I know that all my male friends will send me pornographic birthday cards - underscoring the age old old age problems associated with being on the verge of 70 - I must admit that I wasn't expecting some of the stuff I did get this year.

In the name of what is now called CRM, a bank sent me a box of chocolates. As a diabetic, if I do have to break my parhaiz, I do it for something worth the trouble. This stuff was from a shop that probably specializes in dog biscuits ... for dogs with no pedigree. I remember getting these home (from a restaurant that offers them gratis, after meals) for Lady, our late Dachsund who adored chocolates, and seeing her spit it out after the first bite. Of course, the banks have your DoB from the various forms you fill in. Given that their obnoxious telemarketing campaigners call you up at really odd hours on the most relaxed of days when you are asleep for the first time in weeks after a hectic project, it is unlikely that they'd even understand my annoyance at getting a gift! The fact is that I do not accept sweets from strangers.

However, here's something I'd like to warn all bloggers about: Please do not fill birthdates on your Profile, unless a blogging tool allows you to omit the Year. The more popular ones insist upon it, not accepting just the month and date. [Blogger/WordPress: Are you listening?]

Tricky thingies, known as spiders, crawl around the web, gathering all this info and passing it on - for greenbacks - to all and sundry. Once they know your age, the wonders of modern-day computing allow merchants to spam you with loads of 'targeted' email they consider 'suitable'. Thus, I received 32 wanting me to try Viagra, Cialis, etc.; 11 trying to sell me contraptions that would make my love life more 'interesting' - a word that, in this context, could mean almost anything! 2 were rather rude and commented upon my physical attributes, suggesting ways to 'enhance' them (although I do not recall providing info on that to anyone ... unless the spiders also visit sites of really close friends and use AI to make connections).

However, dear Bloggers, if you do want to enter your birthdate in your profile (in the hope of winning some strange lottery or something), make sure you enter your Gender, too. Unfortunately, I had not disclosed mine. Mere oversight, I promise you. I know what I am ... and if I ever forget, my eyesight is still OK! As a result, I received this message: Men will whistle at you. Even at this age your breasts can regain their natural firmness, in Rs. 990 only, through Ayurvedic Joban Paste. [Update: Save your money. It doesn't work! Z]