Birthday memories…

The earliest memories of our childhood is always an incident that for some peculiar reason lingers on and on. Have you ever tried attempting how far back can you wind your ticking brains and try to recollect the first event or incident in your life? The first memories I have of  my childhood was sitting on an orange tri cycle when I was probably three and our pet dog peering down at me with his big brown eyes. Ringo, the family dog was called such after Ringo Starr, the Beatles drummer boy and a firm favorite of the previous generation. The next incident that comes in front of me like a flash is few years thereafter, probably when I turned five and from thereon the memories are quite sequenced. However hard I have tried to recollect events from my life prior to this cycle incident, it has been impossible. Only a hypnotic session with a shrink would possibly bring it back.

Childhood memories must be clung on to, they offer a spectrum of how we have shaped ourselves to the day. They also increase the sentimental quotient and helps the bonding with family, friends and associates. For those who cherish their childhood they have evolved into individuals who care for their near and dear ones and make every possible attempt to stay in touch with them. In today’s fast paced world where time is a constraint and a is lot lesser than twenty-four hours with much to pack in, I have always appreciated those who find the time to stay connected. Many stay connected for a purpose, it could be a business reason or a strategic reason to find the company of another bearable. The best relationships are those with no “purpose” attached to it, where there in no feigning or fawning, where one is himself / herself with the other.

Or first birthday photographs are unsurpassable. I look at mine sometimes and wonder how time has fled. There is a picture of me suspended in mid-air by my Father, and I am hovering a gigantic, creamy white cake and firmly clutching on to  a ribboned knife in my right hand with a rather fierce look in my eyes. I look like Kali waiting to devour an asura than looking like an impish one year old. Many birthdays have followed since, the pictures are a haven for nostalgia. Many friends peep out in the background, looking pretty in their polka dot frocks and big bright bows tied to their hair, some smile at the camera, some look at the cake, some names I recollect, some names I don’t but every face is a familiar one. The Moms in the photographs look extremely young and pretty in their bright sarees and salwar suits, those days they wear no hair dye and there is no crows feet around their sparkling eyes. The Dad’s are not in the pictures, usually it is the birthday child’s Dad who found time to attend the birthday on insistence of the child. There are pictures of children piled on top of the other, fighting over a take away gift, or angrily snatching on to a fluffed up cushion during a game of passing the parcel, and kids squatting on bright-colored balloons and trying to burst it.

Birthdays over the years changed, from fun and frolic parties to lunches and dinners with friends and family. The gifts too underwent a drastic change. I went from Scrabble to Monopoly to perfumes and clothes. Somehow, the joy of receiving a sketch pen set or a box of crayons far outweighed all the gifts that I got over the last few years. I would wait to open up the birthday gifts after the boisterous parties and shriek with joy with every paint box that was gifted to me. Invariably, I would have received the same paint box or sketch pen set from more than three people at the least. Exclusivity was not heard of. Now we worry about wearing an exclusive dress or owing something exclusive and think it to be quite ordinary to own or possess what the other ordinarily has.The joy of distributing brightly colored wrapped up toffee and chocolates in class and the class getting up to sing “happy birthday” in unison, completely out of tune in a squeaky fashion still echoes. The joy of wearing a bright frock and being the only one in class doing so while the rest wore their school uniforms is still a delight. I still carry memories of my days as a child very fondly and would not trade it for any other memory. As we grow older, it becomes more important to clutch on to memories and stay firmly grounded to our roots.

Another year goes by, we connect with many known faces and the unknowns,we create new memories with the passage of time. Lets cherish the time. Let us not be caught in a rat race that leads us to barely acknowledge the other. This is a philosophical post and I barely indulge in a rambling of this sort. On the eve of growing a year older the sentiments remain to be treasured.