Happy Birthday To Me (2008)

12/26/08

The last couple of my birthdays have been lonely affairs. The one last year was in Arizona spent in my dorm room with the whole campus empty as a result of Christmas holidays. I slept through most of it. The one before it was in San Jose, again alone for the most part due to holidays but I spent it walking around downtown, watching the Christmas decorations, visiting "Christmas in the Park," eating out, and generally having a lot of fun. This year was a complete contrast. And no, not in a good way.

As mentioned earlier, we had breakfast invitation from a Pakistani family that had visited my cousin's place a few days ago. I was told to be ready by 10 AM when they'll leave. Which I did. Which meant I had to get up around 8:30 and take a shower at that godforsaken hour. Even Spiderman, with whom I've established a special bond, looked sleepy. Everything felt unnatural since I usually wake up after 12. Sometimes even 2-3 hours after 12. The rest of the family didn't share my sense of punctuality though. It was 11:30 when my cousin came to my room to see if I was ready to go. And shrieked.

"Tum abhi tak tayyar nahi hueen?"

"Ho to gai hun."

She looked at me from head to toe. I felt very conscious in my blue jeans and pink Aeropostale top that proudly read, "Trees Are For Hugging."

"Shalwar kameez nahi hai?"
"Shalwar kameez pehenni paregi?"
"Haan wahan 7-8 Pakistani families aayeingi. Sab shalwar kameez hi pehentay hain aisay moqo'n...."

But I didn't hear the rest. I was still stuck on the first part.

"7-8 families?! Aap ne kaha tha bas hum hi hongay!"

"Haan hum, aur 7-8 aur families."

The one thing I hate more than big gatherings, is even bigger gatherings. :

"Hai ya phir mein apni koi shalwar kameez doon?"
"Hai eik black. Dupatta nahi hai lekin. Woh meray socks ke saath mein apnay dorm room mein bhool aayi hun bed ke neechay. Ab tak phenk dia hoga unhon ne."
"Hmm, black dupattay to hain. Kounsa wala chahiye? Georgette? Silk? Plain? Self-print? Border wala?"
"Koi bhi," my head still reeling. And a faint image of my cousin as a pathan kapray wala in Meena Bazar.
"Acha eik hai buhat acha magar us ka blue bord... "
"I really don't care."

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Fifteen minutes later, in all my Pakistaniat, I was still waiting for them downstairs in the living room, watching my cousin run after her youngest son trying to get his shoes on.

At last, after the third call from the hosts and eight rounds around the house by my cousin chasing her son, during which she'd miraculously applied her eyeliner and mascara as well, we were all seated in the car and on our way.

I spent the whole half hour drive to Santa Clara biting my lower lip to stop myself from turning around and spanking Azzam who was continuously kicking my seat from the back in an effort to provide me with a free, but unneeded, kick massage. Rameel was asleep in the seat next to mine. My cousin was busy egging her husband on in the front.

"Zahid thora tez chalayein. Humein buhat dair ho gai hai."
"80 pe ja raha hun."
"Saari gaariyan to hum se aagay nikal gai hain. Yeh aagay red wali bhi hum se kitni peechay thi. Yeh bhi aagay chali gai."
"Us mein ja ke beth jao."

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We reached our destination at 12:30 PM, a huge house with a "Absar Family" plate on the entrance door greeting us. The host and hostess came out to greet us. I had my fake smile firmly pasted on my face from there on. We were shown inside to the living room which, to my horror, was full of children of every age and size. There were around 18 of them. I have never been to such a huge gathering in the States. And I didn't know 90% of them.

The aunties and girls were sitting around the kids on couches. As I placed myself in an empty spot in a corner, with my fake smile still in place, I wondered who the hell all these people were and what the fuck was I doing here?

Thankfully, soon afterwards, our hostess announced that breakfast, which was lunch now, was ready. Good. In all the hullabaloo, I had totally forgotten my appetite and just then realized that I was starving. Another good thing - since the food was already served, it meant less chit chat and the sooner we are done with eating, the quicker we can leave. The food was delicious. Pooris with halwa, chanay and aloo ka salan, shaami kebab, qeema, and a few other interesting dishes. Good stuff. Yet another good thing - there was no sign of the infamous Rehan or his similar sounding younger brother. Really good stuff.

After we were done with the food and later tea, I started seeing a couple of families leave, and upped my own hopes, frantically searching and locating my cousin among all the other ladies and waiting for her to announce our departure too. I switched my pleasant "guest smile" to grateful "about to leave guest smile."

But that announcement never came. More tea came. 2 o'clock came. A headache came. But that announcement never came.

Soon after, my fake smile quit on me too. A kid kept staring at me. Another had a box she kept shutting and then asking me to open it again. There was a rock in it. One of them thought it would be absolutely hilarious to tie the end of my dupatta around a headless doll. Yet another came and started talking to me.

"This is blue," pointing to the blue colored toy gun in his hand.
"Yes, it is," I smiled at him.
"It's my blue gun."
"Oh, really, It's cool."
"I will destroy you."

What the fuck.

I ignored that kid onwards, and tried concentrating on the TV where Peter Pan cartoon was playing on DVD. Aunties kept bugging me. My mood was off and they won't get a hint. I greeted all their queries and remarks with a frown and "I don't give a damn so don't waste your breath" look and they still won't get a clue. Yappin', yappin', yappin'. Chatter, chatter, chatter. For God's sake, enough with your children's stupid stories. Lemme concentrate on the damned Captain Hook getting screwed by the time-ticking crocodile! My cousin took some pity on me and asked if I wanted to eat something. I told her I wanted kheer. It looked delicious during lunch but I hadn't tried it since I was too full.

Soon after she left, another aunty, with her 2-year old boy, planted herself next to me on the couch and started chatting like I was her best friend, at the same time force-feeding her kid some bottled milk.

"Subah se is ne kuch bhi nahi khaya hai. Itna pareshan kiya hua hai is ne mujhe..."

Go away.

"...sirf mujh se khaata hai ya apni Papa se. Aur koi jitni marzi koshish kar lay, yeh nahi maanta..."

Listen lady, I really couldn't care less.

"...is ki bari behen bhi isay itna tang karti hai. Is ke baal nochti hai..."

Good.

"...beemar na ho jaye. Khaaye ga nahi to bara kaise hoga...

Please get me married to one of them rhyming brothers. They seem like an intelligent bunch, to have successfully avoided this shenannigan.

"... dono mujhe poora din itna tang karte hain... Oh ho!"

And to my disgust, the boy threw up on his mom's clothes right there in front of me.

Eww.

"Kitni kheer laoon? Itni theek hai?" My cousin called from the kitchen, showing me a bowl.

"No, thank you. Abhi dil nahi chah raha."

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I was about to doze off after getting numb from all the noise around me, when it was announced that it's time to celebrate the birthday of the hosts' youngest daughter Hibba, whose actual birthday was on the 24th, a day earlier. A huge cake was brought to the middle table.

And then a sudden fear gripped me. As everyone began gathering around the table, I crossed my legs and started a silent meditation from my corner sofa in efforts of connecting with my cousin on a spiritual and mental plane. Please don't tell them. Please don't say it. Please spare me. Please don't tell them..

"Aray aaj to iski bhi birthday hai!" popped up my cousin out of nowhere and announced, pointing at me. All eyes turned towards me.

Fuck.

Silently cursing her and putting "working on my rusty telepathic skills" on my mental list of new year's resolutions, I smiled back and whimpered at the same time. The hosts decided that after Hibba, we will celebrate my birthday too on the same cake. Oh joy.

As I dragged my lead-filled feet from the sofa to the middle of the room, surrounded by all these people that - I repeat - I don't know, haven't laid eyes on ever before, and would probably never meet again, I vaguely remembered by previous couple of birthdays spent in blissful solitude, walking through the decorated park in downtown San Jose. In a sharp contrast I was jerked to my present predicament, where I seemed to be stuck in traffic and going round and round on Embarassment Central.

I looked down at the already cut cake that read, "Happy Birthday Hibba" and wondered how I landed in this living room in the first place. It was my dad's fault. If he hadn't allowed me to come to the States, I wouldn't be here right now. I decided to cut short this embarassing moment where I had turned the same shade as the one I am so fond of putting on my DP's, and stabbed the cake. And it was over. I crawled back to my dark corner and wished I was dead.

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The large clock in the living room struck 4 PM. We've been there for four hours. Some families left. Some more came. Kids everywhere. Aunties cackling. Uncles guffawing. Peter Pan over. The nerve in my head visibly throbbing. This time, the hostess came to my rescue. She guided me to the computer room with about 5 computers lined up and said I could pass my time here if I was getting too bored. Thank God.

I went online, thanked friends on Facebook and Orkut for wishing me, bitched about my day to a couple of them, and while I was gaining some normalcy back in my life, my cousin came to the room and announced that everyone, every single one of the people in the house, was leaving for a bollywood movie, Ghajini in about an hour.

:O

"But Kanwal baji, I don't watch Bollywood movies!"
"We don't have a choice. Sabah bhabi (our hostess) has bought tickets for everyone online. Ab jaana parega."
"Mujhe yaheen chhor do! Ya apnay ghar drop kar do. I'll guard your house like a faithful puppy until you all return!"
"Buri baat hai. Unhon ne ab sab plan kar lia hai. Saath chalo. Tum so jaana theater mein."
"Magar mujhe nahi dekhni!"
"Kyun nahi dekhti bollywood ki filmein?"

Because I have principles!

But before I could answer, another shriek came from somewhere outside the room. A 9-year old girl was also throwing a similar tantrum with her mother. She didn't like going to Indian movies.

Ahh, my soulmate! And I was totally prepared to disregard the age difference. And the fact that she was a girl. I was so scattered.

Alas, we were against about 20 or so people. So we lost. And within an hour, I was sitting in my cousin's car again, this time on our way to an Indian cinema.

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I was greeted with the same peculiar smell inside the cinema that is a trademark of Indian theaters. I used to make fun of people who came to the movies in huge groups with kids yelling and shouting. And here I was, one of them, seated between a 12-year old and an old Indian uncle.

The movie was typical. Loads of melodrama, camera jerks, item numbers, songs and dances, ‘coincidences’, etc. I managed to grab a few minutes’ sleep here and there. Whenever I woke up, Amir Khan was either beating the crap out of random ghundas, or was getting banged in the head by an iron rod. There is something rather unnerving about watching a 5 feet 6 inches tall man sending over 6 feet tall, well-built guys flying high in the air with each kick. Nothing has changed in Bollywood.

The only part I liked a little was the few minutes’ long flashback where he met his girlfriend whose death he was apparently avenging throughout the movie. That was charming. Bollywood sometimes does a good job at handling romance. Other than that, let’s just say that after the never-ending three hours, I was glad it actually did end. I had given up hope and was about to get comfy in my springy seat and calling it a night right there.

I don’t remember walking out the theater, or the drive back home, or getting to my room. All I remember was glancing at my clock that read 11:00 PM before my head hit the pillow.

Bliss.