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Wishes, petty grudges made my birthday special

Birthdays largely mean nothing. But I've come around to believing they should be celebrated.

A close friend who never forgets my birthday didn't wish me over the weekend. She must have forgotten. I didn't remind her.

If you want people to wish you, deactivating a social media account means you receive less love, however superficial. So while one great advantage of being off Facebook is that you don't have to wish random people on their birthdays, the shoe pinch is more pronounced when it's your foot turning a year older. A petty emotion makes its presence felt.

I told myself a bunch of consolatory lies to assuage my feelings of hurt about friend not wishing me: It doesn't matter; we're above it; there are more important things than birthdays, etc, etc. And still, I whined, licked wounds, marvelled that friend hadn't called even later in the day, profusely apologetic, issuing one excuse after another about crazy, busy days that I would listen to, resent and then forgive - the usual drill.

Birthdays largely mean nothing. But I've come around to believing they should be celebrated. Still, you don't grow from being a brat to suddenly not being one at just the flip of a calendar page.

And what hurts is contrast, the comparison. Several non-close friends wished. People I wouldn't be upset with if they forgot wished. It felt good to be remembered. Receiving newsy e-mails from friends you went to school and college with, who are also not on social media, is valuable, impressive, endearing. And I sound more genuine when I type back a lengthy thank you note.

When I was younger, I used to feel bad in the evenings that my birthday was 'ending'. I would comfort myself thinking, at least I gained a year. That feeling, as a child, of gain turned into disdain of younger, smarter people. Apparently, with age, all I seemed to be growing was pettier. But all this keeping track of who wished, who didn't; how does it matter?

Once a year, I confront dynamics of birthday routines. I resent late wishers.

And the other day I didn't say thank you to a school friend who pinged 'Happy Birthday' without the exclamation (because who sends birthday greetings minus virtual enthusiasm, I thought). My reply, affirming pettiness, was a colon and a bracket - :).

I can also do without midnight calls (they've anyway dried up). A midnight text is sweet. And a call by breakfast is lovely. I like wishes that arrive a day or two early, especially from across time zones. 'Figured you'd be busy tomorrow so getting this over and done with' kind of a thing. Then there's the matter of how close the person is and how personal the wish is.

Anne Lamott said in her TED talk, "I sat down a few days before my 61st birthday, and I decided to compile a list of everything I know for sure . There's so little truth in the popular culture, and it's good to be sure of a few things... we're a mixed grill of happy anticipation and dread. The first and truest thing is that all truth is a paradox. Life is both a precious, unfathomably beautiful gift, and it's impossible here, on the incarnational side of things. It's been a very bad match for those of us who were born extremely sensitive. It's so hard and weird that we sometimes wonder if we're being punked. It's filled simultaneously with heartbreaking sweetness and beauty, desperate poverty, floods and babies and acne and Mozart, all swirled together. I don't think it's an ideal system."

I find it good once in a while to listen to stuff that's so much larger than my really stupid, petty grudges.

Another friend, whose wish I was frankly dreading and hoping she forgot, wished, as expected. I was dreading it because I had forgotten her birthday last month. I apologised belatedly. She sent a smiley and said, "doesn't matter, I know you still love me". I felt chided, loved, forgiven, and ashamed of my smallness.

I haven't yet picked up the phone to ring forgetful friend and demand an explanation for the oversight. And I won't do that just yet because I'm curious to see if she remembers that she forgot. And who am I kidding? When in time I remind her of her deadly faux pas, I will milk the situation for all it is worth, and extract a suitable gift.

- nivriti@khaleejtimes.com