I. Am. Not. A. Birthday.
Person.
Nor am I into anniversaries or Mother’s Day or Father’s Day
or Forgotten Distant Uncle’s Pet Dog Day. I do not call myself a cynic, though
many of my near and dear ones (N.AN.D.Os) would disagree. I might come across
as a recluse, which I clearly am not. You can check with the same NANDOs. And no, this
post is not about what I like or dislike or about who I am. Even my pet gnu ‘Monkey’
wouldn’t be able to define who I am. Trust me, Monkey knows me very well!
Better than my NANDOs. But then, Monkey himself is going through an identity
crisis of sorts. Ah! Leave Monkey out of all of this. He hates being dragged
into debates.
Now, my saying ‘I am not a Birthday person’, does not imply
that I hate the fact that I was born. It simply means that it’s no big deal.
There’s a big difference. If every thing living on the face of this earth
started throwing a huge birthday bash every time they reach that time of the
year, imagine the amount of confetti and birthday waste we will have to take
care of. I’m not kidding. You don’t want confetti falling on your head the day
you get fired just because it’s that familiar pigeon’s birthday that keeps
dropping little presents on your car everyday. I always felt that humans ended up celebrating the wrong occasions in life. Jesus Christ has a right to
celebrate his birthday. He is the son of God! I don’t think I’m ready to take
up as much suffering for humanity as he did. So, I choose to be left out of it. Surprise
me with gifts on a random day if you wish. Now THAT’s a surprise!
Monkey ends up feeling a little left out on my birthdays.
Not like he is the centre of attention all the time. As a matter of fact,
nobody notices him and he’s fine with it. He doesn’t age in the same fashion as
I do and it disturbs him that people celebrate when I get old and he doesn’t. He
loves cake and hates it when nobody offers him a piece and instead waste it on
my birthday facial. The aggression of my NANDOs on my birthdays confuses him to no end. He has
started reading up a lot on affection and aggression. Might explain the
identity crisis. Monkey doesn’t even remember my birth date. His birth date is
a mystery too. He keeps changing it every time you ask him. I don’t think he remembers
it himself. Gnus don’t have a fabulous memory. I think it works to his benefit.
So, I asked him when his birthday was (again) for the umpteenth time today.
That led to a discussion on birthdays followed by a heated debate on the whole idea of
celebrating birthdays. He hates debates and arguments. Starts huffing like a
wildebeest when riled up. So this post is dedicated to you Monkey! Hope you’ve
cooled down now. Chronic boredom drove me into pawing at you. Guess, defending
my NANDOs is just not worth your short temper.
