Birthday parties hold a special place in our lives. During my childhood in the 1970s and 1980s, birthday celebrations were very different. It was more of a get-together where not only the relatives and friends, but also the domestic helps and their children became a part of the joyous occasion. Mornings would mean an earnest prayer to God, blessings from the elders and then a breakfast prepared by the affectionate hands of the mother and other ladies. However, the birthday child would eagerly wait for the evening party to begin in the living room, decorated with red oval balloons. Soon the kiddies’ gang would turn up holding small gifts wrapped in thin pink paper with the name of the benevolent friend mentioned on the white card stuck on it. The cake bought from the nearest bakery would be cut and very quickly the paper plates with the traditional snacks and sweets would be served.
Those were the ‘Goldspot and Nova’ days which every child would happily sip till the last drop. Once the guests would leave, the birthday child would hastily open the wrappers of the gifts, keep a few of them and would share the remaining ones with cousins and children of the domestic helps.
Birthday celebrations have evolved. Just a few months back a richly decorated invitation card reached my mail box. My eyes beamed to realise that my friend’s daughter was about to turn 10. On the given date I reached their home. The house had been turned into Dholakpur’ with the concept of Chhota Bheem. As I made my way – a word, a smile and a handshake accompanied, for most of the invitees were familiar faces. Lata, their domestic-help came forward to welcome me. All the invitees queued up with gifts wrapped in glittery papers and within a few minutes a tall tower of gifts formed in the corner. Having extended my greetings with the birthday child and the host couple, I was guided to the table by not Lata this time, but by her eight-year-old daughter.
Lata, I noticed, took all the efforts to make every one comfortable. As because she was known to almost all the invitees, she could gel well and knew exactly the requirements . Holding the elderly people by the hand, providing napkins to the tiny-tots, quickly responding to the call by the host couple and the invitees; a hand of Lata everywhere. Soon music and dance followed. I took an early leave.
The next day on my way to morning walk I happened to meet Lata and her daughter on their way back home. Lata couldn’t hold back her tears. On asking the cause of her agony, she explained in a heavy voice that while all the children were given watches, her daughter was given only the wrappers. “Wrappers”, I exclaimed. Lata revealed that after all the gifts were unwrapped by the birthday child, his mother instructed him to give those glittery wrappers to Lata’s daughter as a return gift. As Lata’s tears rolled down her cheeks, I found her daughter smiling innocently with the bag of wrappers held close to her chest.
How could people stoop so low? I thought to myself, all the corners of the house were beautified and spotless except for the hearts of the owners .The hearts need adornment of love, compassion and empathy. But they can become precious only with goodies having human touch.
