Growing up in a remote village in Andhra Pradesh’s Palnadu district, birthdays were a foreign concept to us children in the 1980s. While we celebrated Mahatma Gandhi and other leaders’ birthdays, savoring the chocolates and school holidays they brought, we never thought about our own, lost in the rhythms of village life. But that changed when I entered medical college. My classmates threw lavish birthday parties, exchanging cards, cutting cakes, and dining out under twinkling lights. Coming from a rural background, I felt out of place — the joy of birthday parties eluded me. I didn’t even know my birthday to join them.
But then, one fine midnight, my roommate Rajiv and a few other friends burst into my room shouting “Happy birthday Srini”. When I woke up, they surprised me with a large greeting card that read, “Born 5 April 1972… Happy Birthday, Dear Srini!”. For a moment I didn’t know what was happening. Then I realized it was the date of birth from my tenth-grade certificate — a random date “allotted” to me by my class teacher during my school admission. Like many things in my life, my school admission was more of an accident. My farmer father was so kind that he never insisted we go to school. As we kids played and wandered through the streets of my little village, we sometimes stumbled into the open classrooms of our village school, unaware of the ‘consequences’: One day, the teacher caught hold of us and entered our names in his register. From then on, going to school became compulsory. Thus, I, who should have been tending the paddy fields with my father, landed in a prestigious institute to study medicine!
I told my friends it wasn’t really my birthday, but nobody listened. One after another, they shook my hand and said, “Happy birthday” They even made me cut a chocolate cake. Somewhat hesitantly, I thanked them all, and I took them for dinner the next night. Thus I celebrated my “first” birthday at the age of 19. Despite my hesitancy, it felt special and joyful. Since then, like my friends, I‘ve celebrated my birthday every year with growing enthusiasm.
However, as I completed my studies and prepared to marry, my birthday became an issue again. My would-be in-laws insisted on knowing my exact date and time of birth for horoscope matching. I didn’t know what to do. My mother, who would have known my date of birth, died when I was young, and my illiterate father remembered nothing. But luckily, my grandma provided a clue. Apparently, I was born two days before the Diwali festival. After further enquiry, I learned that my cousin Jaya was two years younger than me. This gave me hope. I rushed to Jaya’s home. She was hesitant at first, but after hearing my story, she revealed her date of birth. Her parents confirmed that I was two years older than her. I then approached the local priest, who checked his calendar and told my actual date of birth: November 3, 1972. I was elated, more than when I cracked my medical entrance test! The time of my birth remained a mystery, but fortunately, my in-laws gave their nod for the wedding after thoroughly enquiring about my character. Thus I married a lovely woman from an orthodox family.
Since then, life became doubly joyful, celebrating two birthdays annually thanks to a whimsical twist of fate. My wife and in-laws marked November 3 with grand family dinners, the aroma of biryani filling our home. My college friends and colleagues greeted me on April 5 with lively cocktail parties. At my clinic, my staff decorated with balloons and banners for both days. I felt blessed, as if God were making up for my “lost” childhood birthdays.
The final twist in my birthday tale came when I visited my college friend and roommate Rajiv Mukundan on his fiftieth birthday. Rajiv and I rarely met since college, but I was always grateful to him for it was because of him I celebrated my first birthday and started having fun in life. I could never forget that night when Rajiv woke me up and said, “Happy birthday, Srini!”. It was a big surprise. So, I decided to give a similar surprise to Rajiv on his 50th birthday. I traveled all the way from the now well developed Palnadu of Andhra Pradesh to Palakkad, Kerala, where Rajiv lived, carrying a grand bouquet to overwhelm and surprise him on his milestone birthday. But it turned out to be a bigger surprise for me — there was no sign of celebration, no decoration or banners at Rajiv’s home-cum-hospital. It was Sunday 2PM, and Rajiv was in his OPD!
As he finished seeing his last patient, I entered his chamber. While he was thrilled to see me, he wasn’t as excited when I wished him happy birthday. I gave him the bouquet I’d brought from home. After the lunch, as we talked heart-to-heart, I asked “How come there isn’t any celebration on your birthday, Rajiv? It’s your 50th!”
“Yes, Srini,” he replied, “but nowadays, I don’t do special celebrations on my birthday.” I wondered if he was the same Rajiv who had celebrated his birthdays grandly during college.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well, celebrating birthdays is fine when we’re young but as we grow older, I think we should learn to appreciate the beauty and joy of life in every moment and celebrate everyday, not just birthdays.”
“So you celebrate every day?” I was a bit cynical.
“Yes, Srini! Every moment is a celebration for me—from morning yoga and prayers to Shiva, time with family and grandchildren, treating patients, being in nature, to watching sunrises, sunsets, and stars. I don’t wait for birthdays to enjoy life,” Rajiv laughed warmly.
“Nice, but we’ve successfully passed another year in our life’s journey. Isn’t that an occasion to celebrate and chill?” I argued.
“You may be right in one way. But I pose a different question: ‘Have you enjoyed each day of that year?’ If you have, you wouldn’t crave a special celebration on your birthday because you’re already in ecstasy. If you haven’t, it means you’ve failed to live your life correctly. Obviously, you wouldn’t celebrate failure; instead you’d introspect,” Rajiv professed.
“Great philosophy,” I thought.
He continued, “We may celebrate the birthdays of great personalities to get inspired, but celebrating our own birthdays amounts to self-applause which I don’t enjoy or recommend. Birthdays come for everyone with passage of time— for animals and for us, for those who do great work and those who do nothing. It’s hardly an achievement to feel great about or specially celebrate. So, except for calculating age, I don’t give a damn about birthdays.”
“But what about festivals, Rajiv? Don’t you celebrate them?”
“I do, Srini! Celebrate, I mean we perform special pujas, make offerings, and visit temples. Unlike birthdays, festivals are auspicious, fostering spiritual practice. Their rituals serve a higher purpose, in contrast to the cake-cutting and drinking parties of birthdays. By observing them, I also pass on a rich culture and tradition to the younger generation. The unfortunate thing is that many people today treat festivals with the same extravagance as birthdays, missing their true meaning.”
As our discussion deepened, I realized Rajiv was no longer the carefree college mischief-maker but a transformed soul. Inspired, I began seeing life anew, shedding society’s fixation on birthday extravagance and finding joy in simple moments. Each sunrise now feels like a celebration. In essence, I’ve returned to my childhood’s blissful ignorance, when I didn’t know my birthday but relished every day. Life is about returning to where one began, I’ve learned.
