October 7th. A highly discussed and volubly
debated date in my household, every year. The occasion – my brother’s birthday.
For 11 years now, we have been discussing how to sketch out a perfect birthday
party. And till now, no party has ever been ‘perfect’, however grand it might
have been. Something or the other would always occur to point out the
possibility of improving my PQ, or the Party Quotient.
If you notice the date again, it was my brother’s birthday a
few days ago. And this time too, the plans were being formed since a month. But
the difference now was that, due to my father being completely wrapped up in
his business, it was I who had to look after all the arrangements. Fine, like a
good sister – just a term invented to make us girls comply with our siblings’ demands
– I accepted the responsibility. The menu was decided, all his friends invited,
house cleaning, cobweb brushing – everything was done on time. Now what
remained was putting it into action.
On the morning of 7th October, however, a cold
sweat drenched me. I had not prepared myself for… for his friends! Innocent
kids, just a decade old, would you say? NO! His friends are, putting in
politely, little devils! I knew they would scream their throats outs, as soon
as their number exceeded two. I knew they would shower the food ALL over the
place (which was, coincidentally, MY room, since it is the pseudo-hall for all
our family gatherings). I knew I would be running up and down for the whole
evening, compensating for any quantity of the truffle dessert I would eat. And I
dreaded it all (yes, I am not a party person!).
Well, I ran out to the market at 4;30 in the evening, trying
to bring in all my food on my own, because our favorite food joint could not
deliver it to our door that particular day (see, I told you, there always is a
loophole!). And I just had my humble TVS streak scooty to accompany me. Lord!
Do not ask how I managed all the work! My scooty’s dickey was filled with burgers,
the cake box was resting between my feet, and on the top of it were hung the
return gifts, on the hook. I sure was looking like a weirdo that day!
So, yes, I did all the serving for my bro and his friends, tolerated
the racous music they played (which wasn’t that bad, especially after switching
off the lights!), made them discard the wrappers properly in a dustbin (a BIG
achievement, I would say!) and laughed at their jokes! Though, mid way, my brother
came up to me and threatened to avenge my inability to bring in the ordered
hotdogs, and compensating them with burgers. And once they had had fun with the
fireworks, I had to drop some of them at their places. And, surprisingly, I felt
happy doing that! I felt responsible for these kids, whose mothers were
politely inquiring on the phone if I could drop them off, because I had spent
some amount of time acting as their Head Girl in school before I passed out,
and they called me Didi, like my bro did.
Really, our parties cannot be ‘perfect’ – this cliché word
again - but a few holes here and their give a reason for a few good laughs!
During the family dinner afterwards, he could not stop smiling and relating the
evening’s tales to the extended family. And, with all the necessary bickering,
so important in our relationship, he chose to NOT thank me for my management
success. Ah! I knew that this, too, would happen. But I know he was amazed to
see me bringing in his cake, and proud when his friends relaxed abt reaching
home on time. Since he won’t acknowledge my help out loud, he offered to share
his newly received chocolates with me, and that is more than enough!
