Birthdays

samosas, gulab jamuns and hot tea
that's how I remember birthday parties
my father would stop at the halwai
park the scooter, walk in with a smile
announce to whoever cared to hear
its my daughter's birthday, you see
nothing on display would satisfy him quite
he'd insist on everything being freshly fried
those were days when love counted, not calories
and it was ladled out in sweetness and ghee
the polythene bags would be nestled in the basket
that carried vegetables, fruits, and the groceries
he'd come in smiling, humming a Devdas song
and I'd grumblingly protest Devdas got it wrong
life is joy and doing and sharing and loving
its not about loving and being morose on losing
you have a lot to learn, Gudiya, he'd say
though I pray no insurmountable sorrow comes your way
then my mother would join the conversation
adept as she was at rendering order out of commotion
she'd send me to fetch the plates and make the tea
my brothers would join the small family party
no cakes to cut, no candles to blow
just good wishes and lots of love to bestow
on their cherished daughter, the beloved sister
who'd bring in tea, steaming hot and sugary
and gulab jamuns and samosas in unmatched crockery
my brother would sing, we'd all listen raptly
his voice would weave a spell , as if cast magically
my younger brother would threaten to sing as well
a tuneless song,and we'd smile and hug and let him
because these were the birthday presents, you see .

No matter where life takes me, how hard the struggle
those birthday parties I"ll be grateful for forever.

(Priya VK Singh )