Birthdays, Then and Now
In the past week, several people have asked me, “Sooooo, how does it feel to now be the mom of a one year old?!” The real answer, I’m afraid, is, “Terrific, I’m on cloud nine, I could fly…(my wallet is so light) etc.” But I ended up saying just, “Terrific.”
My daughter just turned one. It has, no doubt, been the most amazing year of my life - watching her grow from a teensy, red, blotchy, wailing newborn, into a beautiful, babbling, tottering, bonny little girl. But it has also been the priciest year of my life. And I am now officially a member of the prestigious Party-City-Pauper-Parents-Association, which is basically like an ancillary unit of Party City, and ensures that parents like us get so broke that we cardinally become party-poopers.
Planning my little girl’s birthday party was no child’s play. It involved some grisly tasks, the most primary of those being - to choose a party theme. There’s a whole array of themes out there - and every time Disney brings out a new movie - wham, a new one is added to the list. There are Nascars and Star Wars for sporty little boys, Barbies and Princesses for stylish little girls, and Batmans and Harry Potters for the adventurous lot.
Being stuck amidst an ocean of party supplies and themes, I was virtually clueless about how to put them all together for my one year old. I wondered whether it would make any sense to someone as tiny as her, who barely even knew the party was going to be held in her honor. All I knew was that I wanted to make it special for her, something she’d look back on, someday in the future, and cherish with pride. So I took the help of a few been-there-done-that-moms, and finally narrowed down on a theme, and everything that’s currently the rage.
The next step was to book a banquet (which, like preschool, or say, a Kalyana Mantapam in India, is usually signed and sealed atleast six months in advance) send out e-vites, garner all the RSVPs, hire a clown, choose a caterer, baker, and anyone else that might be of use in putting a menu together. Although, if you’re hosting a party strictly for kids, in true Yankee style, you could probably make do with cake, cheese pizzas, fries and coke. But we, being the gregarious Indians that we are, had half the city desis on our list, and hence had to have a full-fledged spicy, savory Indian spread. Then, we had to stock up on the supplies, which, at the outset, entailed getting scared stiff by monstrous balloons that crooned upon touching or exploding streamers that seemed to guffaw at our plight. And once we’d gotten over this phobia of leaping, screaming festoons, we had to pick out theme-based plates, cups, spoons, forks, napkins, table covers, banners, and candles - the works. There was also an entire package of theme-based party favors (or ‘return gifts,’ to use an Indianism) for the little invitees, which was hard to turn down. After everything had been sought and bought, the house, for about a week before the event, transformed into a pandemonium of party trimmings and trappings. So much so that we had to tread with caution around the danger zones, lest we rouse a resting inflatable to screech happy birthday in high pitched tones, and consequently get my little one into a wild frenzy.
Eventually, the party was over, and the only economical thing about it was that the leftovers were zip-locked, frozen, reheated and relished to the last bite. Even as I reel from the fervor and furor of the gala, I cannot help but recall the minimalist, hush birthday celebrations back at home. One woke to the fragrance of burning incense and the tinkling of the sacred bell - an indication that a special puja was being offered to the family deity; and after a ceremonious ‘oil bath,’ one would sit down and enjoy a traditional Indian meal with family, complete with ‘kheer,’ ‘gajar halwa,’ or ‘gulab jamoons,’ and rather coyly, accept gifts, which mostly comprised clothes, books, or on occasion, jewelry. A bash, if at all, would be limited to a group of close friends who were served potato wafers and pastries, accompanied by a refreshing ‘Rasna’ or ‘Kissan’ juice blend, to help wash the snacks down. There were no frills, no thrills. Just a bunch of loved ones huddling up together and wishing one well.
I am not so sure my daughter really understood the significance of all the hoopla, but for now I can quietly revel in the fact that she absolutely loved the idea of a pack of animals adorning the top of her cake in a delicious butter cream frosting. How else could she have imagined biting into a lion, turtle, or frog with her teeny mouth and six brand new teeth?
My daughter just turned one. It has, no doubt, been the most amazing year of my life - watching her grow from a teensy, red, blotchy, wailing newborn, into a beautiful, babbling, tottering, bonny little girl. But it has also been the priciest year of my life. And I am now officially a member of the prestigious Party-City-Pauper-Parents-Association, which is basically like an ancillary unit of Party City, and ensures that parents like us get so broke that we cardinally become party-poopers.
Planning my little girl’s birthday party was no child’s play. It involved some grisly tasks, the most primary of those being - to choose a party theme. There’s a whole array of themes out there - and every time Disney brings out a new movie - wham, a new one is added to the list. There are Nascars and Star Wars for sporty little boys, Barbies and Princesses for stylish little girls, and Batmans and Harry Potters for the adventurous lot.
Being stuck amidst an ocean of party supplies and themes, I was virtually clueless about how to put them all together for my one year old. I wondered whether it would make any sense to someone as tiny as her, who barely even knew the party was going to be held in her honor. All I knew was that I wanted to make it special for her, something she’d look back on, someday in the future, and cherish with pride. So I took the help of a few been-there-done-that-moms, and finally narrowed down on a theme, and everything that’s currently the rage.
The next step was to book a banquet (which, like preschool, or say, a Kalyana Mantapam in India, is usually signed and sealed atleast six months in advance) send out e-vites, garner all the RSVPs, hire a clown, choose a caterer, baker, and anyone else that might be of use in putting a menu together. Although, if you’re hosting a party strictly for kids, in true Yankee style, you could probably make do with cake, cheese pizzas, fries and coke. But we, being the gregarious Indians that we are, had half the city desis on our list, and hence had to have a full-fledged spicy, savory Indian spread. Then, we had to stock up on the supplies, which, at the outset, entailed getting scared stiff by monstrous balloons that crooned upon touching or exploding streamers that seemed to guffaw at our plight. And once we’d gotten over this phobia of leaping, screaming festoons, we had to pick out theme-based plates, cups, spoons, forks, napkins, table covers, banners, and candles - the works. There was also an entire package of theme-based party favors (or ‘return gifts,’ to use an Indianism) for the little invitees, which was hard to turn down. After everything had been sought and bought, the house, for about a week before the event, transformed into a pandemonium of party trimmings and trappings. So much so that we had to tread with caution around the danger zones, lest we rouse a resting inflatable to screech happy birthday in high pitched tones, and consequently get my little one into a wild frenzy.
Eventually, the party was over, and the only economical thing about it was that the leftovers were zip-locked, frozen, reheated and relished to the last bite. Even as I reel from the fervor and furor of the gala, I cannot help but recall the minimalist, hush birthday celebrations back at home. One woke to the fragrance of burning incense and the tinkling of the sacred bell - an indication that a special puja was being offered to the family deity; and after a ceremonious ‘oil bath,’ one would sit down and enjoy a traditional Indian meal with family, complete with ‘kheer,’ ‘gajar halwa,’ or ‘gulab jamoons,’ and rather coyly, accept gifts, which mostly comprised clothes, books, or on occasion, jewelry. A bash, if at all, would be limited to a group of close friends who were served potato wafers and pastries, accompanied by a refreshing ‘Rasna’ or ‘Kissan’ juice blend, to help wash the snacks down. There were no frills, no thrills. Just a bunch of loved ones huddling up together and wishing one well.
I am not so sure my daughter really understood the significance of all the hoopla, but for now I can quietly revel in the fact that she absolutely loved the idea of a pack of animals adorning the top of her cake in a delicious butter cream frosting. How else could she have imagined biting into a lion, turtle, or frog with her teeny mouth and six brand new teeth?
posted by Ranjini | 12:00 PM
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