Growth pangs and staying young

I attend A's 25th birthday party the other day. A pretty loud affair, considering the NM gang involved. A's sister who is the party planner is impressive as the gracious hostess. Maybe it runs in the family, the promise of warmth, pampering and comfort that comes with being around them. Of course, the bunch of us who are present do seem to need some...I do, for sure. After a past week spent mulling over career choices (nothing that dramatic though, just a matter of one project over another), fretting over appraisals and cribbing over the shifting of non existing stationary, I end up ill and irritable by Thursday night. Which means arriving later than what would be fashionably late with no gift and a card which is terribly inappropriate. That is all I can get my hands on in a hurry...I scribble something sentimental and slightly sarcastic on it and hope that it passes off okay considering my general personality (hmmm, yeah...well :P)

I look around and alternate between thinking this is a grown up bash and a super kiddish party. There is a balloon bursting game which I am sure I have played in fourth standard...good fun it is still. There is a lot of hugging, how-u-doing and air-kissing of acquaintances, a little bit awkward like kids trying to be all grown up. The talk in the room is all about who is moving to which company and who is working how hard. There are employer shifts, industry shifts and career mapping discussions. There are also nostalgia laden discussions about "incidents" all of which involve someone or other's foot-in-the-mouth moments all of which end with someone sighing "those were the days..." A lot of us sound old with our health complaints...someone has a back problem, some else a migrane. There is A's friend who comes in with a six month old baby and talk suddenly shifts among the women as to how we kids are all grown up now. Two past-teachers-now-friends start discussing how it would be cool to play with our kids. I roll my eyes at the other single girl listening to the conversation and tell the kid-enthusiasts to take it easy...We are asked to scribble whatever we like on A's white t-shirt and I write "stay young". I notice that someone else has scribbled "get a life, get a girl". Freudian slips, me thinks.

And then ...suddenly there are hushed voices and the birthday song singing...a BIG birthday cake is brought in and the blowing of the candles takes a loooong time, obviously accompanied by much teasing and leg pulling. And as A cuts the cake with his parents, sister, cousins and friends crowding around him...it looks wonderful. They laugh heartily...each face flushed with happiness and joy. Not a single picture is posed for, everyone is too involved in the celebrations to bother with the clicking. There is a treasure hunt kinda game which goes on forever because hidden behind each clue is a story related to A, all narrated amidst much chuckling (for us) and embarrassment (for him). Suddenly my mood improves. And I feel that beyond the superficial illnesses and the cribbing about work and the unhappiness over salaries and the complications of our love lives, this is indeed a great time to celebrate...we are as young and happy and shiny as we will ever be. Later of course, the birthday boy lets me know that I had forgotten to sign the card but of course it "was clearly from you". Whatever.