The Other Side
As I switched the computer on for him, he stared at the screen for a while and almost announced in a solemn and detached voice, “Today is my badday (birthday).” I was like… ‘what?’ And before I could ask for any explanation, he informed me, “I just saw the date on the clock here,” pointing on the date on the screen. I asked, “You mean, you didn’t remember it’s your birthday?”
He offered me his trademark smile, “Arre bhaiya, there’s no one at home na. So forgot.” His entire family has recently gone to the village
for summer vacations. For the first time he was living on his own, without
family. Being the youngest in the family, he was the most pampered one.
So this sixteen year old boy forgot his birthday because
there was no one to wish him. Really? Well, I smiled, shook his hand and wished
him. I knew that my parents never really remembered or celebrated their
birthdays. But somehow I was not able to believe that someone in this generation
could also forget his birthday. Well, was it a big deal? Yes and no.
I, then, ran to my team and informed my colleagues that it’s
his birthday. I shared my amazement with this kid not remembering it as well. We
planned a quick cake ceremony. We went out, and since we couldn’t really find a
cake shop close by, we got some sweets arranged in a way that it looked like a
cake. He was then asked to cut the ‘cake’ and we all sang Happy Birthday for
him. We then called his mom in the village for him to speak to her.
For the first time in the last ten months that I know him, I
saw him crying. Of course, not in the most open way. Of course he is a boy. But
then, he is just a boy! And he cried. My colleague hugged him and we all joked
about him crying. He, the naughtiest, bravest and most courageous kid in my
class, was sobbing.
When we had our own little private moment, I asked him, “why
did you cry, kid?” He didn’t respond. Just smiled. I waited and then added, “missing
ammi?” He smiled and nodded in
affirmation.
I wonder how we, at times, only engage with a single story of
a person. For me, he was this naughty and carefree kid forever. And he had just
cried. Why can he not, of course? It’s weird. Not that he had cried. But that,
it had surprised me, even though only for a moment. Today I met with the little
kid hiding inside this violently outspoken teenager. As he shared his birthday stories, I realized, as Chimamanda Adichie says,
there’s never a single story of a person. We need to engage with multiple
stories that present several other sides of a person to honour him or her in totality. This was my chance to engage with his other stories.
P.S. - And I still can’t forget his formal, impassive declaration, “Today
is my badday.”
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