Birthday, that was not on his Birth Day

 The jet-black skies poured heavily. Big, fat raindrops break into millions of droplets as they hit hard surfaces. A teardrop, too, lost its way as it glided down her anxious cheeks. It was 11 pm and the house was glowing in the warm light of his birthday candles. The flickering flames created dancing shadows on the ribbon-adorned walls. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon, and banana cake, joyously meandered through the kitchen. The icing had to be done. But she just didn't feel like moving. A heavy stone hung from her heart. It pulled her down by every minute as the clock was nearing 12. 

What if the rains drown me, she wondered. What if like those big, fat drops my dreams, too, are shattered, she continued to fight her decision to write the letter. The ruled paper stared back at her. In the past hour, she had picked the pen innumerable times, only to lay it down on the paper without scribbling a word. A sudden gust of wind doused a few of the flickering candles. She rushed to close the careless, open window. 

I can't let someone else spill this to my son, she told herself. I will do it, she finally convinced herself. Her hands shivered as she began to address.

Dear Arth,

         You must be wondering what makes your Mamma write this letter to you when we stay under the same roof and eat together at the same table. I know your mischievous smile is cracking dimples on your chubby cheeks and your naughty mind is contemplating putting this down. But I plead, don't. 

Arth, I want to tell you a story. No,  don't stomp your feet or kick the chair. I know you are extremely excited to blow out the candles and cut the cake but before that Mamma wants to desperately tell you this story. I miss your growing days when storytelling happened at the drop of a hat. Trains delayed- tell a story. Karele ki sabji- tell a bigger story. Midnight exam preparation- a quick-fix story. Our life together has been an adventurous story, isn't it? Just you and me. Me and you.

So, this is a story for a woman like your Mamma. Let's call her Anamika. Anamika and Sujoy were college sweethearts. Their love story blossomed into marriage. They had all they wanted. Three years into marriage, they now wished to have a cradle to sing lullabies to. They wished to see a singing, a dancing replica of themselves. But things didn't seem to work in their favor. The laughter in their marriage died down. Frowns crept up and stoic silences followed. Each eyed the other as the culprit of snatching away the marital happiness. Blame games stormed the house.

Anamika chose to walk away. Sujoy didn't stop her. She walked tirelessly through the trials of life. She wasn't abandoned. She had chosen to step aside. Yet, some offered her sympathy while some others cold stares. Life continued to be a never-ending dark alley.

Once after having walked for months together, a messiah held a lantern, at the far end of the alley. She ran towards it, her speed, frightening light. Her doomed spirit absorbs the light. At last,  she held the lantern in her trembling hands, they found strength. Then, onwards this light became her guiding light, the meaning of her life.

Arth, you are 15 today. Yet, I don't know whether this has to be your rightful birthday. This is the day Anamika found the lantern. This is the day I found you. I don't know whether you were born on this day but I chose to celebrate this as your birthday because a mother was born. A mother who was told she could never be a mother. But did they even know the 'Arth' of what it is to be a mother? Confusion clouds my mind. Yet, there is no doubt about you being mine. Me being yours.

You, my son, are not my flesh and blood. But you my son, are my hope and harbinger of happiness. You are the true meaning of my life. 

Hmm... What an unusual story Mamma has told you today! Wipe those pearly beads of perspiration crowding your furrowed forehead. Blow those hair flicks in the air to announce you're confident move. Will you? Will you move towards the cake, cut a slice, and smear it on your Mamma? Will we be able to celebrate this day, year after year and decade after decade? Will we be WE again?

Yours...

Fill in what you still wish to call me.

She folded the paper and neatly placed it near the cake. It was 11:55 pm and Arth's excited shouts would soon fill in the vacuum. The rain outside was reduced to a drizzle. Tiny droplets were dissolving in muddy puddles. She left the room for Arth to discover the truth.

"Why was there no icing on my cake?" Arth barged into her room. How and when she had fallen asleep was a mystery to her. The anxiety of separation had drugged her to sleep. Arth had woken her to reality. He was upset and he was justified to be so. 

"Arth, Mamma for.." He gave her a sharp look as she called herself Mamma. She fumbled with her words before making herself clear. No words were at her mercy today. She wept silently, turning away from Arth. She could not face him. Last night's rains, had felt a cold gloom outside. The storms had created mayhem. Sunshine was the last hope.

"You are still my Mamma." 

The warmth of Arth's words cushioned her. The storms had also planted new seeds.