birthdays

a few weeks back i attended a seventieth. of a friend who's been the quintessential bohemian. from a gancho in the patagonian desert to a cowboy in australia, and a gypsy in southern spain with nothing much worldly other than a flamenco guitar. stuff people would make a film out of. and yet, sadly or otherwise, our lives are not quite films. and so here we were in his seventieth, and his oldest brother stands up to read a speech emailed by the youngest of the three, who unfortunately couldn't be there for the sunday lunch.

and he talked of ships in stormy seas that a had painted as a kid. perhaps an indication of his life's journey: of a search that never quite finished, of a closure that never quite came. like the short story, like the milonga that you keep dancing in your head long after the music has stopped.

this evening was a fortieth of a friend who is dark humour personified. with his brothers, friends,a son from a previous association, and an ex who came the closest to marrying him. there was a strange cloud all around. happy, but almost surreally so.  from the outside it would appear a total antithesis of the central tenet of the south asian ethos, the family: with the main units that would appear rather dysfunctional in this case. but in a strange way, it wasn't all cold. i guess maturity is all about accepting malfunction, smiling through it, and raising a toast to it occassionally. all good, really, till the party is over. hugs are done, kisses on the cheeks, and it's time to walk back home alone. at forty, i would not want to be there.

we are hardwired to be social beings. and in spite of all the individual-mongering of the predominantly western 'liberal' cultures, there is no point to celebrating the individual if all that remains with him at the end of his fortieth birthday party is a walk back home on his own.