It was late in the night on my seventh birthday when the most intriguing thought of my life crossed my mind. Mom had switched off the lights long back and I was in my bed. Day-long celebrations of my birthday and the euphoria of it all had left me quite tired by the end of the day.
Yet, I was awake. My eyes were focused on the fluorescent minute and hour hands of the clock on the dark wall in front of me. Technically, in the next fifteen minutes my birthday would be over. So I was revisiting the series of events of that special day.
It had been a perfect birthday. In the morning, Dad had said special prayers on my behalf in the gurdwara. At school, I was the only student who wasn’t in his uniform but in his new birthday clothes.
I was the one for whom the entire class sang Happy birthday to you, and, in return, I had distributed chocolates to my classmates and my teachers.
In the evening, for the very first time, I had cut a cake on my birthday. Till then, cake-cutting wasn’t a practice that my family followed. After many requests from me, my parents had agreed to a cake-cutting ceremony. So Mom had borrowed an oven from someone in the neighbourhood and baked the cake for me. It had seven cherries on the top. For my cake-cutting ceremony, I had made sure that I invited only those friends of mine who would bring gifts for me. For dinner, Mom had made my favourite rajma chaawal. It was a beautiful day and I wished for it to never end. And yet here it was, slipping out of my fingers …
As soon as both the hands of the clock hit twelve, I closed my eyes with the pleasant feeling that it had been seven years since my birth.
… seven years!
… since I was born!
… SEVEN years … like … one … two … three … four … five … six … SEVEN years!
… since I was born!
But how the hell was I born? And my eyes flashed open.
It occurred to me suddenly. Yes! But how the hell had I been born? I thought to myself.
Seven years had passed and this thought had never struck my mind, ever! All of a sudden, in the darkness of that night, the fact that I didn’t know how I had arrived on this planet started bothering me. Never before had my own existence in this world been as thrilling for me as it became on that very night.
I spent the next few minutes tackling my anxiety. I pacified myself by thinking that there was nothing to worry about, and that I would soon find out how I was born. However, sleep had run miles away from me. The Einstein in me had raised his head, and I needed this complex mystery of How I Had Evolved to be unveiled.
I had some vague thoughts and theories of my own.
Maybe Mom had planted a seed in our garden and I came out of the plant!
Maybe I had been dropped from the sky during the rainy season.
If not that, then maybe …
These thoughts were all products of my wondering mind in the middle of the night, but none of them appeared convincing enough to me. I kept tossing and turning in bed, turning over the thoughts again and again.
Almost an hour later, too restless to stay in bed, I sat up. I looked at my mother, who was sleeping along with Tinku on the bed next to mine. I then looked at Tinku and wondered—How had I missed noticing when Tinku was born? He arrived two years after me! I spent the next few minutes regretting how I had missed my glorious chance to solve this puzzle. I juggled between wanting to wake Mom up to ask her my question, and resisting myself and going back to sleep.
I finally chose not to wake her up, so I went back to my bed.
But the excitement didn’t let me sleep. Five minutes later, I got up from the bed again. I looked at Mom, again. Barefoot and in my pajamas and vest, I walked towards Mom. When I reached her side of the bed, I stood close to her face.
She was in deep sleep. I was in deep anxiety.
‘Mommy!’ I whispered.
Nothing happened.
‘MOMMY!’ I whispered louder.
‘Hmm …’ Mom murmured in her sleep.
I was too scared to wake her up.
‘M-o-m-m-y.’ I didn’t whisper, but called her aloud this time.
And she woke up with a start. ‘H-a-a-n!’
She was scared. She looked at me and then at the clock, and realized that she had been asleep and I had just woken her up.
Worried, she got up and asked, ‘Ki hogaya, beta?’ [What happened, baby?]
All of a sudden, I struggled to frame my question. I rubbed my right foot against my left leg.
‘Ki hogaya, haan?’ she asked again, trying to ensure that I was all right.
This time, I rubbed my nose and eyes with my fingers. For a while, I even forgot why I had woken her up.
She asked if I wanted to go to the bathroom. I shook my head from left to right to indicate the negative.
‘Phir?’ She seemed to be getting impatient. My brother, in his sleep, shifted from the right to the left.
‘Mommy!’ I managed to utter.
‘Haan, bol?’ [Yes, ask?]
‘Mommy, mein kis tarah peda hoya si?’ I blurted out my question—How was I born?
I stared intently at her face but could not read her facial expressions.
There was a smile on her lips.
There was confusion in between the lines of her forehead.
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