Binita Joshi Shrestha

I have received an invitation from one of my friends for her seventh birthday. At first I felt I was the wrong recipient of the e-mail invitation and returned it to the sender. It came to me again although I still thought that it was misplaced. When I received the same thing for the third time, I hastily deleted it thinking that it was the somebody propagating the virus through e-mails. How could a seven or eight-year-old be my friend? My son is already two, I told myself.

I thought that the best way to get rid of the mail, despite the tempting venue, was to delete it and block the sender. I deleted the mail and switched my account to exclusive reception mode. Mails from those whose contact addresses were saved in my account would henceforth be shown in the inbox. Other mails would be relegated to the junk mail folder.

This was definitely not by any means a cordial expression of gratitude to the sender. She must have felt embarrassed due to my treatment, which I realise now, but could not help then. I was instead getting irritated at someone who I do not remember sending me a mail more than once. But it was good that she finally caught me over the phone.

“How could you forget me? You were invited in my birthday party four years ago and I had sent you the same invitation without changing anything except the date, time and venue.” I could recognise her voice instantly. She was one of those friends who has been regularly inviting me to parties. I apologised wholeheartedly. She had vanished for four long years. Therefore, I asked her why was she organising a special birthday in four years. I thought it was something to do with her faith.

“It comes only once in four years...I don’t have any choice,” she said. Then I realised she might have been following our lengthy traditional lunar calendars, matching every minute details... ah! in this age too.

No sooner had I asked, “Do you go by the lunar calendar?” Pat came the reply, “It’s the solar.” “I beg a pardon,” I said. “I mean I do not get you.”

“Yeah! I was born on February 29. On a leap year.”

I could only regret that I had not been forthcoming in wishing on her birthdays.

Because she hated celebrating on March 1, she had plans to celebrate her birthday this year, a leap year, with all the pomp and opulence on the right day. All leap years were great occasions for her. For a party animal, birthdays on regular years must really be a damp squib. That would have been an excuse to unwind from gruelling work schedule. Anyway, happy birthday, dear!