Steeped in Sage and Onion to the Eyebrows

I went for a run, early in the morning on my birthday. I had been going down every morning for more than a week and I was really happy about it. I met my best friend downstairs. He wished me in a tone plainer than the one he had used to greet 'Good morning'.  He did smile a little, but not more than usual. "Thank you", I replied, as gravely as I could, trying to keep a poker face. He laughed. "You know I’m not a birthday guy.", he said. I knew that. We had discussed that at length. I laughed. "I just don’t get birthdays. People actually get you presents for existing for another year. For existing!", he continued as I realised, that wasn’t entirely wrong! Birthdays are a celebration of existence. Neither a job well done, nor any accomplishment or an achievement. Existence. Just the fact that you made it through another year. I wondered who invented the concept of 'Birthday Celebrations'.

"-and the special treatment.", he finished and turned to me with a satisfied look on his face. He had, according to him, justified why birthdays shouldn’t be a big deal. I had lost him at "For existing!". I stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds during which I figured out what he must have said. "Yeah I know. But it is fun, celebrating with everyone, spending time together and you get to eat cake." I replied. He agreed that it was fun, though he pointed out, again, that it’s not a big deal. 

As we waited for the lift, he asked me about my plans for the day. "I have to go to college, got a couple of important lectures. And I’m pretty sure my friends have planned a surprise.", I told him as we walked into the lift. "And I’ll have dinner with my family. Grandparents are going to come over."

"Cool", he said. "Have fun." After he got off, I remembered calling a very close friend on his birthday. "It’s just another day of your life", he’d said to me, very dramatically. He said exactly the same thing when he came to college to meet me.

I bunked a lecture that day, something I rarely did. We were sitting in the canteen, a couple of classmates and the guy who had said "It’s just another day of your life". "It’s funny you said that right now.", I said to him. "Today morning, I was thinking about the time I had called you on your birthday, when you said the same thing, remember? And I didn’t even know I’d meet you today!". "Oh right! Interesting...", he replied.  We talked some more and ate some cake till it was time for the second important lecture. 

After the lecture, I went to a small cafe with some of my friends. Again, we talked and ate cake. My mum picked me up in the evening and we went home. My grandparents were already there. I dressed up and we all headed out for dinner. Birthday, being the special occasion that it was, we went to a fancy inn. Dad had ordered a cake, which I cut as everyone sang for me. I took calls from friends and relatives while I devoured the starters. The buffet had, for main course, everything from Biryani to Pasta and from Ice-cream to Blueberry Cheesecakes for dessert. I tried a little of almost everything and shared a couple of desserts with mum. I was extremely full. That invariably also meant that I was extremely sleepy. When everyone was almost done, the waiter asked us if we’d like some ice cream. My grandma had some, I didn’t. My mum turned to me, surprised. I could always be counted on for eating ice cream. I don’t remember having said no to ice cream, ever.

"I’m steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows.", I said. "What?", mum asked, not sure if she’d heard me correctly. I didn’t reply. I just smiled. I closed my eyes and I was drawn into a memory.

Fourth grade, English period. 'The Christmas Feast', an extract from 'A Christmas Carol'. "Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows!", our English teacher read. She paused and asked if anyone knew what this phrase meant. I had never heard it before but I decided to take a guess. My hand shot up in the air. "I think it means they were really full.", I said tentatively. I was right. After an amazing dinner, the Cratchits had no space left in their stomachs for anything. Our teacher elaborated on that. That was one of my favourite lessons and one of my favourite sentences, if there was anything such as a favourite sentence that is. I’d never used it though. 

My phone rang. Perhaps it felt that it was time to pull me back into the present. I had received a birthday wish from another close friend. She’d tried to call me but hadn’t been able to connect. I remembered another conversation, one I’d had over the phone with her. We had been assigned an English project in which we had to pick any two authors or poets and do a comparative study of their writing styles. She had called me, eager to tell me that I shared my birthday with the author she had chosen. I already knew the author I shared my birthday with. He was the same author who had written the book I’d quoted from. He was the same author who’d written A Christmas Carol. Charles Dickens - the author whom I shared my birthday with, the author whose phrase perfectly described me on my birthday. Steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows.

I realised how it all connected, seemingly random memories just became a part of a small coincidence. And I had a little epiphany. Everything I felt, every little thing I did, every word I spoke and every word I heard, every word I read mattered. Maybe in ways I’d never find out, but maybe in ways I would. It would count, somewhere, sometime. I decided that’s what I would celebrate on my next birthday. Not just existence. I would celebrate my little epiphany, everything that I’d do for the next year. All the mistakes I’d make and all the things I’d learn, all the little failures and the little victories. I’d make them count and celebrate. 

A year later, steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows once more, I’d look back and remember, fondly, my little epiphany. For someone, somewhere, I’d like to believe that everything I did made a difference.