I woke up yesterday with a sore throat, runny nose and cough. Made myself a mug of coffee and sat down at my dining table (something I rarely do) scanning the newspaper without my glasses. I could read without much effort but it felt a bit weird so I asked for my glasses to be brought to me. There was something in there about an old woman who had been ill treated and then abandoned by her visually impaired daughter. Would she have treated her mother differently if only she could "see" how old and helpless someone could be at 95? Offers, discounts, sales with Republic Day around the corner. Buy one and get 5 free. Do people really buy that? Of course, they do...

I looked at the date. It was January 22nd, one day before my birthday. I'm still in the same place I was. I wanted to go out of town but I couldn't, I wanted to have a party but then thought maybe I shouldn't. I'm not 5 or 6 or even 10, so how could I force a bunch of people to come over and sing for me when they'd rather be somewhere else... on a Saturday. It's party night. I remember when having your birthday fall on a Sunday was always a bonus. You could party all night long, the previous night. Sleep through most of your birthday, then spend the rest of it being pampered. That's the catch. You can do anything under the sun. Alone. But you can never make yourself feel special. No.

Then it hit me. This was going to be very different from all my other birthdays. I was going to be by myself, all alone, for the very first time. Felt special in it's own little way and also not so bad. After all, it's how I spend most days and nights. So I decided that's exactly what I would do, and not only that I would go and watch a movie by myself at the multiplex nearby. Checked the timings for the movie I'd been planning to watch and there was a show at 10.45 pm. Perfect. Around midnight, I would be in big dark room surrounded by complete strangers, doing something I really love.

Then I took a really long shower and used all the different face, foot and body scrubs that I house in my bathroom but rarely use. I was done by 3 pm, and by then my throat was getting worse and cough becoming persistent. Didn't feel too hungry but I thought I should eat, given the late hour for lunch. Fixed myself a plate of leftovers and settled down on the couch. Now that my DVD player's been fixed, I could watch a movie, something I'd already watched before so that I could see it through a whole new perspective. Debated between Crash, Road to Perdition and Cold Mountain, then changed my mind. So I drew the curtains, stuck in Lost in Translation and waited for Scarlett Johanssen's transparent, panty-covered butt crack to appear on screen. Five or 6 years later and I could still remember the opening credits!

 Around 6 pm, I stepped out for a bit to run some errands. Came back home and played a game of online Scrabble on Facebook with a stranger, and lost! For dinner I decided to order in and got myself a grilled vegetable sandwich. The late night movie at the multiplex was going to be my birthday treat to myself after all. So the less I spent on dinner the better it would be.

After eating I still had some time to kill, so I watched some lame awards show on TV and wondered how many more years would one have to suffer Shahrukh Khan! Then it was 10.20 pm and time for me to leave. Decided to go in the pair of tracks I was already wearing and just changed from a tee into a long-sleeved shirt; my idea of dressing warm!

When I entered the movie hall the movie had already begun and someone was in my seat. The usher asked him to get up but he refused. Then the usher looked at my ticket and told me I was in the wrong hall! This one is Blah Blah Blah, you need to go to screen 4. The thought of watching 3 Deols was scary enough to make me run out of there. Finally screen 4, and my seat, which was empty and waiting for me!

Exactly at midnight, my phone lit up several times and I could only look at the screen and see a dark, rainy night in the city of dreams. Its residents' collective consciousness resonating in the pitter patter precision of the rain; their lives, hopes and dreams all swimming in and out of the spaces of its gossamer thin web. I looked towards my phone but quickly turned towards the screen again. These were stories I have lived through, in bits and pieces, and heard about in parts. These were stories I wished that I could tell. I knew what the messages coming through my phone were about, they would all say the same thing. And I would send the exact same reply. And everything would go back to their hollow spaces in the wall. But I didn't know what tomorrow would bring and sitting there in that big dark hall, looking at my world through the eyes of a stranger I felt happy and sad at the same time. Gibran's words rang out loud in my mind, Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

As I walked back home, I could feel my throat getting more sore and the cold air filling my ears and blocking them slowly. I turned on my computer and searched for the haunting background score from the movie on Youtube. I decided to write. That was 1.5 hours ago. And I had this playing the whole time, in a loop, again and again.

Dhobi Ghat is not the best film I've ever seen. It's not even in my top 20 or 50. But it's a movie I will watch again, and remember.

The day I turned 37.