The first Sunday of February
The shortest month of the year commences, and brings with it much good cheer. Sadly, this month is a bit of a pipsqueak, surrounded on either side by the mighty edifices of January and March. Still, February shuffles along, putting a brave face on it, and waiting patiently for that all important leap year that adds one more day to its total. It’s like the perpetual younger brother, looking on as his elders do all the cool things. Every year, they tell him “next year”. And cruelly, every four years, they give him hope. “Perhaps, just perhaps, this year I’ll have thirty days”, he wishes with his eyes screwed tightly shut, and his hands clenched. But no, year after year it’s the same old story. “Back of the line for you, kiddo”.
Even the weather gets confused. Summer is knocking on the door, but winter usually fights a bitter rearguard action, refusing to submit to the almighty sun god. The upshot is, us poor mortals are either freezing or melting. The common and garden variety cold has a rocking time though, since this is the month when he gets to travel the world, make friends and influence people. Heck, poor fellow, a few fallow months follow, let him have some fun as well, eh?
This month has many milestones. Starting off with my uncle’s birthday on the first, followed in quick succession by Manu, Mrs. Ritu Wadhera, and Ranbir Mamosa. A week passes, and it’s Choti’s birthday. Another week, and it’s Dod’s. It’s like an epidemic of birthdays. The storks must have gone on strike in March, and absolutely, positively, refused to fly another round.
I think I’m hungry. I will now go and make myself tea and toast. And I might even have some donuts! Yummy donuts, yum!