Page 6 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

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When water was served in glasses, my friends hesitated. They preferred bottled water. The
waiter’s English was limited. When we asked about the water quality, he assured us repeatedly,
“Government water—very good.” He said it several times with conviction.

My friends remained unconvinced and ordered bottled water. I looked carefully at the water in my
glass. It seemed clear enough to me. I decided to drink the local tap water. The food was delicious,
flavourful, and surprisingly inexpensive.

After dinner, we took a three-wheeler back to the hotel, arriving around 9 p.m. We were to leave
the next day, each travelling separately. Though Kathmandu is small, meeting again soon would
not be certain. So we decided to gather in my room for one last conversation.

And that was when we found the cake.

We cut it into three equal pieces. We shared the cake and finished the wine, laughing gently at the
unexpected celebration. Later, there was a knock at the door. A steward stood there. We thanked
him sincerely for arranging such a thoughtful present.

Yet the question remained in my mind: how did they know?

Later, I guessed the answer. At check-in, the hotel had taken a copy of my passport. They must
have seen my date of birth while completing the formalities and noticed that my birthday fell
during my stay. That seemed the most logical explanation.

I had never imagined that I would celebrate my birthday in such an expensive hotel—organised
not by family or close friends, but by strangers.

In truth, birthday celebrations were never part of my upbringing. In my childhood, the practice
hardly existed in our community. I remember my mother acknowledging my birthday only once or
twice, asking me to give alms to a Brahmin priest. Beyond that, there were no cakes, no candles,
no gatherings. Even today, I remain somewhat ambivalent about such celebrations. My wife and
daughters know this; they believe I do not particularly care whether the day is marked or not. And
perhaps they are right.

Yet as I sat in the taxi the next morning, travelling to the airport to return to Nepal, I felt quietly
happy. There was something touching about celebrating one’s forgotten birthday in a foreign land,
in a luxurious hotel, with companions who had not known—and hosts who had noticed.

It was a small gesture.

But it remains, in my memory, a special birthday celebration.