From Sparklers to Signatures

Today is my birthday, and I suddenly felt like digging into my birthday memories. Looking back, it made me smile at how my birthdays have quietly followed me around all these years. Sometimes ignored, sometimes awkward, and sometimes surprisingly sweet.

As a child, I always dreamed of celebrating my birthday in school. I imagined distributing chocolates to all the staff and feeling very important for one whole day. But life had other plans. My birthday always fell during the summer vacation, which meant I was at our farm. A few kind friends would send greeting cards, and those cards felt like treasures. But they would arrive at the only shop in our village, and I would usually receive them a week or two after my birthday.

Back then, life was wonderfully simple. We did not have electricity, television, or a landline phone, so birthdays passed quietly. There were no calls wishing me. There were no reminders, no notifications, and honestly, during vacation I never really checked the date, day or even the time. Every day felt the same and life moved at its pace.

Not store bought, but soul grown

One memory still makes me laugh and sigh at the same time. During one vacation, I had carefully kept aside two sparkler fireworks to light on my birthday. That was my grand celebration plan. Simple joys, right? So on my birthday morning, I remember waking up and praying that this year would be a great one. Funny how seriously I took it back then. I woke up all excited and asked my mum to bring my sparklers. That is when she casually told me that my birthday had already passed the previous day. I refused to believe her and was convinced she was bluffing. I went and checked the calendar, only to discover that she was right. I had missed my own birthday. I remember feeling sad and a little angry at my mum for not reminding me. Looking back now, it feels funny, but at that time it was a real heartbreak. Childhood tragedy, starring two sparklers and one forgotten date.

Another birthday that stayed with me happened at my mother’s ancestral house. Every year, her church feast fell on the same day as my birthday. Her brother got me a cake and some chocolates. I got to cut a cake, and for a child who rarely celebrated birthdays, that felt like winning a small lottery.

A gift that arrived ahead of time

Until I finished college, most of my birthdays were still spent at the farm. No celebration, no candles, just another ordinary day. Then life moved on, as it always does. When I started working, I celebrated a few birthdays with my roommates. But that was also a phase where I did not want to celebrate at all. I just wanted to be left alone. I even hid my birthday from Facebook and other social media platforms, as if my birthday and I had quietly agreed to keep a low profile.And yet, every year, I would still call home and remind my parents that it was my birthday and ask them to wish me. Some habits never change.

No hints, straight request

Then came the Corona days. We were all at home, and strangely, that was when I finally felt like celebrating. One particular year, I bought a cake for myself. I placed it on the table and sang Happy Birthday to myself. My mother and brother were in the same room, busy with their own things, and there I was, happily cutting my own cake. It sounds a little funny now, and honestly, it was. But it was also a quiet moment of choosing joy for myself.

Today again, being my birthday, I had a fair idea of how the day would turn out. I was prepared for it, had accepted it, and was perfectly content with it. A couple of friends wished me. I even messaged a few friends myself, told them it was my birthday, and confidently demanded wishes. Only from the ones with whom I can truly be myself.

No shame in asking for what you deserve

And today, on my birthday, when I decided to choose joy for myself, something unexpected happened.

I told my mother very confidently that I was going to celebrate my birthday and step out to get a cake for myself. I was fully prepared for another quiet celebration. But to my surprise, Peter and Cynthia arrived at my door with their son, smiling like they had just completed a secret mission. Cynthia brought homemade food, knowing very well how much I love her cooking. They came with gifts, warmth, and laughter, and reminded me that sometimes people show up for you in the most beautiful and unexpected ways. Honestly, that feels like an upgrade.

Because friends know best

Some people grew up with balloons, grand birthday parties, and surprise celebrations. Some had dramatic countdowns and flashy posts on social media. But I grew up with farms, greeting cards, and two sparklers that never got their big moment. Life has a sense of humor, though. Now birthdays still arrive quietly, but they bring better gifts, like people who show up with food and surprises. And this year, on my b’day, I even got to sign on a property deed as a witness. Clearly, adulthood has officially arrived when your birthday celebration includes legal documents.

To Sr. Rosline, with Love – In God’s Time, we Spoke Again

During my college years in Coimbatore, I stayed in a private hostel tucked away near campus. It was not just students from my college but young women from various colleges across the city who shared that space, creating a vibrant mix of backgrounds, dreams, and stories. That is where I met Sr. Rosline.

Sr. Rosline — A nun with a heart full of mischief, kindness, and memories that still make me smile.

She was doing her postgraduation at a different college, and we connected instantly. Perhaps it was our shared roots. She hailed from Idukki, and that simple geographical bond became the foundation for our friendship. We discovered we had so much in common, especially when it came to food. Our taste buds seemed to speak the same language, and we would often laugh about how our friendship could easily revolve around a plate of rice and a good curry.


Since she was a nun, she had a single room to herself. Naturally, that became our space. I was always in her room, chatting, sharing stories, and watching old Malayalam films on her Discman. We would recite dialogues, laugh till our stomachs hurt, and forget the world outside. Every time she returned from a vacation to her convent in Kerala, she would bring back a container of Chakkakuru Manga curry. We would devour it with rice, savoring not just the flavor but the joy of home it brought with it.

Hostel walls, shared stories, and friendships that stood the test of time.

She had a sharp wit and an easy charm. My father adored her when she visited my village home. She was smart, funny, and always stood up for me. I remember when my first mobile, a Nokia 1100, started swelling due to a battery issue. She was the one who called my father and convinced him to get me a Sony phone. That was just who she was !! supportive, bold, and always looking out for those she cared about. I still smile when I think of the little things we used to do during the weekends. I used to paint transparent nail polish on her fingers, and she’d come running to me later, half-laughing and half-scolding, saying her college mates had noticed. We both knew it was all in good fun and it became one of our many inside jokes.

One of my favorite memories is of us sneaking off to pluck mangoes from the nearby convent trees. I always tagged along without a second thought, convinced that if she got caught, nothing would happen, after all, she was a nun. We were each other’s safe space during our Coimbatore days. We traveled together, roamed the city in search of every Kerala hotel that promised a homely meal, and spent countless evenings talking about everything under the sun – especially food and old Malayalam movies. It was a bond built on simplicity and shared comfort.

We believed every mango tree was planted for us to conquer. Mango missions were always led by her with me as the willing sidekick.

One Christmas, our hostel had the usual secret Santa game. Since she was a nun, the warden asked her to begin the event by revealing her Chris Child. She stood up in front of everyone and said, “My Chris Child has the most complete smile in the world.” I knew in that moment it was me. She had always said that I had a complete smile, one that lit up a room. She told me many times that I had been an important part of her life in Coimbatore. What she may never fully know is how much she meant to me too.

After our college days ended, life quietly moved us along different paths. She returned to Idukki to continue her spiritual journey, and I moved to Chennai to begin working. We did not have WhatsApp or easy ways to stay in touch back then, and she did not have a mobile phone of her own. And just like that, the daily conversations faded but not the memories. Not a year has passed without her crossing my mind whenever I think of my Coimbatore days. Once, I even called her provincial house hoping to reconnect. The first time, I was told she was in Africa. The second time, they said she had gone for a 40 day prayer retreat. I kept hoping.

Sr. Anusha – Her call was he beginning of a reunion I had long wished for.

Recently, on June 1st, Sunday, I received a call from Sr. Anusha, another nun who had briefly shared a room with Sr. Rosline during her internship in Coimbatore. We had stayed in touch through email, and I had shared my number with her. That call felt like a journey back in time. We spoke about those beautiful days, the laughter we shared, and the people who had touched our lives in unforgettable ways. Then, with gentle words, she told me that Sr. Rosline had met with an accident and was now bedridden. I was taken aback. It was hard to imagine someone as full of life and energy as her in such a state. Ever since that call, I could not stop thinking about her and wanted to find out where she was and how she was doing.

Who knew this simple photo would travel through hearts and hands to bring two old friends together again? This is the pic I shared with Fr. Wilson

And just yesterday, I reached out to Fr. Wilson, my friend and former vicar from Chennai. and told him how much I wished to find Sr. Rosline. It wasn’t the first time I had spoken to him about her over the years, I must have told him at least thrice how much I wanted to reconnect. I shared everything I remembered (her congregation, the province she belonged to, and even a cherished photograph of the two of us). This time, I told him it truly mattered to me.

Sometimes, God answers through people. Fr. Wilson was that answer for me.

Long story short, thanks to his kind efforts and connections, he was able to find her contact number. This evening, I finally dialed that number,with hope, a little nervousness, and a heart full of memories. And there she was. We spoke for a while. Yes, she confirmed she had met with an accident while in Africa and had been bedridden for some time. But now, with strength and grace, she is getting back on her feet. She is currently serving as the principal of a school in Idukki district.

We spoke about all the memories I had poured into this blog. Our hostel days, mango stealing adventures, Malayalam movie marathons, and the Chakkakuru Manga curry. She laughed, paused, and told me she was truly happy to hear my voice. She said it felt like a little miracle, like God had gently nudged the universe to bring us back into each other’s lives. And maybe He did. Some friendships, no matter how many years pass or how far the roads stretch, always find their way back. I believe ours just did.

Not all angels have wings, some wear a habit, share your rice and curry, and make you feel like home.

If there is someone whose name still lives quietly in a corner of your heart, do not hesitate. Reach out. Sometimes, the universe listens. And sometimes, it responds with a quiet miracle.

Have you ever reconnected with someone after years of silence?
Is there someone from your past who still lives in a quiet corner of your heart?
Do you have memories tied to a place, a plate of food, or a small act of kindness?
Have you ever felt the universe bring someone back into your life just when you needed it most?
If you had the chance to say one thing to an old friend today, who would it be, and what would you say?