HYDERABAD: In the 24-hour drama of a birthday, the first hour is the most important. If you’re the first to wish at 12:01, you’re guaranteed a spot in the birthday person’s will. Show up for a surprise at 12, and you’re immediately inducted into the inner circle. It doesn’t matter if you slept with their girlfriend, cheated them in business, or blew their money on crypto. All you need is a cake in hand at midnight, and suddenly, every time they want to press charges, they’ll get misty-eyed remembering you smearing frosting on their face.
Now, in an ideal world, these hazardous activities would be confined to home or office spaces. But thanks to zero nightlife and an epidemic of sleep deprivation, if you take a midnight drive around Tank Bund, a random park, or even the ORR, you’re bound to find people cutting cakes.
Here’s how these events typically unfold: First, bike parks awkwardly, the centrestand engaged like it’s gearing up for a wedding. A cake is delicately placed on the seat, and a candle—which has evolved to the level of a mini firecracker—is lit. So now, you’re not just high on sugar but possibly gunpowder too. Is this what they mean when they sing “May you have many more?” A wish for more birthdays or more fire hazards?
Then begins the most out-of-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday to You” that’s ever assaulted human ears. The cake is fed first to the real hero of the night: the person who bought the cake. Let’s face it, without them, this whole street-side fiesta would have been a dry, cakeless affair.
The worst line ever spoken around cake has to be “Let them eat cake”, credited to a certain French queen. But a close second is “Put it on their face!” What started as a celebration now looks like the aftermath of a food fight no one signed up for.
Once this whirlwind of sugar and regret is over in about two minutes, they start targeting random passersby, offering them cake that now resembles a pile of mud, in exchange for a birthday wish. I’m sure that heartfelt wish from a complete stranger made the birthday “special”.
I can’t for the life of me understand the thrill of this activity. I mean, ten years from now, when you’re looking back on your life, will you seriously get nostalgic about that birthday bash at Tank Bund? You know, the one where the lake was stinking, cops were chasing you, and pedestrians were openly judging your life choices. “Ah yes, the summer I turned 29—those were the days!”
At least at home, if you throw cake around like a wild monkey, your mom will yell at you, and the society chairman might shame you. But when you do this on Tank Bund, you’re not alone. You’re part of a cake-smearing community. And the best part? No cleanup required! You can walk away, leaving the mess for someone else to wonder if maybe a unicorn had an upset stomach.
(The writer’s views are his own)