Happy birthday to the patron saint, benefactor and conspirator of this blog.
Happy birthday to the person who's a million miles away and whose presence is a few micrometres far.
Happy birthday to this boy who's my girl who's my kid who's my spoilt little brat brother and motherhen older sister rolled into one infuriatingly essential mix. Like Ayurvedic kashayams. Like Bio Wine. Good for health, president-award winning (scholarship winning in this case) but makes you nauseous, high, giddy yet convinced that you've been nutrient-injected at the same time.
Happy birthday to the prince whom the world is in love with, whose mind the world is curious to swipe the thoughts of and whose locked diary I am. (YES! Locked!)
Happy birthday to the best dressed, most groomed man I personally know. (I haven't met Shahid/Shah Rukh/Ranbir yet. And yes, I must confess, to the satisfaction of Drama Queen A and to the glee of His Highness, you do bear a slight resemblance to all three. Grrrr.)
Happy birthday to the cheriest, localest, shadiest character I am most my street self with. My personal clown and accomplice (especially in spying on fellow clowns. Cough, cough: Aeroplane)
Happy birthday to the person whose made me cry and made me laugh, made me happy and loved and hated and appreciated and venerated and never, ever, ever bored.
Happy birthday to the the friend in beads, the friend who heeds, the friend for whom I'm greed(y), the friend who I beat, the friend who used to eat, the friend in need, a friend truly truly indeed.
Happy birthday to you, K, always and forever.
"We always have today"