There’s something about turning 29 that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff—not in fear, but in awe. You look back at the winding path behind you, marvel at the view, and brace yourself for the leap into a new decade. October 15th marked that moment for me. And what a moment it was.

It’s strange how time plays its tricks. I still remember the wide-eyed 19-year-old who stepped into medical school, armed with ambition and a backpack full of dreams. Fast forward ten years, and here I am—a qualified doctor, engaged to a woman who makes my heart feel like it’s finally found its rhythm, and staring down the barrel of thirty with a smile that’s more seasoned than scared.

Birthdays have always been sacred in my little universe. Not just for the cake or the pampering (though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t revel in both), but for the rituals, the people, and the stories that get woven into the day. This year, the universe conspired to make it unforgettable.

For starters, my father—who lives abroad and whose presence is usually limited to video calls and WhatsApp emojis—was home. That alone felt like a gift wrapped in nostalgia. My mother, the culinary magician she is, orchestrated a lunch that could’ve made Tagore write poetry. The centerpiece? Her legendary Chaler Payesh—a rice pudding that, in our Bengali household, is less dessert and more emotion.

If you’ve never tasted Payesh made by a mother who measures love in ladles of milk and sugar, you haven’t truly lived. It’s the kind of dish that carries the weight of every birthday, every puja, every moment of joy from my childhood. This year, it tasted like home, like memory, like everything good in the world.

And as if the day needed more magic, it coincided with Vijayadashami—a festival that celebrates the triumph of good over evil. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, surrounded by love, stepping into a new chapter, and feeling like I’d conquered a few demons of my own over the years.

Despite my hospital duties (because neurology doesn’t pause for birthdays), I managed to sneak home for a late lunch. The table groaned under the weight of Pulau, Aloo Jhuribhaja, Shukto, Fish Curry, and Prawn Malai Curry. My parents, ever the traditionalists, insisted I eat the Payesh first—because some rituals are too sacred to skip.

The evening unfolded like a well-scripted play. Dr. Manish, my friend and colleague, dropped by, and we cut a cake sent by my cousin Guttu from Prayagraj. Another cake arrived from Piu—my childhood friend and honorary elder sister. Her gesture was a warm reminder of the neighbourhood we grew up in, where friendships were forged over shared secrets and borrowed books.

Dinner was a grand affair at The Oriental Kitchen in BNR Chanakya Hotel, Ranchi’s culinary crown jewel. My father had planned it meticulously, inviting Manish and Piu’s parents. Their blessings, a thoughtful T-shirt, and the second cake made the evening feel like a scene from a Bengali family drama—minus the melodrama, plus the laughter.

We feasted on Cream of Mushroom Soup, Cheese Rolls, Gulaothi Kababs, Dal Tadka, Gosht Rogan Josh, and Laccha Paratha. The cake, of course, made a triumphant encore as dessert. And just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, my father uncorked a bottle of Glenfiddich—gifted by Aranjit Uncle to mark my engagement. We raised a toast to love, to life, and to the kind of birthdays that deserve their own chapter in a memoir.

We wrapped up the evening with my dad opening a bottle of single malt scotch whiskey, a Glenfiddich gifted by his friend Aranjit Uncle during a recent visit to bless me on my engagement. It was a perfect conclusion to an incredible day.

The celebrations spilled into the next day at the Neuroscience department of Bhagwan Mahavir Medica Superspecialty Hospital. My colleagues and seniors surprised me with yet another cake. In that moment, surrounded by people who’ve seen me at my most exhausted and most elated, I felt deeply privileged.

Looking back, my 29th birthday wasn’t just a celebration—it was a tapestry of moments stitched together by love, tradition, and the quiet joy of being seen. It reminded me that while life may be a whirlwind, it’s the pauses—the Payesh before lunch, the unexpected cakes, the shared laughter—that make it beautiful.

So here’s to 29. To the decade that was. To the one that’s coming. And to the people who make the journey worth writing about.