Yes — today is my birthday.
And as usual, there are hundreds of messages flooding across my WhatsApp groups. Phone calls from employees, from parents, from siblings. In-person wishes at home — hugs and kisses from my spouse and kids, the kind that make the whole morning feel warm before it has even properly started.
There is a particular kind of beautiful chaos that comes with birthdays. Everyone means well. Every message carries something genuine. I am grateful for all of it.
But of all this commotion, one message stops me.
A simple note. No fanfare. No voice note, no gif, no cake emoji parade.
"Happy birthday Ganesh.. Hope you are having a great day and wish you a wonderful year ahead."
From my dear friend Siva Prahas.
I got the exact same birthday wish from him on 22 May 2025. And the year before that. And the year before that.
That is what stopped me. Not the message itself — but the realisation of who it came from, and what it represents.
I have known Siva since Class 6. 1992, to be precise.
We went to different classes from Class 10. Different colleges after that. Different careers. Different cities. Eventually, different countries.
Life pulled us in completely separate directions — the way it does with most school friends once the years start moving fast.
But every single year, without fail, Siva sends me a birthday message. Promptly. On the day. Not a day late. Not a forwarded group message. A personal note — simple, warm, meant for me.
Thirty-three years of friendship. Thirty-three birthdays. Not one missed.
We don't speak every week. We don't have long calls or regular check-ins. Our conversations are occasional — sometimes months apart, mostly customary. The kind of friendship that exists quietly in the background of a busy life.
And yet, he never forgets.
I have spent time genuinely wondering what he is made of. Because this is not easy. Life is noisy. Everyone is busy. Remembering to wish someone — and actually doing it, on time, every year, across decades — takes something that most of us simply do not have enough of. Intention. Follow-through. The kind of quiet consistency that does not ask for anything in return.
Siva has it. In abundance.
Now here is the part I am not proud of.
His birthday is the 14th of February.
Valentine's Day. The one day of the year that is impossible to forget. The universe practically hands you the reminder. And last year — I missed it.
No excuse covers this. I am not going to offer one.
He wished me on mine. I missed his. That sits with me.
Some people give consistently for decades and never once keep score. Siva is one of them.
This post is for him. Publicly, on the record.
Siva — I have not always said this clearly enough, but I value your friendship more than these occasional conversations suggest. You are one of those rare people who gives without calculation. Who remembers without being reminded. Who shows up — quietly, reliably — across thirty-three years of life pulling us in different directions.
That is not nothing. That is everything.
I will not miss February 14th again.
கெட்டாலும் மேன்மக்கள் மேன்மக்களே.
A conch shell, even when burnt, still yields white. Noble people, even when circumstance strips everything away, remain noble.
Siva is that kind of person. His character does not depend on conditions. It just is.
What this might mean for you
Think about the people in your life who show up quietly and consistently — the ones who remember, who reach out, who give without keeping score. They are rare. And most of us, myself included, do not thank them nearly enough.
Who is your Siva Prahas? And when did you last tell them what they mean to you — not in passing, but properly?
This might be a good day to do that.