Bonds beyond Position

 Priyabrat Biswal

LAST week, I turned 57.

Like every year, my phone rang incessantly. WhatsApp overflowed with greetings. Many friends, acquaintances and professional contacts called to wish me. A few even took the trouble to visit my home.

I thanked each one of them with a smile.

But this birthday was different. It wasn't about the greetings I received; it was about the truths they quietly revealed.

Birthdays have never been a big event in my life. I was born and raised in a conservative rural family where birthdays were neither celebrated nor even discussed. For me, therefore, a birthday has never been about cakes, candles or celebrations. It has always been just another day.

Yet, this year it became a day of introspection.

For more than two decades, journalism defined my identity. I had the privilege of working in print media and eventually served as Deputy Resident Editor. Naturally, the position brought visibility, influence and a wide circle of acquaintances. Public relations professionals, corporate executives, politicians and bureaucrats knew me. Many greeted me warmly, appreciated my work and maintained cordial relations.

I was never naïve enough to believe that every smile reflected affection or every greeting carried sincerity. I knew that for many, the relationship was with the chair I occupied, not with the person sitting on it. As long as I had the authority to decide what deserved space in the newspaper, I mattered.

I understood the difference then. This birthday simply confirmed it.

However, amid all these experiences stood one man who restored my faith in human relationships.

He occupies a very senior position in one of the country's most respected corporate houses. By every conventional yardstick of power, status and influence, he stands far above where I am today. Yet, never once has he allowed professional hierarchy to define our relationship.

From the day we came to know each other, he never treated me merely as a journalist. He accepted me as an elder brother, and over the years that bond has only grown stronger. There has never been an occasion when he failed to stand beside me in moments of joy or concern. His respect has never fluctuated with my professional standing. If anything, it has deepened with time.

On my birthday, he arrived at my home early in the morning, exactly as he has done year after year. But this visit was different.

He came carrying thoughtful gifts, boxes of sweets and almost every delicacy that he knew I loved. Every item reflected not wealth but attention; not obligation but affection. It was his way of saying, without uttering a single word, "You are important to me — not because of what you can do for me, but because of who you are."

That gesture moved me more than I can express.

The most touching part was that he knew very well that I no longer held a position from which I could influence news coverage for him or his company. I had already left mainstream print journalism. Professionally, I had ceased to be of any practical use to him. Yet he came with even greater warmth than before.

That is the difference between a relationship built on convenience and one built on affection. That is the difference between networking and belonging.

His actions reminded me that genuine respect never seeks returns. It neither calculates profit nor measures usefulness. It simply remains constant, quietly growing stronger with the passage of time.

A few others also visited.

Once upon a time, they too would arrive with gifts they knew I genuinely liked. They remembered my preferences, my interests and the little things that brought me joy.

This year, the gifts were merely symbolic. It wasn't their monetary value that caught my attention. It was the change in attitude.

Their smiles remained the same, but the warmth had faded. Their words sounded familiar, but their hearts seemed elsewhere. It felt as though they had come not because they genuinely wished to, but because abruptly ending a long professional association might appear discourteous. After all, as the old saying goes, once a journalist, always a journalist. I still run a news portal, and perhaps some bridges are considered safer when left unburnt.

I wanted to tell them that I had noticed the change. That I could clearly distinguish between affection and formality. But I chose silence.

Some truths are too obvious to require explanation.

Life has taught me that genuine relationships are among the rarest treasures one can possess. They do not depend on your designation, your influence, your wealth or your ability to open doors. They survive promotions, retirements, successes, failures and every changing season of life.

The rest are merely transactions disguised as friendships.

People often remain close as long as you are useful to them. The day your usefulness ends, so does your importance in their lives. Your designation has an expiry date. Your influence has a validity period. Once both expire, many quietly remove you from the shelf of relevance.

It is painful. But it is also liberating. Because once the illusion disappears, you begin to recognise the few people who genuinely deserve a place in your life.

My 57th birthday did not make me feel older. It made me wiser. It reminded me that relationships should never be measured by the number of greetings received, but by the handful of people who continue to stand beside you when you have nothing left to offer except your affection, your values and your humanity.

To my younger brother, whose love and respect have only grown stronger despite my losing the position that once made me professionally valuable, I offer not just my gratitude but my deepest respect. In a world where relationships are increasingly weighed on the scale of utility, he has proved that some bonds are still beyond price.

And that, perhaps, was the finest birthday gift I received.