On Turning 25: Work In Progress.

I turned 25 a little over a week ago. Which is the age for the new midlife crisis, by the way. Funnily enough, I am not very thrilled about it. I might have crossed yet another milestone with the most important people by my side, but the fact that I am turning older is catching up with me. I know 25 is not too old. A writer I know was telling me that turning 30 is far worse. But I am not anticipating the worst yet.

When I was 17, I badly wanted to turn 18. I wanted to belong to the adults club, be eligible to vote and to make my choices. But being my parents' kid, I now realize that making choices and doing things at my accord is still a luxury that I am never receiving. Even at 25.

I thought it was just me, who wanted to do everything, just everything before I turned a certain age. The obsession with remaining young and being able to do myriad things simultaneously isn't something that is mine alone. A lot of us believe that youth is the elixir of our lives. We talk about our college days with a spark in our eyes, nonetheless with a twinge of regret in our voice. "Oh, I wish I did a lot more than what I did when I was in college!" "Everything amazing in my life happened only when I was in my final semester." "I should have fallen in love when I was a teenager." "Life was so easier at 18." These are some of the most common things I hear my friends uttering. Like I already said, mid-life crisis is the new quarter-life crisis. My mother keeps saying that I was a six-year-old child when she was twenty-five and that she had bigger responsibilities in life - like managing a menace of a kid, and taking care of the entire household. (Thank God that our generation has exponentially transformed. We make our lives first before being a part of others lives.) I do not want to dwell on it much, actually, but the previous generations were neither obsessed with remaining young nor were they wary of responsibilities. They, in fact, wanted to grow old pretty fast. Being young, or let me put it this way, being recklessly young is a charming phase of our lives. It is probably one of the fewest phases of life where we are taken care of yet have the freedom to get away with most of our faults claiming that we are still young. Such are the conundrums of life!

The other impediment of growing older is that you begin to count your achievements. On a regular day, I am quite complacent with where I am, though I dream high and push myself a little more each day. But during my birthday, I freak out. I fill my head with inane thoughts. Always wondering if I am enough. If I am going to make it big someday. If I am ever going to see all the places I want to, be more and do more. I guess, after 25, your birthdays are pretty much a reality checker for you.

This birthday has been slightly different. It has not just given me a list of things to accomplish, it has done a lot more. It reminded me that I do not have to rush and fall flat in a hurry. I can walk firmly, enjoying the breeze and the bougainvillea trees around me. That I can stop and stare at the things that catch my gaze, and that I can surely spend my time reading more to grasp the splendour of words and Literature in a more pronounced manner. That I can keep moving forward as long as I am going somewhere. And more importantly, that I am a work in progress and there is a long way to go. Lots of miles to walk. Lots of stories to tell. Lots of lives to live.

Being 25 made me recognize that I'm just a work in progress!

Grow Old With Me!

I walked out of the railway station with the heart on my sleeve; my eyes wandered for you in the crowd. I tucked my stray curls perfectly behind my ears, when I felt your arms around my shoulder and your lips at the nape of my neck.

I missed you. I stuttered and failed to put it in words.

I let out a deep sigh. You looked so debonair even in those black pants and white shirt. 

Long distance was not easy. In fact, it was excruciating. However, looking at you, at that very moment, I have realized it was worth it.

You did not let me go out of your sight. Your car and its familiarity took me on a long trip of nostalgia.

You said I have changed a lot. I said you have changed a great deal too.

But your quirks still remained unaltered. The way you slightly hum a song while driving to your smile that calms my nerves—you haven’t changed! You were still that beautiful man who made my world pleasant.

You still gave me flutters. You still gave me the butterflies.

You were still your charming self.

I looked at the rose you slyly put on my lap when I tried to explain you the details of my journey. You paid attention even when the radio was playing your favourite song.

As the car passed through the post box that was beaten out of shape, I remembered your first letter to me, “I want to grow old with you.”

At 50, we are still growing older. Together!

We crossed a tiny coffee shop later. We called it our secret place, remember? We used to meet here often, in pursuit of exchanging letters, books, and gifts. I still remember all those poems you've written for me. And the letters, the letters are still treasured in a suitcase under our bed.

As we parked the car in our community parking lot, and walked towards our home, we passed the park. I remember how we met here for the first time. You were with your golden retriever, and I was with my book.

We met every Sunday after that.

As we reached home, I remembered the lovely moment when I stepped into this place 25 years ago. The note you left that day, “Make my house into our home with your words, our love, and the sunshine.”

The note is still nailed to our mirror.

Over the past few years, many things have changed. Our tiny bed has been replaced by a king size one; our Videocon television has been replaced with a swanky flat screen; our Yashica’s roll camera has been replaced with a Nikon digital camera; my typewriter has been replaced with a desktop.

Everything has turned obsolete except our love for each other.

I walked into the kitchen to see our coffee filter damaged beyond repair. You have done it again. Is this our 15^th filter or the 16^th? I have even lost the count.

I walked into the bedroom to find you unpack my bags. You looked a little exhausted. 

You looked frail.

We were growing old together. You wanted it, didn't you? 

You were with me when I published my first story, and I was with you when you made your first fortune. You stood by my side when my parents left the world, and I never let you go when your pet died. You mocked my failed attempts at tying a saree while I suppressed my giggle watching you wear a dhoti. You were there when I panicked on turning 30, and I was there when you spotted your first grey hair.

We were there for each other. Even when one of us fell apart. 

As you noticed me standing behind you, you looked at me with your eyes full of warmth and affection. You smiled at me. Just the way you used to when you were 25.

I missed you. And I still cannot fathom why I cannot put it into words.

And, It Was A Happy Birthday!

“The cake had a trick candle that wouldn't go out, so I didn't get my wish. Which was just that it would always be like this, that my life could be a party just for me.” 

― Janet Fitch

I turned 23 this Wednesday and I had one of the best birthdays ever. 

But let me warn you, it is not an extremely great feeling, you know? Just a while ago, I was a teenager listening to heavy rock music, and I blink my eyes and whoa, I am 23 now. Just for the record, I do not enjoy heavy rock music any longer.

It is a little scary to know that you are growing older and all that. I know some of you won't agree with me, some will, and those big 3 0s would literally roll their eyes at me and say, look at us and talk, kid. But yes, whatever. I am growing old.

While I am enjoying the afterglow of my birthday and stuffing myself with more cake, I wonder if there is any difference in me when I turned 22 and now. I wonder if I have done something worthwhile in the past one year. I wonder if I learned something - useful or not. Have I gained any experiences?

The answer to all - yes, I have. And I know for a fact that I will keep getting better. Also, I am sure I will get even better by the time I turn 24. 

As I look into the past one year, I think of all the things I have done. I met new people, I made new friends. I have visited a lot of new places, watched good movies, read some wonderful books, ate a lot of delicious food, got rid of some toxic people and reunited with some good old friends, experienced euphoria, bitter sadness, experienced vulnerability and strength, I have written a lot of things, and earned the much coveted freedom from corporate slavery. Touchwood!

I made memories. 

And, I know for a reason that with every passing birthday, we will always have a handful of things that we have done and will remain with you. I am glad I too have them.

Thanks to everyone who were a part of my life, and are a part of my life. You all have given me many stories and I will keep building many more.

Thank you Anirudh, Asisha, Sugumar, Supadha, Haritha, Harish, Kiriti, Amrutha, Anwesha, Suguna! You guys have seen the worst in me and let us just hope you won't see anything more horrible. The worst case scenario factor has reached a saturation point, right? And let me not forget, you guys are all part of the big, major memories I have made. 

Here's to growing old, feeling utterly weird about your age and all that, getting busier with your lives, partners, losing touch with the moronic side of the youth and oh, the carelessness. This too shall pass!

IT WAS ONE HELL OF A BIRTHDAY, PEOPLE!