Age and Agony

I have always considered myself to be old. You know, how some people are born old. I believed that I am one of them. It is not my standalone opinion but the general consensus as well that led me to arrive at this conclusion. Over the course of the past week I have discovered that I am far from being old. It may not sound grave to you, but it is an existential crisis for me. I had picked upon a clique, I had come to belong to it but I have been ripped off of it. Remember how Jake’s father was supposed to be the Alpha in Twilight but he ended up not being a werewolf in the first place. And Leah who believed that she is a normal human girl suddenly woke up to be a werewolf. Both of them landed on the other side of the table they had imagined to be. I feel like that. Before I tell you how I lost my pack, I want you to understand the stimulus behind becoming a deemed elderly individual.

I don’t drink and I am not very high on dancing either. So naturally I don’t enjoy going to clubs. The anthem of my generation is humein party karni hai, to hum party karenge, kisi ke bhi papa se nahi darenge (we want to party, so we will party, we will not be scared of anybody’s father). Inside a club, I am that girl you’ll spot sitting on the couch sipping on to a glass of Coke and looking startled at the kind of energy people are born with.

I have a darling sister who wishes me Mother’s Day every year.

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I have an adorable little brother who will pop unexpectedly in my Whatsapp window wishing me Happy Esther’s Day. I will Google it first and a take mental note of how old have I grown to have completely lost track of pop culture phenomenon. He will use some rad references (yes, apparently rad is a word and I am not even sure if I am using it right), making me tch tch more at my ignorance on the trending trends.

I have written it earlier that I am Chandler Bing from Friends. Eight on times that you ask me something, I will give you a sarcastic answer. So I was being my sarcastic self with someone when I asked them, ‘where are your sanskar (ethos)?’ . They thought that I meant it literally and shot back a contemptuous glance at me. They asked me that why am I talking like aged people. The thing about sarcasm is that you never explain it, so I shook my head and thought to myself ‘duh why would I care about your sanskar when I practically have no track of my own’.

Sometimes I appear as if I am unaffected with the sudden strike of turbulent waters. You give me bad food, I will eat it because I have seen worse. You give me lousy customer service and I will let it pass because I don’t chase arguments. You piss me off at work and I will smile because I am never going to give you the satisfaction that you affect me. People think that I am too mature for my age and that I need to show some rage because my generation is defined by rage.

What happened this week was that I had the opportunity of dining with a middle aged group. Their conversation revolved around medical ailments and home remedies. What I heard was diabetes, hypertension, nephrological concerns, soaking herbs overnight, drinking that water and repeat. Apparently they were fascinated about voice modulation software. One of them believed that android apps could only be downloaded from Samsung phones. A lot of their understanding of cyber theft was limited to phishing.

I am not demeaning the elderly. It is just that our wavelengths don’t match because of which I do not fit in with them as well. Even if my knees round up on me every time I take the stairs and my teeth have decided to self destruct themselves and that I was born with the expression of an 80 year old grumpy woman, all of this is not enough for me to qualify as old. The question is that if I am not old and if I am not young, then who am I and where do I go from here?

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